"Present company excepted, of course," she added. That set them off again, giggling and hugging each other.
Donovan sat with an amused smile on his face until the girls stopped laughing. They were both pretty and he could imagine them making a good living from the clubs. Louise was wearing a Gap sweatshirt and baggy jeans but her figure was clearly as impressive as Kris's full breasts, long legs and a trim waist. Both girls had bright red nail varnish on their fingernails, but whereas Kris had full make-up, Louise had no lipstick or mascara. She looked as if she'd just got out of bed; totally natural, and even with the tearful eyes, thought Donovan, drop-dead gorgeous.
"Can I see the letters?" Donovan asked Louise.
She frowned at him, lowering her chin so that she was looking at him through her dark fringe, like a shy schoolgirl.
"Why?"
"Just want to see what sort of nutter you're dealing with," said Donovan.
"Thing is, if he's not told the error of his ways, he might come back. And next time you might not get the chance to lock yourself in the bathroom."
"I don't know .. ." said Louise hesitantly.
"Let him help," said Kris.
Louise stood up and went over to a sideboard. She took out a sheaf of papers and handed them to Donovan. He flicked through them as Louise sat down next to Kris and sipped her tea. The letters were handwritten, a neat copperplate on good quality paper. A fountain pen rather than a ballpoint.
"How old is he, this guy?"
"Mid-forties, I guess."
Donovan nodded. The content of the letters was at odds with the presentation. They sounded like the adolescent ramblings of a lovesick teenager rather than the thoughts of a middle-aged man: he wanted to take care of her, he hated the job she did, the life she had. He wanted to take care of her. Protect her. And he wanted her love and devotion. At the top of each letter was the man's address. A house in Netting Hill.
He'd signed the letters "Nick'. With three kisses after it, the way a schoolgirl might sign a letter to a boy she had a crush on.
"What's his name?" asked Donovan.
"Nick Parker," she replied.
"What does he do?" he asked.
"Stockbroker or something. A banker, maybe. To be honest, Den, I hardly listened to him. He was a punter. I danced for him, he tipped me and bought me drinks. I didn't lead him on." She nodded at the letters.
"Not that way, anyway. I never led him to believe it was anything other than dancing. You know?"
Donovan handed the letters back to her.
"Yeah, I know." Donovan gestured at some pieces of broken pottery under a bookcase by the window.
"Did he do that?"
Louise nodded.
"Broke a few things. I cleared up some."
Donovan looked across at Kris.
"You've met this freak, yeah?"
"Yeah. Like Louise says, he seemed okay at first. Then he got a bit clingy. Glaring at anyone she talked to, bitching if she so much as looked at another punter while he was in the club."
"Okay." He finished his tea, then stood up.
"Do you want to give me a lift?" he asked Kris.
"Where to?"
Donovan gave her a tight smile. She knew where he wanted to go.
"Okay," she said.
Nick Parker's house was a two-storey cottage in one of the prettier roads in Netting Hill. Expensive, thought Donovan, as he climbed out of Kris's MGB. Not as expensive as Donovan's own home in Kensington, but easily worth a million pounds.
Kris got out of the car and stood next to Donovan as he looked up at bedroom windows.
"What are you going to do, Den?" she asked.
"I'm going to teach him a lesson," he said.
"And I'm here because .. . ?"
"Because I wouldn't want to teach the wrong guy a lesson," said Donovan.
"I'm not sure about this," she said hesitantly.
Donovan turned to look at her.
"Take it from me, if you let him get away with slapping a girl once, he'll keep on doing it."
Kris frowned.
"That sounds like the voice of experience," she said.
"My stepdad used to hit my mum. Way back when. I was too young to do anything at the time. I was only ten. By the time I was old enough to punch his lights out she was dead and I was in care."
"God, he killed her?"
Donovan shook his head.
"Nah. Cancer. But even when she was sick, it didn't stop him pushing her around." He looked back at the house.
"You've got to stand up to bullies, Kris." He walked towards the front door. It was painted a rich dark green with a brass knocker in the shape of a lion's head with a ring in its mouth. There was a doorbell to the left of the door but Donovan rapped with the knocker. Kris joined him on the doorstep. Donovan rapped again, three times.
The door opened wide. Nick Parker was middle aged and slightly overweight with a paunch held in by pinstripe trousers that seemed to be a size too small for him.
"Yes?" he said. His hair was thinning on top and he'd tried to conceal his bald spot with a comb-over.
"Is this him?" Donovan asked Kris. Kris nodded.
"What do you want?" Parker asked.
Donovan pushed him in the chest. Parker staggered back and Donovan rushed after him down the hallway. Kris followed him inside and closed the door. Framed pictures of hunting dogs lined the wall to his left and there was a huge gilt-framed mirror to the right. Donovan grabbed Parker's collar and flung him against the mirror. The glass cracked and pieces tinkled to the floor. Parker tried to speak but no words came out, just incoherent mumbling.
Donovan kept a grip on Parker's shirt collar and dragged him along the hallway. Parker scrambled along on all fours, choking. Donovan pulled him into the sitting room, then kicked him in the side. Parker fell on his back, gasping for breath.
Donovan looked around the room. The -windows overlooked the street, but there were net curtains so no one could see in. Two overstuffed sofas in a beige fabric sat on either side of a large Victorian black metal fireplace. The room was quite feminine with porcelain figurines in a glass cabinet and crystal vases full of flowers on side tables.
"Is he married?" asked Donovan.
"Divorced," said Kris, who was standing in the doorway, staring down at Parker.
"Wife left him a year or two back."
Parker rolled over on to his stomach and tried to get to his feet. Donovan leaned down, grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up on his knees, then dragged him across the carpet and slammed his head into the fireplace. Parker's nose crunched against the metal and blood streamed down his face.
"Please .. . no .. . no .. ." he stuttered.
Donovan kicked him in the ribs and felt a satisfying crack. Parker rolled up in a foetal ball.
"Den .. ." said Kris.
Donovan turned around and pointed a finger at her.
"Don't say anything," he said.
"Stay in the hall if you want, but this has to be done."
Kris put a hand over her mouth but stayed where she was. Donovan smiled at the look of horror on her face. It was a look he'd seen many times before on people unused to violence. Real violence. Not the sort they were used to on television or in the movies, but the real thing with treacly red blood and splintered cartilage and broken bones.
Donovan turned back to Parker, who was coughing and spluttering.
"Who are you?" Parker gasped.
Donovan stepped over him and pulled a brass poker off its stand at the edge of the fireplace. He hefted it in his hand. It was a solid, heavy piece of metal.
"My wallet's in the bedroom," said Parker.
"Take what you want." He tried to get up but all the strength had gone from his legs and he fell back on to the carpet.
"I don't want your money," said Donovan.