The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4. Jessie Keane

      ‘Hours – couldn’t sleep.’

      ‘Dolly wouldn’t say what had gone on. She said we ought not to talk about it to you.’

      ‘Dolly’s right, there’s nothing to say.’

      ‘Nothing at all?’

      ‘Look at the painting, Darren, don’t you think that says everything?’

      Good old Dolly. She knew how to keep quiet, thank God. She might have a mouth on her like the Blackwall tunnel, but she knew when discretion was needed. Jesus, it was needed now. No one could know about Celia. Hadn’t the poor cow suffered enough? God knew what Max would do to her if he found out she’d come back, Annie knew all too well what he was capable of.

      Still, Annie could scarcely believe that he’d trashed the painting. Slit it wide open with a knife, by the look at it. She thought of Celia’s missing hand. Of Kieron. Max seemed convinced this had something to do with Kieron.

      ‘Oh fuck,’ she moaned, and put her head in her hands.

      ‘It’ll all work out,’ said Darren, patting her shoulder.

      ‘Yeah?’ Annie dropped her hands and glared at him. ‘How, exactly? It’s a total bloody mess, and I’ve got no one to blame but myself.’

      ‘You sorry you left him?’

      Annie thought of lying in bed with Max. All right, he was a man. Mum – God rest her, the poor cow – had told both her daughters over and over that men were bastards, that all they needed was a hole to stick it in and they were happy. But it had been different with Max and her. There had been passion, yes, but there had also been laughter, and Annie believed that she had got closer to Max Carter over the last month or so than anyone else had in a long while.

      Maybe she had just been kidding herself, because just look – he’d done this. He was behaving like any other thwarted male, raging about the place destroying things and threatening revenge.

      ‘I’m not sorry I left him,’ said Annie dully. ‘There was nothing else I could do.’

      ‘Then you’ve got to pick yourself up and move your life on again,’ said Darren.

      That easy. Annie sat there and felt like a puppet with its strings cut.

      She stood up. ‘I’m going back to bed,’ she said.

      Darren watched her go. Christ, this wasn’t the Annie Bailey he knew.

      Annie had managed to sleep for an hour or so when Aretha knocked on her bedroom door. Annie lifted her head from the pillow and squinted up at her.

      ‘Fuck, girl, you look rough,’ said Aretha.

      ‘Thanks,’ said Annie.

      ‘You got Mr Big on the phone. Wants to talk to you.’

      Annie shot upright. ‘Max?’

      ‘Redmond Delaney.’

      Annie hauled herself out of bed, wrapped herself in the expensive turquoise silk dressing gown Max had bought her, and crawled downstairs. Chris was there in the corner. He nodded at her and went back to his paper. Dolly and Darren and Ellie were in the kitchen, chatting. Everything was as if she’d never left.

      ‘Hello?’

      ‘Miss Bailey,’ said Redmond’s cool, calm voice. ‘Are you well?’

      Annie drew in a quivering breath. ‘Fine.’

      ‘I heard you’d come back,’ he said.

      ‘Yeah.’

      ‘Are you going to stay?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘Do you want to stay?’

      ‘I don’t know that either.’

      ‘Only there could be difficulties. Miss Farrell’s in charge now, she’s doing well.’

      Annie had to think for a moment. Who the fuck was Miss Farrell? Of course. Dolly. Dolly had settled into her job as Madam and Redmond didn’t want her treading on Dolly’s toes.

      ‘I know,’ she said.

      ‘You sound very tired.’

      It was simply an observation, but Annie’s eyes filled with unexpected tears.

      ‘Yeah,’ she said.

      ‘I heard about Kieron’s painting,’ said Redmond.

      ‘Yeah. Sorry.’

      ‘Not your fault. Take care.’ And the line went dead.

      Annie wandered through to the kitchen. Conversation stopped. Then Dolly piped up: ‘What did he say?’ There was an edge of unease in her voice.

      ‘Nothing much.’

      ‘You look like shit, Annie Bailey,’ said Dolly a touch unkindly.

      While she looked great. Annie thought that Dolly had never in her life looked so good. So polished, so elegant. How the tables are turned, she thought, how the mighty have fallen. Dolly looked like the cover of a magazine, and she, Annie Bailey, formerly queen of this establishment, looked – yes, Dolly was right – like shit.

      ‘You poor thing. Sit down and have some tea and toast,’ said Ellie, a little too sweetly.

      Annie sat and exchanged a look with Darren. Ellie was hedging her bets. Annie was back, and she might kick Dolly out of pole position as lady boss. It might pay to suck up. Ellie could get a degree in sucking up, she was that good at it.

      The painting was gone, Annie noticed. Someone had put it away, out of sight. Stuffed it in a cupboard or something. Not that she cared. They could burn the bloody thing for her. It represented another time, a time she’d rather be allowed to forget.

      ‘He didn’t say anything about this place, did he?’ asked Dolly.

      Annie looked at her and Dolly looked away. Annie knew what she was thinking – that Annie intended to take over the reins of command here again, and maybe Redmond was going to put Annie back in charge over Dolly’s head.

      ‘He didn’t say much,’ said Annie.

      Dolly’s eyes moved back and locked with hers for a moment.

      ‘Fine,’ she said, and stood up. She clapped her hands. ‘Come on then, troops. Let’s get this place tidy, the punters will be arriving soon.’

      Of course, thought Annie. Friday. Party day. Ellie put her tea and toast in front of her and she was left alone at the table. She took a bite, but couldn’t eat the rest. She drank some tea. Then she went out into the hall and back up the stairs. Fuck it, this was no use, she couldn’t go on like this.

      She took a bath, washed her hair, got dressed. There was music coming from the front room, and people were laughing and talking. Maybe this was just what she needed.

      She went back downstairs. Chris was at his station. Ellie was servicing an elderly gentleman on a chair just inside the front-room door, jumping up and down on the poor chap fit to break his brittle old bones, but he seemed to be enjoying it. Two whores she didn’t know were rolling about on the sofa with three men who looked like barristers or High Court judges. Probably Aretha was at work upstairs in her room, strapping another poor twisted soul into the Punishment Chair. And Darren didn’t much care for an audience while he performed, so he was probably upstairs too with some outwardly respectable gentleman who preferred to take it up the arse. Dolly was doling out drinks as Brian mixed and served, and passing around canapés. She looked up when Annie entered the room and her smile tightened.

      ‘I thought I’d come down and lend a hand,’ said Annie, feeling suddenly awkward. Maybe this was not such a good idea after all. Dolly looked miffed, although she was trying to hide it.

      ‘There’s