Jessie Keane - Ruthless

The fifth book in the Annie Carter series, 2013

London, 1980

Annie Carter swept into the Ritz Hotel in Piccadilly with a determined stride and a face like thunder. Heads turned and conversations stopped mid-sentence. She was wearing a black power suit, big gold earrings, shoulder pads out to here, and killer heels. She was tall anyway, but the heels took her up to six feet. Her thick chocolate-brown hair was bouncing loose on her shoulders and her eyes, dark green and flashing with barely repressed emotion, said Dont fuck with me. Her red-painted lips were set in a grim, irritated line as she was led in under the high gilded cupola of the Palm Court by a doorman dressed in a brass-buttoned tailcoat and white tie.

Dolly Farrell, former Limehouse madam and currently manager of the Palermo, one of three clubs owned by Max Carter Annies husband was already waiting at their table. Dolly saw her old mate sweeping in like the wrath of God and thought that you would never know in a million years that Annie Carter had come from nothing. Now, she looked rich to the tips of her fingers. She also looked seriously pissed off.

Uh-oh, thought Dolly. What now?

She half-rose from her dainty gold Dior chair, the words of greeting dying on her lips as Annie walked straight up to the table and slapped a brown envelope down upon the pristine napery, rattling the glasses and knocking the cutlery askew.

Well, there it is then, said Annie, planting her hands on her hips and glaring around as if she was mad at the entire world. Which she was. Mad enough to spit. Thats it. Done. Finished.

Dolly looked from Annies face to the envelope and back again. Slowly, she sank into her chair.

The decree absolute? she guessed.

No, Ive won the pools. Of course its the decree absolute. I am officially, as of this moment, divorced from Max bloody Carter.

If madam would care to sit? asked the waiter, pulling out a chair for her.

Annie sat down. He placed a napkin in her lap and discreetly withdrew. The other diners averted their eyes, resumed their conversations.

Get me some champagne or something, moaned Annie, slumping with elbows on the table and head in hands. Lets celebrate.

Annie dragged her hands through her hair and looked up at her friends face. Her mouth was trembling. Dolly thought that if this was any other woman of her acquaintance, they would break down and cry their heart out at this point. But not Annie Carter. Tough as old boots, that was her. Impervious to hurt. Ex-madam, once ruler of the streets around the East End, once true Mafia queen. Now a divorcee.

Dolly gazed at her. You dont like champagne, she pointed out. She knew Annie didnt drink alcohol or have any tolerance for it. And you know what? You dont look much like celebrating, either.

No? Annie gave a harsh laugh. Well, maybe its time I started.

The waiter returned.

Tea for us both, said Dolly, and he went off to fetch it.

Annie was staring at the envelope. I cant believe it, she said faintly.

I thought it was what you wanted, said Dolly.

No, what I wanted was for him to stop behaving like a jealous manipulative arsehole, thought Annie. And instead, I got this.

So what happens next? asked Dolly when Annie didnt answer. She had watched this, the war between Annie and Max, escalating over several years. The arguments, the confrontations, then the courts, the decree nisi. Now it looked as though the final shot had been fired.

Hes moving out, said Annie, struggling to keep her voice steady. Hes at the Holland Park house as we speak, getting the last of his things together.

So youre keeping the house?

Of course Im keeping the house. Its my bloody house.

Wheres he going then?

Hes got the place in Barbados, hell go there.

Dolly nodded. Their tea arrived, along with scones, jam, cream, tiny chocolate cakes, finger sandwiches and raspberry Bakewell tarts. Annie looked at it all, so lovely, so appetizing, and felt sick.

I never wanted this, she said, poking the envelope with her finger. I just wanted She faltered to a halt.

What? prompted Dolly.

Annie shrugged. How could she bear to go over it all again? To explain that her visits to Annies nightclub in Times Square, New York, had been viewed with extreme suspicion by Max. Shed been so proud of the club, so pleased with it, it was hers and hers alone. But he had killed her pleasure in it. Every time she went over there, he behaved as though she was betraying him in some way and was cold to her for days after. It was maddening. He travelled on business, and you didnt catch her behaving like a moron.

You know what finally finished it for me? He had me followed, Annie said. It was this time last year.

Dolly stared in surprise. What? You didnt tell me that.

Im telling you now. It was in New York. I had a feeling I was being watched. Then I caught this bloke trailing me. I grabbed him. It was a private detective, Max had hired him. He seriously thought I was having an affair.

For fucks sake, said Dolly, too fascinated to even start in on the cakes. Her eyes narrowed. Oh, wait. Not Alberto Barolli?

Annie nodded and heaved a sigh. Yeah. He thought I was having an affair with Alberto and he had some private dick trailing me, for Gods sake. I was that mad at him, Doll. Im his wife. If he couldnt trust me, what was the point? So when I got back to England, I faced him down about it. And I totally lost it. I said if he couldnt take my word as the truth, wed better end it.

Shit.

And you know what that son of a bitch said to me? Annies eyes were flaring with temper. He said, Fine. Then youll be free to fuck whoever you damned well like.

Dolly winced in sympathy. And what about Layla?

Annie gulped hard. This was the most awful part. Layla was a daddys girl, she adored her father. Shed always run to Max rather than to Annie, which hurt. But Laylas schooling at Westminster was at a crucial point and she couldnt relocate to Barbados with her dad, it just wasnt practical.

Laylas staying with me, said Annie.

And how does she feel about all this?

How do you think she feels? snapped Annie. Then she shook her head. Sorry, Doll. Didnt mean to take it out on you. Its just been so hard. Shes devastated. Of course she is. And Im public enemy number one as far as shes concerned. Her dad can do no wrong.

Shell come round, said Dolly, reaching across and patting Annies hand.

I dont know. All I know is I couldnt go on that way. What did he want to do, keep me in a cage or something? I have business in New York.

But Albertos there, said Dolly. And she knew everyone knew that Annie and the Mafia boss Alberto Barolli went way back. There had been times when Dolly herself had wondered about the closeness of their relationship. Not that she would ever tell Annie that. Have some tea, she said.

Why not? asked Annie, although she thought it might choke her.

She had an hour to kill, and then hed be gone. Then shed go home, wait for Layla to come in from school, try and console her if she could. And somehow, after that, she was going to have to carry on, to salvage something from the train wreck of her life.

Talk about the best-laid plans, though. Her plan had been to meet Dolly at the Ritz as arranged, give it at least an hour; that would be ample time for him to get the hell out of her house. But no. When she opened the front door at Holland Park, there was Maxs overnight bag and suitcase still in the hall and from the study, there came the sound of Layla crying.