‘Now this is what you’ve got to do. You’re to keep an eye on the Fishers for him. Stay safe, though, Boxer, Harry doesn’t want you taking any risks for him. You’ll be his eyes and ears until he’s ready to come back and take over again. You’ll report to me and I’ll report to Harry. No one can know he’s alive, Boxer... you promise me?’
Boxer slapped his thigh and roared with laughter, ‘I promise, Dolly! Old Harry, what a brilliant man, he bloody escaped. He played a bleedin’ blinder.’ He shook his head repeatedly. ‘What a turn up for the books!’
Dolly gripped his hand and Boxer focused intently on her again. ‘Get it all out of your system here, Boxer, because once you leave this house, you got to keep your mouth shut. I need you to be on my side. On Harry’s side.’
Boxer squeezed Dolly’s hand back so hard, she nearly cried out in pain. He looked her square in the eyes and spoke with total sincerity. ‘I’ve always been on your and Harry’s side, you know that. On my life, Dolly, I won’t repeat a word of this to anyone.’
‘Inside jacket pocket,’ Dolly whispered.
Boxer reached inside the pocket of the jacket he’d been given and pulled out an envelope.
‘Two hundred from Harry. That’s just for starters.’
Boxer didn’t open the envelope; he didn’t need to. If Dolly said there was two hundred in there, then there was. ‘Back on the payroll,’ he whispered.
Dolly watched Boxer swagger down the driveway. He looked full of himself as he straightened his new jacket and nodded to the detectives still parked along the road.
Back in her much cleaner and tidier lounge, Dolly slumped on her torn sofa, where she was quickly joined by Wolf. ‘Hello, darlin’,’ she said, stroking his belly as he rolled over for her. She rested her head back and took a moment to contemplate where she had got to.
Dolly speculated that it’d be no more than two days before Boxer blurted the news that Harry was alive to someone. Especially if the tempting money in his pocket meant that he ended up off the wagon and down the local pub. Once the rumor was out there, the Fishers would know soon enough and that should, she hoped, keep them hyper-cautious and away from her and the other widows for fear of reprisals.
‘So much still to do, my love,’ she said to Wolf. She patted him, got up and went over to her writing desk.
Taking out her diary, Dolly began to make more encrypted notes. She needed to go back to the bank and check the ledgers again. She now needed a fourth person for her own robbery and she hoped that there’d be a name in the ledgers of someone she could trust completely — although it would be tricky if the fourth person was a man, she knew that much, as she’d not only have to convince them to join her but also to take orders from her. The second thing on her list was to try and find the actual man who got away from Harry’s failed bank robbery. If the Fishers found him first, they’d know she lied about Harry being alive and come after her. She hoped and prayed that whoever it was had gone abroad and had no plans to return. And lastly, she had to let Shirley and Linda know what she’d said to Boxer. They needed to be right up to speed with all her plans, so they could stay alert and stay safe.
Dolly looked across at Wolf, who had bedded down into a tear in the sofa and was snuggling into the stuffing inside. There was still so much to do to make this house back into a home — but it would keep. The main thing to do right now was keep her appointment at the convent so that the watching detectives wouldn’t get suspicious. She’d become very adept at losing her tail, but she knew that she must also be very careful to allow the police to follow her unhindered if she was to convince them that life was going on as normal. It made it difficult to fit everything in, but somehow the excitement of it all was giving her extra energy — she was daring to feel alive again. She turned and smiled at the photos of Harry and herself that Boxer had replaced along the mantelpiece, all in exactly the right date order. She almost felt Harry with her now and, as she shut her eyes to see him more clearly, her body ached to hold him.
She thought back to two nights before the raid. Harry had come into the bedroom and she knew intuitively that something was very wrong. She could always tell when he had done a bad business deal, or worse, when he was intending to take a big risk. He prowled round the house, in and out of rooms, sitting, getting up again, making coffee and checking his watch. Dolly was wise enough to keep quiet and not ask questions; he would tell her what was on his mind if and when he was ready.
Harry had not made love to her for months, but on that last night when he slipped into bed beside her, he’d been lustfully insistent and passionately rough with her — she hadn’t minded; she adored the touch of him, the smell of him, the power of him.
Afterward, she had held him in her arms like a baby. Then he got up and went into the spare room and she had lain there awake for hours, smiling. Even after twenty years he could make her whole body shudder inside. She was as proud of his tight muscular frame as he was. There was not an inch of fat on him. She’d take furtive looks at him when he showered or shaved, watching his muscles tense and relax.
As Dolly daydreamed, she was grateful for that last night they shared together. It was all that mattered amid the frenetic nature of her life since his death. They’d loved each other so much and, as she recalled all those times he had glanced at his beloved wristwatch, the pain flooded over her again. Harry had woken early the next morning, brought her a cup of tea and gently woken her with a kiss to her sleeping lips.
‘Goodbye, sweetheart,’ he’d said. ‘I’ll see you later.’
But there had been no ‘later.’ Harry never came home and the filth still refused to give her his beloved watch back.
Linda stood at the open doors of the mechanic’s garage in the mews. She’d seen enough Italian men to know that the young kid in filthy grease and oil-covered overalls was not Carlos, Gino’s mate from the pub. The kid puffed out his chest to try and impress her; her dismissive look quickly told him that she was way out of his league. ‘Carlos! There’s some bird here to see ya!’ he shouted and then he went back to polishing a nice-looking Jaguar.
Carlos was in the small Portakabin office on the phone to Arnie Fisher, arranging the pickup of his Jag. He looked out the window but didn’t recognize Linda and, placing his hand over the mouthpiece, shouted that he would be out in a minute.
Watching Carlos out of the corner of her eye, Linda liked what she saw as he ran his hand through his thick black curly hair and ruffled it up. He wore an old brown boiler suit open almost to his waist and as he turned, still talking on the phone, Linda got a full look at him. She took in every detail. He was a dish with big dark eyes, a great body and a stubbly, unshaven face. There was something very rugged and very sexy about him. Before he had even spoken to her, Linda had decided she’d have him.
When Carlos eventually came out, Linda introduced herself as Miss Linda Pirelli and, flirting outrageously, she asked him if he’d take a look at her new Capri.
‘Sorry, love.’ Carlos was dismissive. ‘We only do company cars or regular standing customer’s motors.’ Brushing her aside, he got onto an inspection trolley and, lying on his back, wheeled himself under the ramped-up Jag to give it a last once-over.
Linda moved closer and squatted down, making sure her skirt was now up over her knees; she knew Carlos could see between her legs, which she parted slowly. ‘Look Carlos,’ she said, ‘truth is, I want to learn more about motors and how to service them so I can do me own. I’ll pay you to teach me...’