‘I’m giving you my word that she’s straight.’
‘Then why won’t she come in?’
Morgan rubbed his eyes, exasperated. ‘Don’t you want him? She won’t come in. She’s willing to tell you where the bulk of the underpass raid cash is. She’s willing to set her husband up. Don’t ask her to come in, because she won’t do it.’
Fuller sucked his teeth. ‘So what’s in it for you, then?’
Morgan shrugged wearily. ‘There’s still the thirty grand reward money up for grabs, isn’t there? A piece of that would do nicely.’
‘You got something on with this woman?’ Fuller asked. ‘Resnick insinuated that you had.’
Morgan stood up. He’d had enough. He looked at his watch and his heart missed a beat. It was 3:55. He grabbed Fuller’s phone and dialed, standing there, ashen-faced, as it rang and rang.
Harry drove carefully, unused to Jackie’s old Morris Traveller. He switched on the radio.
‘And now, still climbing up the charts at number four, “Widows’ Tears.”’ Harry turned the volume up.
He chuckled. Well, the night was almost over, and he and Doll were going to meet again.
He parked on the edge of the heath. He would walk across it toward the house and the footbridge; walk the pathways like he had when he was a kid, on the day trips his mother had brought him on. Walking over the fields in the darkness, he thought about his old lady, the way she had taken him round Kenwood House, showing him the paintings, her favorite Gainsborough, even the cases with the old household bills and accounts. He had been bored to tears, but it must have meant something to him, because this is where he’d brought Dolly.
Doll — she’d been such a shy one, unlike the rest of them. But there had been something about her that he’d gone for: her class, her style. He reckoned you could never teach that; style was something you either had or you didn’t, and Doll had always had it. She liked the best, whatever it was — clothes, furniture. She’d been the one the whole street talked about, who’d got in to university with more ‘O’ and ‘A’ levels than anyone else had ever had from round their way. But she’d given it all up for him. He remembered the rumpus it had caused in her family. Her mother cried, her father threatened to have him done in; his girl was going to make something of herself, not marry the local bad boy doted on by his mother. Well, he’d shown them. It was a shame they were no longer alive when they’d got the house in Totteridge; he’d have liked to shove the cut-glass decanter down her father’s throat. Harry had always borne a grudge against him; Dolly had simply never seen him again after the marriage. She was like that, Doll — stood by him through thick and thin.
As Harry picked his way through the bushes, he gave no thought to what he had done to her; it was in the past, as if it had never happened. He wasn’t thinking about the way he betrayed her, the child he’d had with Trudie Nunn; he was actually thinking about what a good woman Dolly had been and that with all the cash she’d got, maybe they should try again. She’d proved she was one in a million. He never allowed himself to imagine she wouldn’t want him. He was Harry Rawlins, the guv’nor, and he was a rich man again. Not only would he have the money from the underpass raid, but the cash from the sale of his house, his businesses...
It was a pleasant walk and even the nagging pain in his hand had stopped bothering him. It was a fine, clear night and the air felt cool and fresh.
He stopped suddenly and wondered if he’d made a wrong turning — maybe things had changed on the heath. Then he got his bearings and went on, vaulted over the small wire fence and was finally in the grounds of Kenwood House.
Dolly felt like kicking herself when she found the gates leading to the house were locked. Of course they were — it was four in the morning! Actually, it was after four and she was late.
How long would he wait for her?
She turned the car round and headed back toward the heath, then remembered a short cut from close to Whitestone Pond, just past the Spaniard’s Inn. Dolly parked the car at the side of the road and began running, afraid that he wouldn’t be there. The gun felt heavy in her pocket.
Harry stood on the footbridge and looked at his watch. He was late and suddenly felt a moment of panic that he had missed her. He found the emotion interesting. Had she come and gone? No, not Dolly. Then he saw her, some distance away, the moonlight shining almost ghostlike on her cream-colored coat. She seemed younger, her face flushed as she came nearer. She wasn’t carrying a bag or holdall, but then of course she wouldn’t: the jewels would be in the car. She was walking quickly now, pushing aside the bushes. One caught in her sleeve and she stopped and unhooked it. She was only twenty-five yards away. He lit a cigarette, his face illuminated for a brief moment in the reddish flame, and she saw him.
Harry flicked the match into the water. Seeing her now had churned him up somehow. It wasn’t like seeing her on the heath that night, and he was reluctant to turn toward her in case she could read his feelings on his face. The truth was he needed her, he needed this woman. And she belonged to him. She was his.
Now he turned. It was as if everything had fallen into place for him. He needed her. He almost thrust his arms out toward her, but held himself in check. What if she didn’t want him back, was still afraid of him, wanted another deal?
Dolly knew that she had been right to come alone, knew it the moment the match flickered and she saw his face. It wasn’t the same feeling this time, not like the night Linda had died. She had felt her whole body lurch when she’d seen him then, standing, smiling, fooling round at the Jag as he showed her that there was no gun up his sleeve, no gun in his pocket, nothing in the car.
She instinctively removed her hand from the cold gun in her pocket. There was no lurch now, no searing pain. At long last the pain had gone.
She walked toward him, this time unafraid. He had hurt her, almost destroyed her, but he couldn’t anymore: it was over.
Harry hitched himself up to sit on the bridge, one leg resting on the ground, the other swinging. He took a heavy pull on the cigarette and tossed it into the water behind him. She was just yards away.
‘Hello, Doll. You’re looking good. Come here.’
His voice sounded coarse, with a sexual edge. He patted his knee, held a hand out to her.
Oh God, no... Please, no, she thought.
It was the coarseness that repelled her. She could smell him, the stink of cheap cologne, and now it was as if he was drawing her toward him by a thin, transparent cord.
‘Money safe, is it? Ah, my girl’s clever. Come here, Doll.’
She moved closer. Money: she knew that was all he had ever loved. The knowledge helped her keep moving toward him.
Then he surprised her.
‘I love you, Doll. I need you. It won’t work without you. Go for it again with me, one more time. I’ll get down on my knees, just like the first time.’
Dolly knew he might be acting, being flippant, but there was something in his eyes that she hadn’t seen for a long, long time, and she knew what it was — love. He’d always tried so hard to act like the ‘guv’nor’ with her, but at this moment she was stronger than him, she knew it — stronger because of the undying love she had held on to during all the years she had devoted to him, guided him, cared for him, tried to bear his children. For him, those years had meant nothing. He had only now, right now, realized he needed her.
He said it again, and this time the sound was as raw as the helpless look on his face. ‘I love you, Doll.’
She was so close, she could put out her hand and touch him.
‘It’s what you want, isn’t it?’ he said.