'Why don't you come back to bed, love? We've got some unfinished business to attend to.'
And she had, too, something which when she thought about it now made her cringe with shame. They'd made love again twice, and all the time she couldn't stop thinking about the security guard lying in a hospital bed connected to a load of tubes while his family sat round him, waiting for news. But Jimmy . . . Jimmy had forgotten him already. The whole thing was simply business to him, nothing more and nothing less.
After they'd finished, he got a call on his mobile and went out of the room, talking quietly. He returned a few minutes later, saying he had to go out. He was still acting casually, but she could tell he was tense.
And that's when she came out with it.
'You didn't have anything to do with yesterday, did you, Jimmy? You know, that robbery where the guard got hurt?'
'Course I didn't,' he answered, but she could tell that she'd rattled him. It was something in his eyes.
She looked at his hand. The handkerchief was gone now, but the knuckles were dark with bruises. He glanced down at them as well, then back at her. This time his expression had changed. There was a darkness in it.
'Why'd you think that?'
She immediately regretted asking. What, after all, was the point? He was always going to deny it.
'I don't know. I . . .' She stopped, not sure how to finish the sentence.
'I told you, I work in the building trade.'
She nodded. 'Sure, Jimmy.'
He came over to the side of the bed.
'Don't I treat you right or something?'
'Course you do,' she answered, feeling a little uneasy, not liking the way he was looking at her.
He crouched down so they were level, the smile he was giving her devoid of any warmth, his dark eyes boring into her.
'You know, I like you a lot, Andrea. I think we could do real well together. That's why I bought you the necklace.' He paused, touching the emerald heart. 'But don't go asking silly questions, all right? About stuff that doesn't concern you.' The fingers of his good hand stroked her cheek tenderly but she felt herself tensing under the touch. The truth was, she was scared. 'Because otherwise . . .' He wrapped a lock of her hair round his middle finger. 'Otherwise we're going to fall out. Understand?'
She nodded.
'And I don't want that to happen. Because I like you. I really do.'
She felt a sharp pang of pain as he yanked the lock of hair, and she cried out. Immediately he let go, his lips parted in a pleasant, loving smile that almost made her think she'd imagined what had just happened. He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips, before pulling back.
'I've really got to go, luv. I'll call you later. Let yourself out, OK?'
And that was that. Chucking on some clothes, he'd left her there alone, wondering what on earth she'd got herself into.
She should have finished it there and then, of course. Someone who could beat and kick an innocent man to within an inch of his life and then, an hour later, come back home as if nothing had happened and make love to his girlfriend clearly had no conscience. And already he was exerting his dominance over her. If he could pull her hair like that, it wouldn't be much of a jump to hitting her. She didn't need this. She had a husband, a man who looked after and cared for her. It wasn't as if she was one of those women who put up with abusive partners because they had no self-esteem. Andrea knew she was a good looking woman. She'd always been able to attract men.
But she hadn't finished it. To her eternal regret. And now, years later, Jimmy Galante was back, staring at money that she, Andrea, had worked so hard to earn. And she still feared him, although in her current situation she feared not having him around even more.
He drank from the tumbler of whisky she'd poured for him and looked over with one of his mocking smiles.
'Half a million quid, eh, Andrea? Who'd have thought you'd ever have that kind of money.'
'I always did,' she answered firmly.
'You know,' he said, watching her over the rim of the glass, 'I've been following your progress over the years. I'm impressed by how far you've come, living in a nice, big, flash pad like this.' He gestured vaguely with an arm.
'Money isn't everything, Jimmy.'
'It is when you ain't got none.'
'I'm sure you manage. You don't look like you're starving.'
'You think there's money out in Spain? There's fuck all. I get by, that's all.'
He sounded bitter, which was Jimmy all over. Andrea had no sympathy. No one had ever given her anything. She'd had to go out and graft for it and had proved that you could be successful if you were willing to put in the sweat and the tears. No one had ever given Jimmy anything, either. He'd grown up in a Hackney council flat, with damp on the walls and cockroaches in the grime encrusted spaces behind the cheap, flimsy kitchen units. The difference was that he hadn't wanted to work, and had taken what wasn't his, and by any means necessary. His fly-by-night lifestyle might have been exciting to her once, but she was young then. Now it simply depressed her that she'd ever fallen for his charms.
Andrea changed the subject. 'If you've been following my progress all these years, you must have known I had a daughter.'
He nodded. 'Yeah, I did.'
'And it never occurred to you that Emma might have been yours?'
He shrugged. 'No, it didn't. I mean, let's face it, babe, you weren't exactly whiter than white where men were concerned, were you?'
It was a cheap shot, but she let it go.
'I mean, she doesn't exactly look like me, does she?' he continued.
'She doesn't exactly look like me either, Jimmy, but I can tell you with total and utter certainty that she's mine.' She paused. 'And yours.'
He nodded, conceding the point, then once again his eyes drifted down towards the holdall of money. 'I'm looking forward to meeting her,' he said, but his tone was vague and it was clear his attention was focused elsewhere.
'You'll love her,' said Andrea quietly, feeling a sudden and terrible longing for her daughter. Tears stung at her eyes. She'd held it together so well today, but now, more than thirty-six hours since she'd last seen and touched Emma, the grim reality of her situation once again took her in its grip.
And there was something else, too. Could she really trust Jimmy?
The phone rang. The landline. It startled her.
She and Jimmy exchanged glances. She got to her feet, walked out into the hallway and picked up the receiver.
'Hello?'
'Mum?'
Relief and shock soared through her. It was Emma. Her Emma!
'Darling, oh God, is that you?'
'Yeah, it's me.'
'Are you OK, baby? Is everything OK?' Tears were streaming down her face, but she didn't care. She was just ecstatic to be hearing her daughter's voice.