The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4. Jessie Keane

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      And then the bell rang, and they were on.

      It was a good party. There were a few gentlemen from the Horse Guards, nice, fit, muscular men who had been recommended by friends and family. Dolly’s was the place to be for fun. Experienced men loved the diversity of the girls here. Young innocents were brought here by their fond papas to be properly introduced to the arts of love.

      Ellie set to work with two of the Guards upstairs. Darren had one of his regular politicians, and Aretha was doling out severe punishment to a High Court judge. Two of the new girls were going at it like good ’uns with a couple of the older clients in the front room – the stairs were difficult for them, poor old sods – while Dolly circulated and made sure everyone was happy. Chris was on duty at the door. Brian was mixing drinks and keeping a deadpan face on him, as ordered. Annie had cleared off somewhere, Dolly didn’t know where. Everything was fine – until Pat Delaney showed up.

      Dolly didn’t like Pat Delaney. She wondered if anyone did. He was a creep. Annie reckoned he’d been passing stuff around at a couple of the parties. She’d told Redmond about it, apparently, but Redmond hadn’t brought Pat into line. If Redmond couldn’t do it, they sure as fuck couldn’t. You didn’t cross a Delaney. It would be madness.

      So she greeted him politely while he sneered at her and glared at Chris.

      ‘It’s the new Queen of Tarts,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Where’s the old one then? Busy upstairs, is she?’

      ‘If you mean Annie, she’s out,’ said Dolly.

      ‘Shame,’ said Pat. He was swaying on his feet and sweating. His eyes looked odd. He was high as a kite, Dolly realized with a sinking feeling. ‘I like a high-class cunt like her.’

      Suppressing an expression of disgust, Dolly guided him into the front room, throwing a look back at Chris. Watch him, she mouthed. Chris nodded.

      ‘What can we get you to drink, Mr Delaney?’ asked Brian.

      ‘You a poof? You look like one,’ said Pat.

      Brian flushed brick red.

      ‘Mr Delaney likes whisky,’ said Dolly quickly, and Brian poured him a Bell’s.

      Pat reeled away with his drink and collapsed on to the sofa, nearly landing on one of the girls and a frail old gent.

      ‘Watch it!’ complained the girl.

      ‘Fuck off out of the way, you filthy whore,’ said Pat icily.

      The girl took one look in Pat’s eyes and scrabbled up, dragging her old gentleman with her, his trousers still at half-mast. They fell to his ankles and he clawed at them, embarrassed. Pat let out a shout of laughter.

      ‘Everything okay?’ asked Darren, coming down the stairs with his client and seeing Dolly’s face as she stood in the front-room doorway.

      ‘I don’t know,’ she said. And then she noticed that Chris wasn’t in his seat any more.

      Annie let herself into the Surrey place. There was no sign of Ruthie’s minder. She looked around at the great dark barn of a hallway and the big sweep of the staircase and heard only silence.

      Christ, the place was huge. She thought of Ruthie living here, all alone. She must be going out of her head.

      ‘Ruthie!’ Annie called.

      There was no answer.

      She went through to the drawing room; empty, the fire unlit. She wandered through the whole ground floor, checked the kitchens, calling Ruthie’s name with increasing exasperation. Then she traipsed up the stairs and repeated the exercise, feeling more anxious with every step she took.

      ‘Ruthie! Where the hell are you?’

      She pushed open three bedroom doors and found only emptiness beyond. She opened the fourth, and there was Ruthie, slumped fully dressed across the bed, boxes and clothes scattered around her. The nearly empty voddy bottle and the glass were there too.

      ‘Oh Jesus – Ruthie!’

      Annie hurried to her side, her innards twisting with guilt as she saw Ruthie lying there drunk – drunk because she was miserable, and why was she miserable? Because of what she had done to her.

      ‘Oh, Ruthie, no,’ she moaned, snatching up Ruthie’s cold hand. ‘No, don’t do this …’

      And then she saw the pill bottles. Lots of them.

      The clients were leaving like rats from a sinking ship. Not that Dolly blamed them. Pat Delaney was insulting everyone, laughing at their elderly gents, asking the Guards why they had to pay for it, couldn’t they get a woman to look at them, or did they just shag their precious horses?

      ‘You mouthy Irish bastard,’ snarled one, and Dolly had to step in quick.

      ‘Ah, you think you’d like a bit of me, do you, you poncy toy soldier?’ mocked Pat, downing tablets as he spoke.

      ‘Let’s all calm down,’ said Dolly, wondering where the fuck Chris was when you needed him. ‘Let’s all have a drink together and be friends, okay?’

      ‘I’m not drinking with him,’ said the Guard, shrugging into his shirt and stuffing it into his trousers. And he left.

      ‘You’re driving my clients away, Mr Delaney,’ said Dolly mildly.

      ‘Like I give a feck,’ said Pat. He reeled off to the toilet and came back again. ‘Another drink over here, poof-features,’ he said to Brian as he fell back on to the sofa in the rapidly emptying front room.

      Dolly nodded to Brian. Best to give the sod all the drink he wanted, she thought. The sooner he passed out cold, the better. Then she’d just get some of Redmond’s boys to carry him out and take him home. No good waiting for Chris to put in an appearance. Chris was no fool. Rather than get into a ruck with Pat and make a vicious and powerful enemy, he was keeping out of it. Dolly couldn’t blame him for that. But all the Guards were gone now. It was starting to get dark outside, and the extra girls were making going-home noises. Brian was packing up too. Soon there would be just her and Ellie and Aretha and Darren alone with Pat Delaney, and that wasn’t a cheering thought.

      ‘Come on, Ruthie. Don’t arse about, you’re scaring me.’

      Annie was patting her sister’s cheek whilst feeling the sickness rise in her own stomach. She was sweating all over, the fear squeezing her in a tight vice-like grip. Jesus, she’d slit her own wrists if the stupid cow was dead. She felt Ruthie’s scrawny neck and thank God, there was a pulse. She was breathing. She was alive. Her eyes flickered open.

      ‘Oh thank fuck for that,’ gasped Annie, and hauled her sister into a sitting position.

      Ruthie moaned. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she sank back.

      ‘No, Ruthie. Come on.’

      Fuck, this was bad, really bad. She’d known Ruthie was unhappy, but she had no idea she was low enough to try and finish it. Annie felt her guts twist with guilt. This was all her СКАЧАТЬ