‘Don’t you worry babes,’ she whispered with all her heart, ‘I’ll make sure our Natty turns into a man you would be proud to call your own.’
The knock came again. Dee quickly took out her mint breath freshener and squirted twice in her mouth to get rid of the bolly cocktail she’d downed a while back.
‘Enter!’
John had told her once that you got ten seconds to make an impression when you entered a room, including situations where you had to deliver a couple of slaps. Dee’s laser eyes burned into the tall woman who came in.
Neat, brown bob – tick.
Black business suit with skirt below the knee – tick.
No strawberry creams on the loose – tick.
No tottering heels, but sensible, black flats – tick.
No slap – tick.
Ten out of ten, so far. The last thing Dee wanted in her house was some floozy swanning around like Her Majesty of bloody Essex on stilettos.
Once the candidate, Miriam Hartley, was sat down Dee deliberately got up and waltzed over to the drinks cabinet and took out a bottle of whisky. ‘You must be a bit parched after your journey. Join me in a ‘nice to meet ya’ drink?’
She waved the bottle invitingly like she was dangling a high-end piece of jewellery.
Miriam Hartley’s expression didn’t change, she simply, and firmly, responded, ‘No, thank you.’
This was one of the tests Dee had lined up to checkout the candidates. Her son wasn’t going to be looked after by no alkie, no soddin’ way. The third candidate had been shown the door after downing her snifter in one and then asked for another. The nerve of the woman!
As Dee popped the bottle back it occurred to her how cool Miriam had been. Hadn’t turned a hair at being offered a drop. Dee liked that; she needed someone with a level head around Natty just in case trouble ever came to her door.
Back at her desk she ran through the usual stock questions – what experience have you had? What would you do if a baby starts choking? How do you put a toddler to sleep? Then proceeded to the next test.
Settling a deceptively sweet smile on her lips, Dee leaned across the desk as if she was about to invite Miriam to become her bestie. ‘I’ve got this massive collection of designer dresses, which I only get to use every now and again. Vera Wang, Versace, Westwood; you name it I’ve got it. As my kid’s nanny I don’t mind if you borrow them once in awhile.’
Yeah, as if! Anyone touching her gear would find themselves down to no fingers.
Once again the other woman’s face remained neutral. ‘That’s a very kind offer Mrs Black, but I feel that it’s important to maintain professional boundaries at all times. If I started wearing your clothes I would consider that to be a breach of trust.’
Dee leaned back, the smile spreading into one of pleasure. She was liking this Miriam a lot. But it was going to be a hard decision, as she’d also liked the first candidate as well, a jolly granny type whose eyes sparkled when she talked about children.
Dee got ready to deliver the next question when an urgent knock at the door stopped her. The door was thrust back to reveal her head of security.
‘Some div has just thrown a brick through the front window.’
Dee was on her feet in double time. ‘You catch the bastard?’
First thought that came to her mind was that this must be the local ‘consortium’ trying to frighten her into paying up. Take more than a broken window for her to join their bullyboy club.
Her head of security shook his head. ‘But I clocked him. Should’ve been in school by the looks of him. I’ll know his face if he dares show it again.’
Dee dismissed it having anything to do with the protection racket because anyone worth their salt in that business would know better than to rely on some teen tearaway to tighten the screws.
‘Mrs Black.’ Dee absently turned having forgotten all about Miriam Hartley. ‘I’m happy to wait if you need to sort this out.’
Dee took her up on the offer, but when she came back five minutes later her she was in too foul a mood to continue. After seeing the mess downstairs she was only in the mood to strangle someone…very slowly. The club launch was around the corner so everything had better be Bristol fashion. Stratford might be touting itself as the next London postcode to be, as it got ready to wave the Olympic flag, but underneath it was the East End, dodgy business as usual.
She held the door open so that Miriam got the message that the interview was over. As the other woman picked up her bag and stood, Dee said, ‘Thanks for coming in. I’ll be in touch within the hour.’
But instead of leaving, the other woman lingered by the door. ‘I can see you’re a busy person, but there’s one question I wanted to ask.’
