The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4. Jessie Keane
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anything else?’
Annie glanced over at Chris, sitting there like Buddha in the corner. Not the time or the place to tell Redmond about her suspicions regarding Pat, she thought. Maybe Redmond knew, anyway. Maybe Redmond didn’t care.
‘No, there’s nothing else.’
‘Goodbye then.’
Ruthie was right, Annie thought. She was sitting on a powder keg. One dropped spark, and pow! A feeling of fatalism was coming over her. Sooner or later it was all going to erupt around her. But for now, she was alive. She was in charge. She was Madam Annie. The minute she put the phone down she shouted up the stairs for Ellie. A dark head appeared over the banister.
‘Get smartly dressed, Ellie,’ said Annie. Ellie knew that ‘smart’ meant ‘nothing tarty’. Ellie could look like a novice nun when she set her mind to it. Her ‘novice nun’ was in fact very popular with some of the clients, nearly as popular as her ‘schoolgirl’. Annie had every confidence in her ability to appear demure. ‘We’re going up West to do some business.’
‘Jesus H Christ in a sidecar,’ said Ellie two and a half hours later. Annie gave her a sharp nudge. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘But look at it, Annie. Just fucking-well look at this place.’
Annie was looking. She was looking and she was wondering what it would be like to actually live here. It was a high-ceilinged, bright and incredibly big apartment set in a gorgeous block on the corner of Oxford Street and Park Street. Buck House was just up the road. So was the Ritz, just a step away in Piccadilly. The Houses of Parliament were close by too. It was a perfect place in a perfect location. There was a private balcony and even porterage.
‘Someone to carry your stuff up for you,’ said Annie when Ellie gave her a questioning look.
There was a lift. There were two beautiful bathrooms. The apartment was furnished in luxurious gold and pale blue tones, offset by a warm, muted cream. It was the most exquisite, the most truly luscious place Annie had ever seen. It damn near brought tears to her eyes, it was so lovely.
‘So ladies – what do you think?’ asked the estate agent, emerging from one of the bathrooms and beaming from ear to ear.
Christ, even the estate agents in this area looked prosperous, thought Annie. He had a healthy tan and lustrously styled hair. His suit looked like Savile Row, elegantly pinstriped and teamed with white shirt, gold cufflinks and discreet silk tie. You could have made your face up in the reflection off his shoes, she thought. The bastard looked rich. Fortunately, so did she. Or rather Anne Bailey did. Anne. Like the Princess, she had told him and smiled charmingly when she shook his hand. And so did her little sister for the day, whom she introduced with a flourish as Elisa.
This was the third flat they had viewed. The first had taken her breath away, and she had been inclined to go for that one – but it was slightly further out than she really wanted, although it boasted stunning views over Green Park. Then the next. Dazzling, alluring. But a little dark with a lot of wood panelling. But this one. This was it.
‘We’ll take it,’ she said.
They went back to his office and Annie wrote out a cheque for six months’ rent in advance. A staggering amount. But she’d been busy saving a large wodge of her considerable profits. She could, for the first time ever, afford to follow a whim.
Chris drove them back to Limehouse stopping on the way, at Annie’s instruction, so that she could make a call from a phone box.
‘It’s urgent,’ she said. ‘Something I forgot.’
She phoned through to Redmond Delaney and kept her back turned to Chris and Ellie, who were both waiting in the car. She told him that Pat Delaney had shown up at her last party, that he appeared to be on something and that he had passed something to Chris.
Redmond took it all in silently.
The pips went. Annie shovelled in more change.
‘I’ll look into it,’ said Redmond.
‘I’d rather he didn’t know I told you,’ said Annie.
‘Of course.’
‘I got the flat,’ said Annie.
‘Good work, Miss Bailey. Get the details to me as soon as you can.’
‘Of course,’ said Annie, and rang off.
She was moving on up. Everything was going to be all right. But she felt jittery. She got back in the car, clutching the flat details to her. She sat there staring out at the traffic and reviewing her recent past with blank amazement. Funny how Billy hadn’t called in for a while. She almost missed the poor loon, he’d become a familiar face to her. But she supposed he was intimidated, being confronted by Chris every time he called. It wasn’t something she could help. Chris was necessary now. Protection. Security. She lay back against the leather upholstery as Ellie prattled away excitedly beside her and thought what it would be like to just take off to that beautiful Mayfair flat on her own, to live there as Miss Anne Bailey, happy and prosperous. To forget Celia’s place and the danger and the excitement of running it. Sure, she thought. And live on what? Peanuts?
The big black car was outside the house again when they got home, the driver sitting stolidly behind the wheel, waiting.
Ruthie! thought Annie, anxiety and anger gripping her. She tore through the hall and flung open the door to the front parlour.
‘Look, Ruthie, if you’ve come here for another bloody row …’
But it wasn’t Ruthie waiting to see her.
It was Max.
Every time she saw Max Carter she was hit by the sheer physical impact of him. Of course whoever had let him in had shown him into the front room, not the kitchen. You didn’t show Max into a kitchen.
Annie stood frozen in the doorway for a moment.
Chris came up close and hissed: ‘You want me to phone Redmond?’ in her ear.
Annie shook her head. ‘I’ll deal with this. See that nobody disturbs us, will you?’
She went into the front room and closed the door behind her and leaned against it, breathless, heart hammering crazily in her chest.
‘Sorry. I thought you were Ruthie,’ said Annie. Her mouth was dry.
‘She’s been here then?’ said Max.
‘Yeah,’ said Annie coolly. ‘Can’t seem to make up her mind whether your marriage is dead or alive, but she was here. You mean you didn’t know she called?’
‘I don’t own her.’
‘Sorry, I thought you did.’
Max nodded. Slowly he came over to where she stood, placed one large hand on the door beside her head, and leaned in.
‘You’ve got a fucking nerve, Annie Bailey, talking to me like that,’ he said.
‘Ruthie might be afraid of you,’ said Annie. ‘I’m not.’
‘No?’ Max was half-smiling as he came in closer still. He knew the effect he had on her.
Annie gulped. ‘No,’ she said.
‘You’ve changed, Annie. Look at you. You’re all grown up now,’ he said, his eyes moving over her.
Annie nodded. ‘I had to grow up fast, Max. I got kicked out by my mother, remember? If I hadn’t been able to come here I’d have been walking the streets.’
‘Is this what you wanted out of life, running a knocking shop?’
Annie shrugged, trying to be cool, but her heart was racing and now – oh shit! – her nipples were hard. The flat details in her hand were crumpled and damp, forgotten. She wished he’d back off. But she knew he wouldn’t.
‘It’s