After a swim and some sunbathing we thanked our hosts and headed back, in time to meet the clever computer people, images to be compressed and sent. They also downloaded our data cards with our cable, and burnt a CD for us.

  Rolf checked Claudia’s images on the computer screen, and the shower scene would be sent to our German publisher, along with the four girls together.

  After some lunch around the pool of our hotel my London snapper called me on my mobile, which I had requested with my uncle’s phone supplier would work anywhere in the world, something called Roaming Charges. Here it was costing me fifty pence a minute, so they said, but could be higher.

  My feet were burning a little, and the air was heavy with the smell of sun cream.

  My snapper began, ‘I just got this image. It’s free to use?’

  ‘Yes, for publicity.’

  ‘But I can ask them for a little cash … for the orphans.’

  ‘For the orphans, yes, but it’s already gone to Germany and the States free. Mention the hotel we’re at, they want a plug.’

  Next incoming call was Pete Granton. ‘I hate you, you know that.’

  I laughed as I sat on a sun lounger. ’What did I do?’

  ‘You have your hands on Jenny Patrick’s boobs, and … what the heck is she doing with her hands?’

  ‘Just a staged shot. Release it.’

  ‘I can sell it?’

  ‘Yes, but we sent it to Europe already, free usage.’

  ‘Sent it … when?’

  ‘An hour ago.’

  ‘I’ll try and sell it,’ he insisted.

  ‘Don’t forget my cut, and to mention Villa Sea Point, Barbados. They want a plug.’

  ‘I’ll mention the hotel as well, get them a plug.’

  ‘We’ll go see that other hotel, but after the news hits, day after tomorrow. Warn them.’

  ‘You’re becoming an old pro at this game.’

  ‘That’s what I keep saying to Jacqueline.’

  Laughing, he cut the call

  I turned to Jenny, sat on my left, Rita on my right. ‘The images are in the hands of the sneaky shit people.’

  ‘Those sneaky shit people move faster than greased lightening, yes.’

  ‘Any … men waiting for you back home?’

  ‘Not … really. Met one, had a drink and a chat, but … he’s just like my ex.’

  ‘So what would be on the ideal tick list?’ I posed.

  ‘I’ve made that list a few times,’ she sighed out. ‘I guess I’ll know when it happens.’

  ‘More likely you’ll manufacture a relationship and paper over the cracks. You’re too rich and too headstrong to just drift into something, you’ll try and control the direction.’

  ‘Wow, you know me well already.’

  ‘You have money and fame and … therefore I should be happy – you tell yourself. Relationships don’t work like that, not the cuddly sort, they’re give and take and come with baggage and issues.

  ‘But let’s say you meet the right guy, successful rich Jewish financier in new York, but he’s divorced, two kids, wife creates a scene now and then.

  ‘He’s perfect for you, just the matter of the baggage. So, what would you do?’

  ‘That’s … a tough one. I think … I’d make a mistake. I’d paper over the cracks as you say, and pretend it’s all OK for a year or so, then quit and … start again. Did you counsel Alicia as they reported?’

  ‘Yes, and she would have turned the corner, but … it was not to be, and I feel responsible. She wanted to piss-off her ex with the publicity photos, I should have said no.’

  ‘Impossible to know what will happen, and her publicity photos should not be dependent on him – and what he might do.’

  ‘It’s why I asked about your ex first, I don’t want him attacking you.’

  ‘He couldn’t attack a wet newspaper, so don’t worry.’

  After a sleep at 2pm, and after Olesya had the full works – it was her turn, my phone trilled at 4pm, Pete Granton.

  ‘That image of you with Jenny Patrick is on the news here, be coast-to-coast soon.’

  ‘Did you make something?’

  ‘I did, yeah, cheque on the way to your agent.’

  I called Jenny’s room. ‘It’s me, and that photo is coast-to-coast Stateside.’

  ‘Just had a call from a friend, yeah.’

  ‘How did they report it?’

  ‘She said that they were light on detail, us meeting at a hotel in Barbados.’

