The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4. Jessie Keane

with no arms, God bless her. How are you, Annie? Long time no see.’

      ‘I’m fine,’ said Annie. ‘And you?’

      ‘Yeah, fine. Busy, you know. Planning another exhibition. Landscapes this time, though. No nudes.’

      ‘Thank God for that.’

      ‘Ah, you enjoyed getting into your pelt for me, don’t deny it,’ he twinkled.

      ‘I hated every minute of it,’ said Annie truthfully.

      ‘It was a great exhibition.’

      ‘Did you sell the lot?’

      ‘Everything! Even the stuff I thought I’d have to hang on my own walls.’

      Annie laughed. Kieron thought how beautiful she was, exquisitely groomed and seeming almost to glow. But it was a lost opportunity. He had heard from Redmond that she had some sort of serious romantic involvement now. When pressed, Redmond had said that he’d heard Annie was involved with her sister’s husband. Sure, hadn’t Kieron always suspected that particular fire was still smouldering away? So she was with Max Carter now. He’d missed his chance with her. His taste for playing the light-hearted joker had backfired on him. He was mad as hell about it, if you wanted the truth.

      ‘I heard,’ he said carefully, ‘that you have a boyfriend now.’

      ‘That could be the case,’ said Annie reluctantly.

      ‘I also heard that it’s Max Carter.’

      Annie shrugged.

      ‘I heard he’s keeping you, actually,’ said Kieron, growing annoyed at her evasiveness.

      ‘I have an apartment on Park Street,’ said Annie.

      ‘Right, right.’ Kieron felt furious now. He had expected better from her somehow. He knew how much she loved her sister. How the fuck could she do a thing like this to the poor cow? ‘And how many banks did he have to rob to pay for that?’ he asked her.

      Annie’s smile faded. She turned on her heel and started to walk away. Kieron grabbed her arm. Donny was there in a flash and grabbed his.

      ‘Fuck it,’ said Kieron, wincing. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Don’t just walk off, I’m sorry.’

      ‘It’s okay, Donny,’ said Annie, and once again Donny dropped him like an obedient attack hound.

      ‘Jeez, that hurt,’ said Kieron, rubbing his arm.

      ‘No more than you deserved,’ said Annie, as Donny moved away again.

      ‘I’m just surprised, that’s all. Fuck it, I’m more than that. I’m appalled.’

      ‘I love him, Kieron.’

      ‘He’s married to your sister,’ said Kieron.

      ‘The marriage is dead.’

      ‘Oh, come on! They all say that, don’t they? My wife doesn’t understand me, we don’t sleep together any more, we have separate rooms, poor little me, won’t you let me jump your bones?’

      ‘Donny,’ said Annie, ‘hit him. Hit him hard.’

      Donny lumbered over. Kieron backed off. The customers milled around them, getting worried about all the aggro.

      ‘No, stop.’ Annie shook her head. ‘I didn’t mean that. Sorry, Donny.’

      Donny subsided.

      ‘Yeah, you great tame gorilla, give us some space here,’ said Kieron, braver now that Annie had given Donny the hard word.

      ‘You’ve got no right to comment on my personal life,’ said Annie.

      ‘I know, I know.’

      ‘Don’t ever do that again.’

      ‘I won’t. I was just …’ Kieron hesitated. He didn’t know what he’d been intending to say. That he’d been disappointed in her? Or jealous as fuck of Max bloody Carter?

      ‘You were just concerned for me, I know,’ said Annie.

      Or that, thought Kieron, maybe he’d been intending to say that. Whatever, it was too late now. She was committed elsewhere. Still, it galled him, niggled at him like a rash he had to scratch.

      ‘Hello?’

      It was Orla, gliding over, her green eyes bright with curiosity as she looked between Kieron and Annie. She smiled and held out a hand. Annie clocked the minder, ten paces behind her. She saw Donny clocking him too.

      ‘Annie Bailey! It’s good to see you again,’ said Orla.

      Annie shook Orla’s warm, dry hand in greeting.

      ‘I saw Kieron’s portrait of you, it’s wonderful.’

      ‘That’s down to the talent of the artist,’ said Annie.

      ‘And the beauty of the sitter, I’m sure,’ said Orla graciously. ‘Are you well, Annie?’

      Annie was starkly reminded of Redmond when Orla said that. Cool, polite Redmond. They were startlingly alike. She rather missed Redmond’s weekly phone calls. She hoped Dolly was nice to him when he phoned and minded her language a bit.

      ‘I’m very well. And you?’

      ‘Ah, fine. We ought to be getting along, Kieron, if you’re ready?’

      ‘Yeah, sure.’ Kieron took one last lingering look at Annie. ‘Goodbye then Annie. It was nice to see you, if slightly painful.’

      He grinned at her and she grinned back. His arm ached, just a bit. His heart ached too, quite a lot. But maybe he was still in with a chance.

       35

      All in all, Annie was pleased at how smoothly the switch had gone. She had moved into the apartment, Dolly had taken over in Limehouse. Dolly had panicked a bit at first, phoning her all the time with questions the daft bint already knew the answers to.

      Annie took her up West shopping for some suitable clothes. Nothing Dolly currently owned fitted the bill. Miniskirts short enough to show her rent book, long tarty PVC boots, low-necked tops, all that had to go. Dolly didn’t like it.

      ‘We all have to do things we don’t like in life, Dolly love,’ said Annie. For instance, I have to have a minder, she thought, as Donny trailed behind them like a bad smell.

      Annie ushered Dolly into posh Knightsbridge boutiques where the salesgirls looked at her like she was something they’d have to scrape off their shoes. No doubt about it, they had a point – Dolly looked like a tart. But when Annie showed them the money it was a different story. Suddenly they were all eager to please, they started acting like they were going to adopt Dolly and take her home.

      ‘Christ,’ she said as she wrestled, sweating, into yet another dress in the changing room. ‘All this fuss over a fucking frock.’

      ‘It’s not just a fucking frock,’ said Annie, pulling the costly thing straight and zipping Dolly up. She grabbed her shoulders from behind her and told her to look in the mirror. The oatmeal shift dress was tasteful, discreet, and it flattered Dolly’s blonde looks. ‘What do you think? You like?’

      Dolly screwed up her face. ‘I dunno.’

      ‘Well I do. And what I say goes. So we’ll take this one, and the navy, and the pale blue. We’ll get your hair sorted too.’

      ‘There’s nothing wrong with my fucking hair,’ said Dolly.

      ‘It needs cutting.’

      Dolly grabbed her flowing curly blonde locks in alarm. ‘You’re not cutting my fucking hair