The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4. Jessie Keane

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      The phone was ringing as Annie shot past it on the stairs. Chris, sitting like a well-fed Buddha just inside the door reading the Daily Sketch, reached out but she shook her head and snatched it up. It was Friday. Party day. She had decided that her parties would be held at lunchtimes, when all the other women in the road would be busy in their kitchens – too busy to take an interest in what was going on here. She was wound up fit to burst.

      ‘Good morning, Miss Bailey,’ said Redmond Delaney.

      ‘Ah, Mr Delaney,’ said Annie, hopping from one foot to the other in her impatience to get on. ‘Good morning.’

      ‘I hope you are well?’

      ‘Very well. Thank you. And you?’

      ‘I’m fine.’

      Annie was getting used to the weekly calls now. She didn’t nearly shit herself with fear any more when she heard that cool Irish lilt on the end of the phone. Redmond was just keeping an eye on his business interests, that was all. It was nothing personal. It was sort of reassuring, really.

      ‘Is everything ready for the party?’ asked Redmond.

      Darren and Aretha thundered down the stairs. Aretha went into the front room, but Darren paused. Who is it? he mouthed.

      Redmond Delaney, she mouthed back.

      Oh, mouthed Darren. He threw Chris a flirty smile and followed after Aretha.

      ‘Just about,’ said Annie.

      ‘Well, good luck with it.’

      ‘Thank you, Mr Delaney.’

      ‘I’ll be in touch,’ said Redmond, and put the phone down.

      Annie did the same.

      ‘Chris, what does Mr Delaney look like?’ she asked thoughtfully. ‘I’ve met his sister Orla. Is he like her?’

      Chris laid his paper across his knees. ‘Identical,’ he said.

      Annie had a think about that. A tall, red-haired, green-eyed man. Cool as could be. No small talk about him. Nothing like Kieron with all his blarney. Nothing like Pat either, Pat was a disgusting and frightening bruiser. Funny how one family could contain so many disparate elements.

      ‘What about the mum and dad?’

      ‘Molly and Dave?’ Chris took up his Sketch again. ‘Retired.’

      No more information was forthcoming, so Annie decided to go up and get changed. Today she was the hostess, neat in a black shift, pearls and black-patent-leather pumps, nothing tarty. Nothing to suggest she was a player instead of an observer. Hopefully all their regulars would be here to have fun and spend money both on the door and upstairs in the bedrooms. Drinks on the house. Food on the house. It had to work, she thought. Or she was going to end up looking a right berk.

      As she came downstairs the phone was ringing again. She waved Chris away and picked up.

      ‘Annie darling, will you sit for me tomorrow morning?’ asked Kieron.

      ‘No, Kieron, I can’t.’ There would be clearing-up to be done. She anticipated a lot of mighty hangovers among the staff too.

      ‘Afternoon?’ wheedled Kieron.

      ‘Is this the last time?’ groaned Annie.

      ‘Last one, I promise.’

      She’d sat for him for the nude portrait three times now, lying there in the altogether feeling horribly self-conscious. She hated it. But if this really was the last time, she supposed she could bear it. And the pay was good. If the party idea bombed and no one showed up, she was going to need every penny. Dolly came clumping down the stairs in her dressing gown. Annie put a hand over the phone.

      ‘Dolly, will you sort yourself out?’ she asked, shooing her back up. ‘It’s nearly eleven, get clean, tidy and dressed.’

      Dolly pulled a face. ‘Oh for fuck’s safe, what is it with you? There’s plenty of time yet,’ she said.

      ‘Dolly, what did I tell you? What did I say?’ asked Annie.

      Dolly sighed. ‘You said …’

      ‘I said it’s my way or the fucking highway,’ said Annie. ‘Go and get ready.’

      Dolly looked pissed off but she did as she was told. Annie was pleased at how Dolly was coming along, on the whole. Poor Dolly. Celia had been too easy on her, she needed a firmer hand, but Annie could appreciate why Celia had been so lenient. Celia had explained to Annie about Dolly’s background. Annie got the horrors every time she thought of how Dolly had been dragged up.

      Poor cow, a backstreet abortion with an enema syringe and half a packet of Daz was enough to turn any woman sour. And to know that the dead child that came away was your father’s … it was nothing less than a nightmare. Celia had told her all about it.

      Celia. God, she’d been so busy she’d hardly had a second to think about her, but she thought about her now, wondered where she was, wondered if she was okay. She’d been watching the post since Celia went, СКАЧАТЬ