Dee clenched her jaw. She wasn’t in the mood to be questioned. ‘If it’s about the wages—?‘
Miriam shook her head and cut in,’ No. It’s about your son’s father. Will I have the opportunity to meet him as well if I get the job?’
On the word ‘father’, grief ripped through her. Would she ever get use to her beautiful, mad-bastard of an old man being six feet under?
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ the other woman said softly, witnessing Dee’s sorrow. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’
Gently she touched Dee’s hand. Dee nearly snatched her hand back. The other woman’s paw wasn’t just cold it was freezing. A shiver ran through her as she quickly took her hand back. She knew she might be over reacting, but she didn’t like the icy feeling Miriam left on her skin.
Miriam pulled the strap of her bag tighter against her shoulder. ‘Thanks so much for your time and I look forward to hearing from you.’
As soon as the door shut Dee made her decision about who would be Natty’s nanny – bubbly granny it was. She poured herself two fingers of whiskey – she wasn’t over doing the booze while on the job – and then slung herself into her chair. But when Dee offered her the job she got the shock of her life.
The woman huffed and puffed with outrage on the other end of the phone. ‘I should report you to the authorities.’
‘You what?’ Dee was stunned. What was the old bird going on about?
‘I’ve never heard the like. Sex games and whips.’ Sounded like the old girl was about to faint. ‘I should report you to Social Services.’
Dee got to her feet snarling, ‘You mention my boy’s name in the same breath as the SS there’s gonna be proper trouble.’ She added with menace, ‘Don’t forget I know where you live.’
The phone connection abruptly clicked off. Dazed, Dee sank slowly back into her chair. What the effing hell was that all about? Sex games? Whips? The woman must be a proper nutter. And to think she’d nearly given her precious boy into her care.
Dee called the other candidate to give her the good news. ‘Is that Miriam?’
A hopeful voice answered, ‘Yes Mrs Black.’
‘I wanna offer you the job as nanny to my Nathan. I’ll level with you that you weren’t my first choice, but…well, let’s just say the other candidate doesn’t appear to be the full ticket.’
Dee could picture her grinning like Xmas and her birthday had all come along at the same time. ‘Mrs Black I can’t thank you enough. I promise that I’ll look after your son as if he were my own.’
‘You better had. And everyone calls me Mizz Dee.’
‘Mizz Dee, thank you from the bottom of my heart.’
Miriam’s triumph fell a touch when Mizz Dee went into Sir Alan Sugar Apprentice mode.
‘And let me just remind you. I don’t like shirkers, moaners, cheats, wasters and nosey parkers. I don’t like staff who take a nap when I run up the shops, have a snort from my whiskey bottles and then top it up with tap water. I don’t like people who rifle through my mail or borrow things that they think I won’t notice are missing. And I definitely don’t like employees who bring their man candy round and shag ‘em silly in my bed. Got it?’
Miriam stammered, ‘Er…Yes, that goes without saying.’
Dee allowed herself a pat on the back smile. ‘Welcome to the Black and Miller family.’
It was only after Dee put her mobile down that she noticed the paper with the list of the nanny candidates and their details was on the right hand side of the desk. Dee scowled. She could’ve sworn she’d left it on the other side.
16
‘Oh, it’s you,’ Pearl’s brother announced – though to Pearl’s ear it was a dead ringer for a groan.
He stood in the doorway of his four-storey house in a fuck-off Georgian Square in Camden. He was looking down at her as she stood on the step. It seemed right; he was always looking down on her despite her having eight years on him.
He’d not only done alright for himself, but was also in good nick for a man his age. Tall, muscular and fit, a walking definition of the phrase, ‘black don’t crack’ because there wasn’t a line on his good-looking face. He was rigged out in a designer suit with chamois slip-ons. Not a grey strand in sight in his obviously dyed black hair. No change there then: he’d always made a right song and dance about his hair when they were younger.
‘Hi bruv, how’s tricks?’ Pearl cracked a way too sunshine smile on her face.