  ‘They named the hotel?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good, we wanted to give them a plug, got another promo hotel to visit tomorrow maybe, we get some income.’

  ‘I can come with you.’

  ‘Not much income to share with you…’

  ‘I’m not worried by that.’

  ‘You’re not very mercenary, for a rich actress…’

  ‘God, I hope not, hope I never get that far gone.’

  ‘So you have a balancing act to perform, to fight a war each day and come home without any stress, a pleasant smile for your future husband and kids.’

  ‘I can do that stress-free smile now, so … hopefully I can do that in ten years.’

  ‘It’s a daily choice, and a simple one; be what you want to be or be a bitch.’

  ‘I’m not going to be like the others,’ she adamantly stated. ‘I’d quit first.’

  ‘Good for you. Life’s great when no one is angry at you, but it’s way better when you’re not angry at them.’

  ‘I’m going to write that down.’

  ‘7pm, in the bar,’ I reminded her. ‘Write it down.’

  I hissed open a cold beer as Olesya went to the bathroom. A quiet shout, and I ran in, expecting a frog, but instead I found cat poop on the floor. Tissue grabbed, and I dumped it in the toilet and flushed, soon looking under beds.

  And there it was, our dangerous intruder. Grabbing it, I lifted it and stroked it. ‘How did you get in here, huh? Because we have enough pussy already.’

  Rita lifted up, a face full of hair. ‘It was in the room?’

  ‘Yes, must have come in earlier.’

  I put in on the balcony wall and it walked next door and on.

  The old guy next door came out. ‘Did you just see a damn cat?’

  ‘Yeah, pooped in my room.’

  ‘If it poops in my room it’s going down damn the toilet!’

  ‘Your dear lady wife would never approve,’ I teased.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘You’d be in the dog house.’

  ‘Trust me, I’m used to it.’

  From the balcony I could see a second cat, and I stood there wondering what the hell was going on with this hotel.

  In the bar at 7.10pm, we met Rolf and Ingrid stood chatting to Jenny - she had arrived on time, and Rolf and Ingrid had visited the capital earlier, a quality photo developer. At least we hoped they were good quality.

  Rolf did ask them about the legality of the topless shots, and the shop assistants would not be calling the police since the photos had been taken at a private villa and not on a public beach.

  ‘Any images good enough for a poster?’ I asked.

  ‘I think four, but you have the eye for these things.’

  I told Jenny, ‘You get about two dollars thirty for each poster of you that we sell.’

  ‘How many do you think you’ll sell?’

  ‘Thousands, we sell to Europe and the States now. Steady income for you, which is what you need.’

  She explained, ‘I have a friend who advises me, accountant, friend of my father in New York, and I bought an apartment, rented it out, soon to buy a second one.’

  ‘That’s what you need, a steady income not from acting. Some day you could be in a car wreck, career over, but you’ll always have those apartments.’

  ‘Now you sound like my father.’

  ‘He’s right, and accidents happen, and … curves soften.’

  ‘Do I … look good in a bikini?’

  ‘You do, but don’t compare yourself to a skinny waif like Olesya, she was starved as a kid.’

  ‘Claudia looks good, that’s what I wanted to look like, like an Amazon. Around the girls I feel fat.’

  ‘Motivation for you,’ I suggested. ‘Swimming is best, so keep at the swimming.’

  A glance left, and an old lady walked past, a cat’s head sticking out of a large shoulder bag.

  ‘What?’ Rolf finally asked, concerned at my expression.

  I faced them. ‘I just saw an old lady with a big shoulder bag, a cat in it.’

  ‘I think they have rules against such things,’ Rolf noted. ‘Most hotels do not allow in cats.’

  I faced Jenny. ‘Did you recognise the old lady, in red?’

  ‘She was famous back in the day, Hollywood in the sixties.’

  ‘She likes cats,’ I told Rolf with a look.

  ‘She seems to like them very much,’ he retorted.

  I walked to reception. ‘You see an old lady actress, American, in red, just walked through..?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘You know what room she is in?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’ he puzzled.

