Dolly looked up from the papers she was checking. ‘All right, are you, Barry?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, dabbing at his shirt with his napkin. ‘I don’t think it’ll stain.’
Dolly went back to reading.
Sutcliffe jabbed at the custard with his spoon. ‘You know, Dolly, you’re outta your mind. Take those two betting shops — I coulda got another twenty grand for them, easy. It’s the wrong time to sell, sweetheart, how many times do I have to tell you? There was no need to do it all in one go.’
‘And how many times do I have to tell you, Barry,’ Dolly shot back, ‘this is what I want!’
‘Harry’ll turn in his grave,’ he muttered. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
Dolly ignored him and carried on going through the papers — signing, checking, signing, reading the small print.
Barry began scraping his bowl. ‘You’ve given away those betting shops, Dolly, when Harry—’
She looked up. ‘Well, with all your business acumen, I’m surprised you didn’t put a bid in for them yourself, Barry.’
He dropped his spoon. ‘Come on, do me a favor, Doll, you know that’s not my line. I’m just trying to guide you, darling, trying to help you do what your old man would’ve done.’
‘I’m handling it now, Barry. Not Harry — me.’
‘I know that, Dolly, I know that.’
She picked up one sheet of paper and began staring at it quizzically.
‘You remember about the house?’ he asked. ‘You know, the Chinese are willing to pay outright cash, but you’ve gotta get any stuff you want out of there by noon tomorrow.’
She nodded. ‘I know, I know. Don’t worry, it’ll be done.’
Sutcliffe tried to see what Dolly was reading. It looked like a bank statement. Even if she was giving it away, Dolly was still a very rich woman.
He waved a waiter over. ‘Want a brandy, Dolly? Port?’
She shook her head.
‘Gimme a Martell, large. You sure you don’t want one, Dolly?’
Again, she shook her head.
Sutcliffe lit up a fat cigar, then leaned across the table, blowing smoke into her face. ‘I believe Harry had a couple of accounts in Rio. Don’t know how much he had in ’em and I don’t know much about them. He kept those to himself.’
Dolly signed one last paper and smiled. ‘No, he didn’t keep them entirely to himself, Barry. He told me all about them, in fact.’ She passed the bundle of papers over the table, satisfied that she’d been through them with a fine-toothed comb. ‘Anything else I should sign? Anything else I should read?’
‘Nope. Just a couple of leases he had on lock-ups round the place, but you said you weren’t interested in them.’
Dolly picked up her handbag. She caught the waiter’s eye and made a sign in the air indicating she wanted the bill.
Sutcliffe looked at her. She was looking good, elegant as always. ‘So, Dolly, you’re a very rich woman now. Whatcha gonna do with your life?’
‘I would say that’s none of your business, Barry, wouldn’t you?’
He couldn’t help but smile. Beneath the smart exterior, she was tough as old boots, this one, but he admired her — liked her, even, despite the fact that she didn’t like him. He watched the way she picked up the bill, looked through it carefully, then took out her wallet and counted out the notes, rubbing each one between her fingers just in case there were two stuck together.
She looked back to the waiter. ‘Service included, is it?’
The waiter nodded.
Barry noticed she gave no extra, just folded the bill neatly on the plate and handed it back with the cash.
‘Cheers, Dolly.’
‘You’re welcome, Barry.’ She stood up. ‘By the way, you shouldn’t be doing that, darlin’.’
He looked puzzled.
‘Smoking. Not good for you.’ She turned on her heel, swinging her bag, and walked out.
Sutcliffe looked at the half-smoked cigar in his hand. Very odd. He was sure she used to chain-smoke. Well, maybe she’d given up. Come to think of it, maybe there were a lot of things about Dolly he didn’t know.
Ex-detective George Resnick was sitting in a wheelchair in the conservatory of the convalescent home. Kathleen, his wife, was sitting in a chair beside him, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. It was the second time she’d been in tears.
He turned to her with a sigh. ‘Look, dear, if you want the house, have it. Take anything you want. You’ll be doing me a favor.’
With a sob, the tears started up again. She wanted the house. It was her home and she didn’t want to sell it. But somehow it would have been easier if he’d argued about it. It had taken all her courage to tell him that she wanted him out. She wanted the divorce finalized and everything settled. She’d handed him a check for £1500 — the money her father had left her — hoping it would be enough to put a deposit on a place of his own. And then he’d have his pension. But instead of arguing, he didn’t seem to care, and that made it even worse — made her realize that they hadn’t really had any love for each other the whole twenty-five years they’d been married.
The fact was, he was simply too tired. Talk about being in a convalescent home, he’d felt ill from the moment he’d been brought here. He’d known something was wrong with him, something inside, even before the symptoms started. Now he couldn’t move his right arm properly, and he still had the terrible nagging pain in his groin, never stopping, day in, day out. They said he might have to have a prostate operation, but he hoped to God it wasn’t true. If he could just get out of this place, and the sooner, the better. But what was going to be waiting for him when he did? Well, one thing was for sure, he didn’t want it to be this shell of a woman he’d once loved, muttering on about how she wanted the house, she’d always loved the house, and he’d never loved her. He looked at her, tight-lipped and red-eyed. Maybe she was right.
‘Kathy, take whatever you want, take it, and just go. Leave me alone.’
‘Oh, George!’ she wailed. ‘Why are you being so difficult!’
Difficult! All he wanted was for her to go away and leave him alone.
He turned his head away from her and saw a young police constable sitting across the room with his wife — a nice chap, he’d been in the bed next to him. He’d been knocked down by a getaway vehicle for some job or other. Now George couldn’t help watching the way they kissed, the way they touched, laughing and looking into each other’s eyes. Christ, it’d been a long time. He turned back to Kathleen. She was blowing her nose, which was getting even redder. It had already been red from crying when she’d come in. She must have been sobbing for hours, wondering how she was going to tell him. And now it was done, she couldn’t stop.
‘Kathleen, get the divorce, do whatever you want. Just leave me in peace.’
She stood up and glared at him. ‘Well, if that’s the way you want it, George, that’s the way you can have it.’
‘It’s the way we both want it.’
She sniffed. ‘What about all your things at the house? What about your clothes?’
‘Burn ’em, give ’em to the YMCA, do whatever you like with them. Leave me alone, woman. Get out of my life!’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever been in it, George.’ She turned and walked away.
Resnick waited for a minute, then glanced over to the main doors to make sure she was gone. Hovering by the potted plants was Andrews. Why that young feller had ever thought of joining the police force Resnick would never know. He was just too sensitive, too tentative in everything he did.
Resnick waved him over, and he came and stood by the chair Kathleen had just vacated.