Phil just stood there, arms folded. Man could bore for Britain, thought Danny irritably.
Vita was silent, looking surly.
‘Look,’ said Phil, indicating the stuff on the table.
There was a bag of groceries. Rolls and fruit and stuff poking out of the top.
Danny frowned.
There was a woman who came in to bring their food, Marietta. They were renting this place in the winding back alleys of Palma from Marietta’s husband, Julio, and the deal was, Marietta—who did not speak a word of English, and that was part of the master plan too—came in and cleaned every day, and brought provisions at 9.30 in the morning. So what was all this new stuff doing on the table at three in the afternoon?
Also on the table was a fuchsia-pink bag from one of the boutiques. Peeping out from this bag was a pair of Nubuck Majorcan sandals—you saw them everywhere in the shops here, in all colours of the rainbow. These were a bright, clear turquoise—Vita’s favourite colour. She often wore it.
‘Look, it’s no big deal,’ said Vita hurriedly, seeing the direction of Danny’s eyes. ‘I was going stir-crazy cooped up in this place. I got fed up just sitting here painting all day, so I went and got some more food in, and I looked in the shops and went to the flea market on Villalonga, and I had a walk down to the harbour.’
Danny went straight across and slapped her, hard.
Vita reeled back, clutching her cheek.
‘Listen, you silly cow, we stick to the plan. Remember the plan? You’re getting right up my nose, you really are. The plan is, we stay here. We don’t go out flashing the cash about. We don’t want no one knowing we’re here except Marietta and Julio, and to them we’re just tourists, that’s all. Marietta brings in the food, she cleans, she fucks off. We don’t ever let her go out in the garden, just in case you were going to invite her out on to the terrace for tea and effing cakes, you got that? Oh—and every time you go near the girl you put your fucking hood on.’
‘All right, I hear you,’ mumbled Vita.
‘Good. And you.’ He turned, glaring, to Phil. ‘Don’t kick off at my sister, you got that? If you got anything to say, you say it to me.’
‘Sure,’ said Phil moodily, shrugging and putting his hands in his pockets. Sure thing, Blondie, he thought. Blow it out your arse, Blondie. You fucking maniac.
‘You got the boat sorted? Everything okay?’
‘Yeah, it’s lined up for eleven,’ said Phil, thinking that he for one would be absolutely fucking delighted when they got back to England, got their money, and went their separate ways. He could not wait to see the back of this crazy pair.
‘Okay, we’ll clear up at ten and be out of here and down at the harbour by a quarter to eleven—and by the way, Vee, we will be wearing our hoods when we fetch the girl, okay? Then we’ll give her a good dose of stuff, blindfold her, and get her on board the boat and that’ll be that, okay?’
Vita nodded, one hand nursing her reddened cheek.
‘I said okay?’ repeated Danny.
‘Okay,’ she said.
When Annie got back to Limehouse it was business as usual—punters arriving, punters leaving, Una knocking the living crap out of some poor twisted bastard up there in the back room that Aretha used to occupy. Darren was entertaining a gentleman from the City, Dolly told her over a cup of tea in the kitchen, and Ellie was busy with a chubby-chaser—very popular too, she was.
‘It’s all hands to the pump, if you’ll pardon the expression,’ said Dolly, putting her cup down. ‘So how’s it all going?’
‘Oh, peachy,’ said Annie. ‘My baby girl’s been snatched, my husband’s been hit, and now I find his clubs have been turned into strip joints.’
‘Ah.’
‘You knew?’
Dolly shrugged. ‘Everyone did, it’s no big secret. Jonjo Carter made the changes. No one questions the Carter brothers over what they do. Everyone thought Max knew about it.’
‘No,’ said Annie positively. ‘He couldn’t have. He’d have hated it.’
She’d been appalled at what had happened to the Palermo. Then she’d had Tony drive her over to the Shalimar and the Blue Parrot, only to find they’d been given the same down-market treatment.
She’d closed them both up, sacked the managers, got Tony to get the locks changed. Tony had got quieter and quieter as the day had progressed, and finally Annie had asked if there was a problem.
‘No,’ he’d said, driving through the drizzle and the heavy traffic, his eyes not meeting hers in the mirror.
‘No? Only I think there is.’
Tony shrugged.
‘Tell me,’ said Annie.
‘The boys might not like all these changes. That’s all’
Annie sat back. ‘You mean Jimmy Bond?’
Jimmy hadn’t exactly fallen over himself to welcome her, and that was a fact. Which was a shame, because she knew she badly needed Jimmy onside.
‘Him and others,’ said Tony diplomatically.
Meaning that where Jimmy led, the others followed, thought Annie.
‘Well,’ said Annie, ‘if Jimmy—or any of the other boys—have something to say about the alterations I’ve made, then they can say it to me, can’t they?’
Tony had grunted and said no more.
‘So you’ve closed the clubs. Now what?’ asked Dolly.
Annie looked at Dolly blankly. ‘Meaning?’
‘You’re not going to leave them shut, are you? Those clubs must have been bringing in a lot of dosh for the Carters.’
Annie sighed and leaned her chin on her hand. Dolly was right. But she’d been outraged at what she’d seen happening to Max’s clubs. They’d been his pride and joy, and she had acted on instinct and stepped in. Maybe she shouldn’t have. Maybe she would very soon have been glad of that income. But maybe not. When the kidnappers asked her to cough up the money—as soon they must—she was sure that it wouldn’t be covered by a couple of big-titted girls twirling their tassels lunchtime and evening.
‘I remember those clubs as they were, Doll. Class acts on. Good, respectable punters. The place clean and tidy, the staff happy, the whole thing running smooth.’ She pulled a face. ‘You ought to see the fucking place now. Sleazy don’t cover it. I’ve run better knocking shops.’