  ‘Have security search the room, for cats.’

  ‘Cats?’

  ‘Cats. Pregnant cats having kittens.’

  ‘Oh my. We check, sir.’

  Back in with the gang I told them, ‘Security will check the room of the old American actress, she’s been bringing in cats.’

  Looking up, I laughed, and pointed, soon many people in the bar following my finger, and on a high shelf of bottles above the bar sat a kitten staring down at us.

  Rolf noted, ‘I would think that catching it would pose problems, up there.’

  I told him with a grin, ‘We could photograph all the cats and blackmail the hotel.’

  ‘We are here to boost them, not sink them,’ Rolf noted.

  Olesya played again, half an hour, an appreciative audience tonight, and there were no signs of any dickheads wanting a fight. We had a rich and sedate group of guests.

  The senator’s daughter and husband turned up, I had invited them and given them my room number, and we chatted about house prices here in Barbados, Jenny and the twins getting on well it seemed, Vikki joining us and chatting to Claudia.

  At bedtime it was Frieda’s turn, and I gave a good performance, despite my leg still hurting. Olesya and Claudia had received their massages, and with Frieda asleep I sat on the balcony with Rita, cold beer in hand.

  ‘We have enough photos today?’ she quietly asked.

  ‘I think so, but we’ll shoot more before we leave. We have the CD copy, so we can wipe the data cards maybe.’

  ‘We have ten data cards, no need.’

  A young cat walked along the wall, Rita going all soppy and stroking it, cream in the sachets grabbed, the cat licking it out of the palm of her hand.

  But I seemed to recall that giving cream to young cats caused the liquid shits.

  A happy cat sat on Rita for a while as we chatted, soon on its way to look for some food as Rita came and sat on me, and this was what I wanted more of, one-on-one with one of my girls, some quiet romantic time.

  I fondled a boob and touched her pussy, our cheeks touching, and this felt good, one man and one woman, so I would need to manufacture more of this special time, the quiet time.

  After breakfast we grabbed a minibus again, this time Vikki tagging along having made friends with Claudia and Ingrid, Jenny sat next to me, the boobs on display as her dress fell forwards.

  At the target hotel we met the manager, and he would contact the owners and agree payment to Pete Granton – since we were now “in attendance” as agreed. After a look around the facilities we sat by the pool, a few snaps taken, then posed at the pool bar, more snaps taken, guests clocking us.

  One couple politely asked to be photographed with us, and we readily agreed since that was the whole point of being here.

  When my mobile trilled it was Trish. ‘You and Jenny Patrick are in today’s Sun newspaper.’

  ‘Did they mention which hotel we’re at?’

  ‘They did, yeah.’

  ‘We just arrived at the second hotel, to market it, and the manager will now contact the owners he said.’

  ‘TUI own the owners,’ she noted. ‘I’ll chase them up in a few days. So … you and Jenny Patrick?’

  ‘No sex, just friends.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Having been seen being photographed, the guests around the pool all wanted a snap, especially with Jenny and Vikki. We soon had fifty people around the pool bar chatting, a few guests being French and German, and I bought drinks for many.

  Claudia got chatting to the old German couple, soon some loud laughter heard. A British couple closed in on me and we shook hands, and we posed for snaps, the pool boys busy helping out taking snaps.

  The British couple were from London, and the man was a tax inspector.

  ‘Can I ask some questions about tax?’ I asked.

  ‘Sure,’ he enthused, and we stepped away.

  ‘I have a reporter friend investigating a criminal gang, and … tax avoidance seems to be a part of it.’

  ‘Criminals don’t pay tax,’ he pointed out.

  ‘We found a man, and his wife – who has never worked, has a million pound London house in her maiden name, rent collected, the house bought by someone that wants to influence them.’

  He told me, ‘Easy to lose rental income, you just say it was empty for a few months, and some rental income is cash. When you set up the rental agreement you list a bank account, and no one can check, so it goes into granny’s bank account not yours. If you get me the detail I can have a look -’

  ‘No, it’s ongoing, and we don’t want to spook them. And … it’s a wide net. And the husband to the house owning wife, he’s high up in the police.’

