The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4. Jessie Keane

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       46

      Toby Taylor’s Jermyn Street gallery was heaving with crooks that Friday night, and he was thrilled. Regans, Nashes, Krays, Delaneys, Foremans – everywhere you looked, it was Crook City. Toby was the original mob whore. Mixing with criminal gangs almost gave him an orgasm.

      He was mincing around the gallery, smiling and pressing the flesh, his ever-expanding belly straining against his fluorescent green floral shirt, his toupee clinging to his sweat-dampened head. His rings and neck chains flashed in the gallery’s vivid lighting. Paolo, who was being swept unwillingly along in his partner’s slipstream, thought Toby had all the easy charm of a rabid rat.

      All around them hung Kieron’s work. Landscapes: fields and dales, cliffs and turbulent seas. Some were already sold, but it wasn’t going as well as his last. English pastoral always lost out to the more exciting African savannah. And the portraits and the nudes were missing this time. Everyone loved a good nude.

      ‘Maybe he’s lost his muse,’ said Toby to Paolo.

      Paolo cast a sullen look at his older lover. ‘No he hasn’t. There she is, right over there.’

      Paolo drew closer to Toby. Major odour alert, he thought, wrinkling his pert nose in disgust. Couldn’t the pervy old whore ever wash? If Toby wasn’t so free with his cash, Paolo would have been out of there in an instant.

      ‘They say she is running a very discreet establishment in the West End now,’ whispered Paolo.

      Toby gazed at Annie. ‘She’s very beautiful,’ he said grudgingly. ‘Looks like butter wouldn’t melt.’

      Paolo thought that if he were ever to fancy women – not that he imagined he ever could, with their strange sex odour and their sponge-soft bodies – Annie Bailey was the sort of woman he’d go for. She was not only beautiful. She had the unmistakable gloss of prosperity, too. Even he might be tempted. For a little while, anyway, if she treated him right, and spent plenty.

      But Toby’s attention had drifted on. ‘Jesus!’ he said. ‘Not again.’

      ‘So, are you enjoying yourself?’ Kieron asked Annie as they stood in front of a painting showing a tranquil scene of a river and a bridge.

      Annie was gazing intently at the painting. Thinking that she wished she could vanish into a scene like that, lose herself somewhere peaceful. Lose the guilt. Lose the ability to think. To imagine. To not constantly see Pat Delaney – this man’s brother – dead at the bottom of the sea.

      ‘Yeah, very much,’ she lied.

      She sipped her drink. Fruit juice again. Kieron had tried to get her into champagne, but it was a lost cause.

      ‘Hungry?’ he asked her a touch desperately. She was hard work tonight, stiff as a block of wood, distant. Unlike herself. Something must have upset her.

      ‘No,’ said Annie.

      Since Pat had gone, her appetite had waned. Sometimes at night she had bad dreams. Even awake, she had flashbacks – the door to her room crashing open, Pat reeling into the room, drunk, drugged, dangerous, threatening rape and God knows what else.

      She’d had a bolt fitted to her bedroom door at the new place. With that on, she could get a little sleep. Just a little. She knew it was silly, but she had been unable to sleep at all without it.

      ‘I’m pleased Red and Orla could come,’ said Kieron.

      ‘Yeah,’ said Annie.

      ‘They weren’t sure they’d be able to make it.’

      ‘Oh.’

      ‘Business, you know. I might have known Pat wouldn’t show up, of course. Perhaps it’s just as well. He can’t seem to behave himself these days.’

      Oh, he’s behaving himself now, thought Annie.

      ‘I’m pleased you came, too,’ said Kieron determinedly.

      ‘Sorry, Kieron, I’m a bit tired tonight,’ said Annie. Poor Kieron, he looked anxious. She had to try to behave more normally. That was what Max had told her. Behave normally. How did you do that, when you had blood on your hands?

      ‘It’s okay,’ said Kieron more gently. He put a friendly arm around her shoulders. ‘You’re here. That’s all that matters.’

      Annie wondered afterwards how it all kicked off.

      She was aware of a commotion behind her. Then someone grabbed Kieron’s arm. She was shoved sideways. She stumbled and her sore knee shot pain up her leg. Had someone passed out in the warmth of the gallery, and knocked against them?

      ‘Oh, not your fucking minder again,’ she heard Kieron say.

      There was a moment of complete bewilderment. Then Annie saw that Max was there. He had hold of Kieron’s shirt front and was shaking him and glaring into his eyes. Max’s eyes were glittering. They looked murderous.

      ‘Fucking hell,’ gasped Kieron as all around them people drew back. ‘You again.’

      ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ Max demanded.

      ‘Max!’ said Annie.

      ‘I knew it was you, you little bastard,’ said Max. ‘You want to fucking-well watch your step.’

      ‘I’m not afraid of you,’ said Kieron, going purple as Max exerted more pressure.

      ‘No? Well you cunting-well ought to be, you tosser.’

      ‘Ready to kill another Delaney, are ya? Well not me. I’m not scared of the likes of you!’ gabbled Kieron.

      Annie’s head was spinning. She hadn’t even seen Max come in. He must have moved like a rattlesnake. Toby ran up with Paolo and started making calm-down noises.

      ‘Fuck off out of it,’ snarled Max, and they both scuttled back.

      All the other gangs were looking the other way, Annie realized with dismay. No one wanted to upset Max, or side with him against the Delaneys. Picking sides would be unwise. No one wanted to start anything.

      ‘You’re СКАЧАТЬ