The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4. Jessie Keane

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, hoping for a letter, for even a fucking postcard, anything would be good. But there was nothing – no news, no contact. She thought of asking Redmond Delaney if he had a clue where her aunt had got to, but she knew she couldn’t do that. Her conversations with Redmond were always business, never personal. It was an unwritten rule.

      Annie sighed and said to Kieron: ‘Tomorrow afternoon. Two o’clock until three, Kieron, I can’t spare more. See you.’

      Ol’ Blue Eyes was booming out from the front room.

      ‘Not so loud,’ shouted Annie. Jesus! The neighbours!

      ‘Sorry,’ yelled Aretha and Darren as she joined them. She quickly tweaked down the volume and looked around the room. It looked good. She popped open a bottle of bubbly.

      ‘I’ve been putting the word round to my regulars,’ Darren was saying. He was looking very dapper in purple cords and a matching flowered shirt.

      ‘Mine too. God, hope we don’t get any more of those Golden Rainers showin’ up at the door,’ said Aretha. ‘I don’t mind kinky, but a girl has to have her limits.’

      Annie handed them each a glass. Living at Celia’s place had quickly proved to her what an innocent she was. Now she knew that Golden Rainers were men who liked to be pissed on. The diversity of their clients’ sexual tastes was a constant source of amazement to her, but she was fast becoming unshockable.

      ‘To us,’ said Annie as Ellie and Dolly joined them. Everyone was done up to the nines; they all looked good, and they knew it. They raised their glasses. ‘And to the success of our parties.’

      They clinked their glasses together as the doorbell rang. Annie tweaked up Frank and deftly removed the covers from the food. The ambience was good, with candles on the mantelpiece and soft side lights, and lovely comfy seats. She looked around and nodded with satisfaction.

      ‘First client,’ she said, as she heard Chris opening the door. There was a pause. Chris was taking the client’s coat and accepting payment. They drank and pasted smiles on their faces as the first punter came into the front room.

      ‘Hello,’ said Annie brightly, extending a hand to the gentleman, one of Ellie’s older regulars, and putting on her best posh voice. All right, she knew it wasn’t her. She had her roots and was never going to deny them. But this was business. The punters would expect a lady, and if that was what they wanted, that’s what they’d get. ‘How lovely to see you again. Come and sit down.’

      The party was on.

      Annie sat at the kitchen table next morning and reviewed the situation. She was not as unshockable as she’d thought. The party had gone with a swing, but it wasn’t a tea, dinner or bloody wine-and-cheese party with one of those new-fangled fondue sets at the centre of the table for dipping. It was a sex party, and the twenty-four gentlemen (she had anticipated twelve, tops) who had shown up had expected some pretty lively entertainment to be on offer.

      Dolly had soon proved her worth. Dolly could take on three men without even drawing breath. And Aretha had quickly provided a large proportion of their public-school gents with what they craved, which was to be tied up, handcuffed, blindfolded and soundly thrashed while she wore a selection of open-crotch panties and cut-out bras. Darren had set to and serviced the gentlemen who craved male rather than female attentions, and Ellie with her gentle wheedling ways was a favourite with the older gents who might take just a little longer over their fun.

      Throughout all this Annie had kept a straight face and dispensed drinks and food to keep the revellers nourished while they played. Chris, equally po-faced, had kept a discreet eye out for people getting too drunk or abusive, but everyone behaved themselves. Chris,