Dolly shrugged. They’d already had this conversation, and she’d told Shirley that she needed to start pulling her weight, but despite saying how bad she felt about it, Shirley’s lack of interest was obvious. She hadn’t even shown much surprise when they’d told her what they’d found at the lock-up. Dolly could feel Shirley drawing away. Any time now, she was sure, Shirley would come right out and say that she didn’t want any part of it. But it wouldn’t make any difference: she was part of it — and that was that.
Dolly just smiled and turned to go.
‘Dolly...’ Shirley was holding up her precious bath oil. ‘Can you have a word with Bella? Just tell her if she wants some, then buy her own? It’s not cheap, this stuff.’
Bath oil, Dolly thought, resisting the urge to slap Shirley there and then. With everything going on, she’s worried about bleedin’ bath oil.
Micky doused himself with cologne and checked himself in the full-length mirror. He wished he’d bought that long white silk scarf, but he hadn’t had time; Harry had him running here, there and everywhere. He glanced at his watch. Harry was probably already at the club. Better get a move on and pick her up. He’d told Harry he was bringing the model girl for him to give her the once-over but all he’d got for his pains was a brief nod, before Harry had returned to his notepad. Always jotting down notes was Harry. It was like working with a bleeding reporter.
Dolly washed up the cups and placed them on the draining board. Time to go. Just as she picked up her bag, the doorbell rang. Bella was on her feet, but Dolly put a hand on her arm to stop her.
‘Best if he doesn’t see us,’ she said quietly. They moved toward the kitchen as Shirley came down the stairs in a short evening dress, with a wrap and handbag.
‘Don’t ask him in, just go,’ Dolly told her, as she shut the kitchen door.
Shirley frowned. Dolly and her damned orders! This was her house for God’s sake! She’d been planning on sharing a cocktail with Micky before they left. She made a face and opened the front door.
Through the kitchen door Bella and Dolly heard Shirley laughing, then the deeper tones of a man. As the front door closed, they raced out of the kitchen and into the lounge, leaving the lights off. They rushed to the window like two nosey old biddies. Bella flicked the curtains aside.
Micky was just closing Shirley’s passenger door. He walked round to the driver’s side and got in.
‘I didn’t get a proper look at his face,’ Bella said. ‘How about you?’
Dolly, leaning over Bella, shook her head.
‘What sort of car’s that?’ Bella asked.
‘Not sure, but it’s very flash. Tell you one thing: Shirley seems to be doing all right for herself.’ As Dolly made her way out of the darkened room, she banged into the coffee table and knocked over an ornament. She swore. Bella picked it up. The Balloon Seller was now minus a couple of balloons.
Bella laughed. ‘Always said you were a ball-breaker, Dolly.’
Micky helped Shirley into her safety belt, kissed her on the neck and ran his hand down her thigh.
‘I’ve missed you, darlin’.’
She giggled, feeling herself respond to him. She would have liked him to touch her some more, but he just gave her thigh one gentle squeeze then started the car. As they drove away, Shirley could smell his cologne, the scent even stronger than usual. Micky kept his eyes on the road; since Murphy had given him a ticking off, he’d taken more care with his driving. He could feel her looking at him and gave her a smile. When they stopped at traffic lights, he took his hand off the gear stick and stroked her leg again.
‘So where are we going?’ she asked, as the lights changed to green and they moved off again.
‘Arnie Fisher’s club. You know it?’
Shirley blinked. Arnie Fisher? She turned to look at Micky. He was still smiling; he clearly hadn’t registered her shocked expression.
‘You know the place? Little club up west?’
Shirley kept her voice calm and looked out of the window. ‘Yeah, I’ve heard of it. Never been, though.’ A warning bell was ringing in her head, and suddenly the smell of Micky’s cologne made her feel sick.
Dolly and Bella shut the front door behind them and walked to Dolly’s car.
Bella was shaking her head as Dolly put the car in gear and pulled out. ‘I can’t believe she said that about the bath oil!’
‘If I was her, I’d be more worried about all my crockery getting smashed.’ Dolly laughed.
‘Not to mention her ornaments!’ Bella added.
Neither woman noticed Vic Morgan’s car pull out after them.
Sonny Chizzel’s car, with Sadie driving, was just pulling out of their smart St. John’s Wood apartment block when Fuller and Reynolds arrived in the patrol car, blocking the exit. Fuller got out and peered through the driver’s window. He was surprised to see Sonny was wearing an evening suit, with Sadie also done up to the nines.
‘Going somewhere nice?’ he asked, tapping the window.
‘If you lot will get out of the way, yeah,’ Sonny replied testily.
Fuller frowned. ‘I’m sorry to spoil your evening, Sonny, but I’d like you to come down the station. I’ve got a few more questions for you.’
‘I’ve said everything I’m going to say. Unless you’ve got an arrest warrant, you can whistle.’
Fuller pulled out the warrant with a flourish. ‘This do, Sonny?’
Sonny paled visibly.
‘Get out of the car, Sonny. There’s a good lad.’
Chizzel bent over and kissed Sadie on the cheek, patting her shoulder. Fuller heard him say something about ‘sorting out these wankers.’ Fuller opened the door and yanked Sonny out of the car.
Colin Soal had been arguing with his wife all evening. First she’d complained that she hadn’t had enough warning — she would have liked to have gone to the hairdressers at least. Then she had taken her moth-eaten old wrap out of the wardrobe and complained she had nothing to wear. Along with the moth-eaten fur came all the old nagging.
Ten years ago he had cheated on her with a cocktail waitress, a leggy blonde with big tits. He was only away for the weekend, and he had come home with his tail between his legs after the waitress’s boyfriend had given him a thrashing. Muriel had bathed his cuts and bruises, swallowing his story about being mugged in Brighton on one of his business trips. Until someone had informed her otherwise, and then she went ballistic. Colin had never lived it down. Any argument always ended up revisiting that one miserable weekend in Brighton.
And now it was being thrown in his face yet again. If they ever had any money, she chided him that he would no doubt prefer to throw it at some cheap barmaid, rather than give his wife a decent thing to wear. The row continued all the way to Arnie’s club, his wife driving and the Mini rattling along to the sound of her droning voice. As they pulled up, Colin got straight out and took a breath of air.
‘Oh, thank you very much, yes, I can park it, no, I don’t need your help,’ she called out sarcastically.
Colin was about to get in again when she roared off in first gear.
Arnie stood at the club’s entrance. He looked as if he was sweating.
‘You seen Murphy? He hasn’t shown. Not that havin’ him on the door does me any favors. I’ve got my regular punters to think of. How’re they going to feel coming out for a good knees-up, and they can’t get into their own club? Some ape on the door telling you to piss off home?’
Colin thought what a wonderful couple his wife and Arnie would make, but then remembered Arnie’s preferences were on the other side. Now his wife came marching round the corner, mouth in a thin, tight line. She whipped off her stole and tossed it to Arnie.