  ‘Oh shit. For a copper to take that kind of risk is unusual, he must be into something very bad to want to take the risk. If he gets caught he goes to jail for tax avoidance, and there are inheritance tax issues.

  ‘That million pound house should have cost him a quarter million in tax, which it seems he never paid, so he’d be kicked out the police and get a small jail term.’

  ‘And if it was six police officers..?’

  His eyebrows went up. ‘Then that’s for the Serious Crime Squad, that’s a high level conspiracy, that’s a cabal. Do the tabloids have the detail?’

  ‘They have a sniff of some of the detail, just one journalist working on it,’ I lied. ‘But the man at the centre is a senior Freemason.’

  ‘In that case, the tabloids would never dare go after him. The tabloid editors might actually know the guy and sit down to dinner with him.’

  ‘You a mason?’

  ‘No, I hate people like that. I worked my way up.’

  ‘Could I contact you again, and ask that you don’t report it up the line?’

  ‘A case like this could make my career,’ he pointed out.

  ‘A case like this … could see the police pulling you over in your car and finding a stash of drugs.’

  He considered that, looking worried. ‘The evidence would need to be collected in secret, and it would need to be watertight – very fucking watertight.’

  ‘Which is why I’m not getting involved, it’s less than watertight. And it’s not my problem,’ I lied.

  He handed me a card. ‘If things materialise, I can get you resources, we do undercover investigations, and they take years.’

  ‘I’ll get involved if the evidence starts to pan out. I think it’s genuine, but there’s a big difference between my beliefs … and a conviction in court.’

  ‘A huge difference, yes. And the judge sitting on the trial might be a mason.’

  ‘Are there lady judges?’ I asked.

  ‘Some, yes. But if the evidence was watertight then the judge would have to convict a mason. And they do sometimes.’

  ‘Please don’t mention this, I’m just on the fringes and not involved, not yet.’

  ‘It’s your civic duty to nail the bastards. I came from a working class background and I’ve seen it all, and I love nailing the posh cheating bastards.’

  ‘Then I’ll call you when I have something solid.’

  He returned to his wife, and I stared across the pool, thinking, not least about how dangerous this investigation could be for me.

  In the hot sticky weather we remained around the pool for an hour before we headed back, the hotel’s manager happy – he had seen the crowd around the pool bar, and his staff had snapped us along with Jenny and Vikki – the kinds of bonuses he could never have dreamt of.

  Back at our hotel, we agreed to get some rest, from the sun and from the booze we had drunk.

  After a sleep, we were hungry, and so we ordered room service for five, then invited Jenny over, so it was for six, and we gathered on the large balcony as the sun hung low.

  Tables moved around, chairs brought out, and we hissed open the beer and uncorked the white wine, something of a party atmosphere.

  After eating, the sun down low and the moths and flying insects out in force, we left the dirty plates and asked reception to collect them, soon getting ready to meet Ingrid and Rolf, but we suggested that 8pm might be better. Or a bit later.

  Arriving at 8.30pm, I apologised for being late - and blamed the twins, soon chatting to those guests that wanted to chat to me.

  The old guy from next door informed me, ‘Some old American actress, they raided her room, it was full of damn cats.’

  ‘We know, yes, I tipped them off about her. She was walking around with a cat’s head sticking out of her bag.’

  ‘Crazy old bat,’ he complained. ‘They say she was seen in the local area, picking up stray cats.’

  ‘Bridget Bardot did the same, I think.’

  Olesya started to play, and the movie conductor was giving her advice, as well as sheet music it seemed.

  As a group, we staggered back after midnight, all of us tired and a bit drunk. In the room, Claudia helped Olesya find her bed, and Olesya slumped. Claudia did at least strip off before she dropped onto her bed, her clothes left on the floor.

  Sighing out loudly, I picked up the clothes, checked the door and the windows in this room before I returned to Olesya, easing off her shoes and her dress, and making sure that she was in the recovery position.