The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4. Jessie Keane

otherwise. Perhaps it was best to be on the safe side after all.

      Redmond Delaney’s call came at four o’clock that afternoon. Everything was cleared and ready for the evening’s trade, Annie had luxuriated in a hot, deep bath, she’d got over the jitters. Wrapped in her thick towelling dressing gown, she came downstairs from her room at Chris’ call and picked up the phone.

      ‘Mr Delaney,’ she said as Chris shook out his paper and took his usual seat in the corner by the front door. ‘Are you keeping well?’

      ‘Very well, Miss Bailey,’ said Redmond. ‘And you?’

      ‘I’m good, Mr Delaney. Thank you.’

      ‘And how is business?’ he asked.

      ‘Thriving,’ said Annie. She considered mentioning the fires, but thought better of it. Her relationship with Redmond was strictly formal. She knew that any hint of familiarity would be met with a sharp rebuff.

      ‘The barman is satisfactory?’

      ‘Brian’s perfect, Mr Delaney.’ And I’m paying his wages out of my profits, thought Annie. But she couldn’t complain. The profits were bloody good. ‘I shall need more girls for the next party.’

      ‘I’ll put the word round,’ said Redmond.

      ‘Only nice girls,’ said Annie. ‘Presentable and clean and experienced.’

      ‘Exactly so,’ said Redmond.

      ‘Maybe six?’

      ‘Six it shall be,’ said Redmond. ‘Goodbye, Miss Bailey.’

      ‘Goodbye, Mr Delaney,’ said Annie, and started to put the phone down.

      ‘Oh, Miss Bailey?’ said Redmond.

      ‘Yes, Mr Delaney?’

      ‘I hope I shall see you at Kieron’s exhibition on Saturday night?’

      Annie nearly dropped the phone. ‘Well … yes,’ she said in surprise.

      She hadn’t planned to go, but she supposed she ought to put in an appearance, if only to give Kieron a bit of a boost. She was amazed that Redmond had mentioned it. This was surely crossing the line into informality. That wasn’t like him.

      ‘I look forward to it,’ said Redmond, and the line went dead.

      ‘Blimey,’ said Annie.

      ‘Problem?’ asked Chris.

      ‘No, not at all. Just Redmond Delaney being nice to me.’

      Chris smiled and returned his attention to his paper. Annie put a call through to Kieron.

      ‘Listen, am I invited to this shindig on Saturday? This exhibition thingy?’ she asked.

      ‘Of course you are, if you want to come. I didn’t think you would.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because you’ve been such a reluctant sitter!’ barked Kieron. ‘Jaysus, you’ve acted right the way through as if I was trying to sell you into white slavery instead of painting your ruddy picture. I thought you’d hate to see the thing hung on a wall.’

      ‘Sorry,’ said Annie.

      ‘Apology accepted. Come as my guest, I’ll pick you up at eight, will that do you?’

      ‘Hadn’t you planned to take anyone else?’

      ‘No, I hadn’t. I’m a working artist, I haven’t time to be chasing girls all around the town, you’ll be doing me a favour. How about it then?’

      ‘Okay,’ said Annie. ‘Saturday at eight.’

      After she’d put the phone down she realized that she hadn’t talked to Kieron about the fires, either. Ah, it was just as well. What would she say about it anyway? She didn’t want to go treading on dangerous ground. She didn’t want to know more than she knew already.

       27

      Toby Taylor was bricking it with excitement. He had never seen so many faces in one room at the same time. The Delaney twins had come to the opening, and the Regans were in with all their heavy friends. The Foremans of Battersea had already bought up several of Kieron Delaney’s paintings out of respect to their Delaney colleagues. The Nash family were in too, and some of the real hard, heavy boys from New York, the Barolli lot. And the Kray twins. Fucking good job Eddie and Charlie Richardson had been nicked, because they had been mixing it with the Krays, which wasn’t wise.

      ‘Christ,’ said Toby, mincing around the gallery with his long-term boyfriend Paolo. Vivaldi’s Four Seasons was emanating discreetly from the expensive sound system. ‘You can smell the testosterone in the air, can’t you sweetie?’

      Paolo nodded. He didn’t share his older lover’s taste for danger. These people looked like they could cut up rough in an instant. He didn’t like it. Toby was a silly old queen, prancing around arse-licking to these people. Paolo thought that Toby was a joke with his spare tyre straining to get out of his pink floral shirt and his stupid toupee slipping sideways on his billiard ball of a head. Toby was sweating with excitement as the crowds grew thicker. The noise level rose with each bottle of Moët that was opened.

      ‘Darling, sweetie,’ said Toby as they stumbled across Kieron and Annie. ‘Mwah, mwah.’ Toby air-kissed either side of Annie’s head. ‘Don’t you look absolutely stunning, what a wicked dress. Have you seen it? Have you seen it?’

      It was very hard to miss, thought Annie. She’d been gob-smacked when she’d walked through the double doors at the front of the gallery and been instantly confronted by the painting of herself in the nude. It was placed at the centre of the landing above the big, double, open-tread staircase, cunningly lit and impossible to overlook. It made all Kieron’s other work, the beautiful African landscapes and the finely detailed wild-life studies, fade into insignificance. Everyone had seen it.

      ‘I’ve seen it,’ said Annie.

      ‘And aren’t you thrilled with it?’ demanded Toby, clutching clammily at her hand with his beringed and pudgy digits.

      ‘It’s very impressive,’ said Annie.

      ‘She hates it,’ said Kieron with a laugh.

      ‘I don’t hate it,’ said Annie. ‘I just feel a bit, well, exposed.’

      ‘But this is Art,’ said Paolo in his charming Italian-accented English. ‘It is an honour to be the subject of such an artist.’

      ‘You won’t convince her,’ said Kieron. He chucked Annie under the chin. ‘Cheer up, Annie. I’ll go and get us another drink.’

      Toby and Paolo took themselves off to mingle with Ronnie and Reggie. Annie went and looked at a painting of a snarling tiger. Anything rather than look at the painting that was capturing everyone else’s attention.

      ‘Gorgeous, isn’t she,’ she heard.

      ‘Fantastic tits.’

       Oh Jesus!

      Annie moved further out of earshot. She was glad she’d chosen her discreet black dress and pearls to wear this evening. Like camouflage, it enabled her to move a bit more freely among the patrons and their wives and girlfriends. Not many of the women praised her tits, she noticed. They tended to admire the brush strokes and the texture of the paint rather than the jugs on the sitter.

      ‘There you are.’ Kieron was back with two brimming champagne flutes. ‘What are you doing, hiding away over here? Why not get behind that cheese plant there and have done with it?’

      Annie gave him a whack in the stomach. She wished they’d put something