He folded his arms with a sour twist of his mouth and nodded. ‘Good. It’s been a long time Pearl.’ From the tone of his voice he wished it were longer.
As he kept her on the doorstep like a Jehovah Witness desperate to spread the Good News she had to do the honours. ‘Any chance I could have a word?’
With an impatient huff he looked over his shoulder down the hallway and then back at his sister. It seemed like an age before he finally snapped, ‘you’ll have to make it quick. I’m holding a dinner party and my guests will be here shortly.’
Holding a dinner party? Oooo, get him! Ever since making his first mill in the building trade, he’d put on airs and graces. He’d bought this house as a wreck decades earlier when its foundations were almost giving up the ghost of trying to prop anything up and turned it into a property that rivalled any other in the square. A proper lord of the manor was her baby brother these days it appeared.
Pearl checked the pricey Victorian paintings of foxhunts and shipwrecks on the walls as he led her through the hallway. As she passed the lavish dining room she got an eyeful of expensive china, candles and crystal glasses laid out on a table that would’ve done Buckingham Palace proud. Probably splashed the cash around to get high-end caterers in. But she wasn’t invited in there or into his OTT drawing room. Instead he led her down to the basement and closed the door behind him.
‘Very well – to what do I owe the pleasure?’
He spoke in his fake upmarket lingo. Only when he lost his rag did he start to sound like the East End, Caribbean ghetto kid he’d once been.
Without waiting for an answer, he accused, ‘It’s money I suppose.’ He took out his leather wallet and opened it up. ‘How much do you want? Take it and clear off.’
Pearl was properly offended. Alright, half offended; the gift of free money was always a welcome thing.
‘Don’t want your dosh, I need help.’ She knew a lecture was on the horizon and that she’d have to suck it up if she was going to make any headway with him.
His face twisted as if in pain. ‘Help? You want help from me? That’s a laugh.’ He was in full ghetto boy mode, the bad blood between them out in the open. ‘When did you ever give me any help? When I was a young man without any money, down on his luck and in trouble with the law, what help did you give me? Oh yeah, that’s right, you dumped your kids for some numb nuts and farmed them out to social services. If I hadn’t come along and taken them terrified youngsters into my home where would they be now, eh? Where would they be?’
He kissed his teeth and flashed his eyes lethally at her. ‘No wonder they won’t have nish to do with you. You’re lucky some of your grandkids wanna know ya.’
By now he was pacing up and down like a boxer waiting to swing. ‘Wrecking your kids lives, wrecking my life, yeah Pearl, you’re a regular helping hand.’
She felt ashamed of what she’d done to her kids, but that didn’t mean Lord Muckety Muck here had to keep pushing her face in it. She was grateful to him, from the bottom of her old heart, for taking her babies in and giving them a proper home, but she would also never forget that it was him who’d put the kybosh on her seeing them when she’d finally come to her senses. The one time she’d managed to get close to her kids, her eldest son had gobbed in her face and shoved her out of the way. A mother never forgot that type of pain. It knifed right through to your very soul.
Pearl pushed past regrets and hurt aside as she took him by the arm.
‘I’m in trouble and you’re the only one who can help.’ She stalled for a moment. She didn’t want to give too much away. ‘Me and a friend had some property robbed.’
He fixed his strained gaze on her. ‘Robbed? What do you want me to do about it?’ He shook her hand off. ‘I’m a businessman, not a fucking copper.’ He went on with his sneering. ‘You want help? I’d start dialling 999 if I was you.’
Pearl bowed her head. She knew he was really going to blow his stack when she told him what sort of help she wanted but she had no choice. She lifted her head and looked deep into his stormy eyes. ‘The thing is, it was quite a valuable piece of property and I know…you know…’
He stared at her, his mouth half falling open. ‘What do I know?’
Pearl’s heart sank. ‘Well, you know.’
‘No, I don’t know, I’m not a mind reader – that’s your department, ain’t it?’ He drew breath and suddenly seemed to be trying. ‘Alright, what was stolen?’
Pearl admitted. ‘It was gold.’
His finely manicured brows creased together. ‘Gold? That’s easy, just find out who the local jewellers are who buy hooky tom off skaghead housebreakers and then pay them a visit. If you look in various shop windows you’ll probably see your bits in there going cheap. Pop in and tell the guy behind the counter that you want it back or you’ll call the law. Simples.’
Pearl’s voice fell to a whisper. ‘It wasn’t gold jewellery that we had pinched…it was gold bars.’
Her brother gazed at her as if he’d never seen her before. ‘Bars? Where the hell would you have got bars from? Bullion’s a big boy’s game. It’s not a racket for a pound shop con artist like you.’
When she didn’t reply, he absently rubbed a finger against his temple as if he had a raging headache. ‘I don’t know – and don’t want to know – what shit you’ve got yourself mixed up in this time.’
His finger dropped. ‘Tell you what I’ll do; if a door to door salesman comes round trying to flog me some off the books gold bars, I’ll give you a call, otherwise I don’t want to know.’ He opened the basement door and gestured impatiently towards the steps with his hand. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’m busy.’
Pearl looked at the steps and then at her brother. She took the plunge.
‘My mate and I need to find out who stole our gold, but we’re not connected. Back in your bad boy days you used to knock around with loads of Faces, didn’t you? Guys like Stanley what’s his face and that Ingram bloke who owned that knocking shop in Mile End. And they were the tip of the iceberg from what I heard. Just wondering if you might still see some people socially from those days and you could put the word out.’
Her brother stared at her in grim silence before closing the door again. On one side of the basement was a wall covered with box files standing on shelves. He looked them up and down and then turned to Pearl. She could see another lecture was in the offing. Any other day of the week she’d tell him to stuff it, but she didn’t have the luxury of behaving like she had the upper hand now.
‘Do you know what these are sis?’ He gestured at the boxes and files. ‘They’re twenty years worth of quotes, estimates, invoices, letters, tax returns and the like. For twenty years, I’ve been getting up at six in the morning and driving all over the country doing building work and the
n coming home when most are in the land of nod. Some days I was so knackered, I nearly fell asleep at the wheel. For twenty years I’ve been buying houses, doing them up, selling them on or renting them out. For twenty years I’ve been doing that and you wanna know why?’
Pearl knew to keep it shut. His voice rose. ‘Because I realised after getting into bad company as a youth, you don’t get anything out of life without grafting. And I’ve grafted enough for ten men. You can’t trust or rely on anyone in life if you want to get on. You certainly can’t rely on your own family or flashy, cheating, two bit crooks like Miller or Ingram—‘
Now she butted in with confusion, ‘Did you say Miller —?‘
His bellow of rage had her snapping her mouth firmly shut again and stepping back in haste. ‘And then you come round my fucking yard! And accuse me of being fucking connected to the underworld! Of hanging round with common crooks and thieves! Asking me to put the word out! You – who’s just finished a stretch herself and who’s never done a proper day’s collar in her life!’
Pearl lurched backwards when it looked like her brother was about to clump her one. Instead he shoved his palm in her back to propel her up the stairs and down the hallway.
At the front door he pulled her close and hissed, ‘Unless somebody in the family has pegged out I don’t want to see your lying, children-dumping-self round my gates no more.’ He opened the door and prepared to throw her out but thought better of it. He pushed the door to and held her close again. ‘Who’s your friend? The other crook involved in this bullion scam?’
‘I can’t say. And stop calling my mate a crook.’
‘Was it just you and her who knew where it was being kept?’
‘Never said it was a her,’ Pearl slapped in quickly.
‘Well, I’ve got some advice for you as a going away present. If no one else knew, that means either you stole it or she did. Personally, I’m guessing it was you.’
Abruptly, he turned his head as a motor pulled up outside the house. He peered behind the door onto the square. He loosened his grip on Pearl and smoothed down her crumpled coat as if he were the most caring brother in the world. Pearl twisted her lips. Yeah, right!
Blood Secrets_A gripping crime thriller with killer twists Page 10