“Just put a comb through your hair, darlin’. Don’t put any make-up on—you look lovely as you are. And Shirley, smile! Come on, give us a smile!”

  Shirley smiled back at him, then took a brush and comb out of her handbag and looked at herself in the mirror.

  Micky stood at Suzy, the secretary’s, desk, his manner subtly different. “I’ll go on in, then.”

  Suzy leaned back in her chair. “You are naughty, you know, Micky. She’s very busy.”

  Micky leant over the desk and stroked her cheek. “So am I, my darlin’, so am I.”

  He strode into Marion’s office without knocking. There wasn’t even time for Suzy to bleep her boss and warn her that he was coming in.

  Marion sat behind her desk. The whole office seemed to gleam: white carpet, a white canvas director’s chair, white walls that were covered with photos of models, from magazines and commercials.

  Micky leaned casually on the door, while Marion flicked the switch on the intercom and told her secretary to hold all her calls.

  She was in her mid-forties and still looked good. She was a beautiful woman, but a face-job had probably helped.

  She pushed her tortoiseshell glasses back on her head and frowned. “What do you want, Micky?”

  He sauntered across the white carpet and sat in the director’s chair. He seemed harder, sharper, than when he’d been with Shirley.

  “I haven’t got much time, Micky. I’m a busy woman.”

  “It wasn’t always like that, was it, Marion? Once upon a time you had plenty of time for me.”

  “Times have changed, Micky. What do you want?”

  Shirley came out of the ladies’ room and Suzy looked her up and down. Quite nice, she thought. Natural. But she seemed nervous.

  Shirley looked round for Micky.

  “He’s with Marion. Would you like a coffee?”

  “Yes, thank you very much.”

  From the small kitchen, Suzy watched Shirley walk round the office, looking at the photographs. She was really raw, this one. She wondered where Micky had found her.

  In Marion’s inner sanctum, the atmosphere was getting heated. Marion stood up from behind her desk.

  “You heard what I said: no. I’m a good agent, darlin’, but I can’t just take anybody on, especially with no experience. What d’you take me for?”

  Micky just smiled. “Legit now, are you? Straight?” The old Cockney accent was creeping back in. He got up and walked round to her. “Nice office, sweetheart, but who’re you kiddin’? You think the Sundays wouldn’t relish a nice tip-off, eh? How many girls have you got on the game nowadays?”

  Marion turned to him. “Give me a break, Micky. That’s all in the past. I’m a legit models’ agent now—I’m not into anything else. Why don’t you leave me alone?”

  “I’m only askin’, Marion, darlin’. She’s a lovely girl—why don’t you just look ’er over?”

  Marion resisted the urge to slap him. She went back to her desk and opened a large leather-bound diary. “All right, Micky, I’ll see ’er. But I’m not agreeing to take her on. Knowing your taste in women, she’s probably a right little scrubber.” She turned a page in the diary, but Micky snapped it shut, catching her long, red fingernails. She withdrew her hand quickly. “All right, Micky, I’ll see her next week.”

  “No, darlin’, you’ll see her now. And what’s more, you’ll take her on.”

  Marion sat back. Micky Tesco frightened her, but then he always had. She watched him walking casually round her office as if he owned it. God, how she hated him. He peered at the photographs of the models, looking them up and down, then came back to her.

  “You’ll take her on, Marion, and then I want her doing the charity show on the fifteenth, at Amanda’s club. Be a grand in it for you.”

  Marion laughed and shook her head. “You joking? Amanda’s nightclub? No way, baby. Look, I’ve already got a crack team going in on that; they want the best girls I’ve got. I can’t take on a rank amateur. What d’you think I am?”

  Micky moved fast. He grabbed hold of Marion’s wrist, making her wince. “I know what you are, and I want her on that job, you understand?”

  She pulled her hand free. “I can’t do it, Micky.”

  He pulled her to her feet and gripped her tight by the arms. “Yes, you can, Marion. You can do anything I want. We go back a long way, remember?”

  “You never let me forget it, Micky, do you?”

  She felt his hands gripping her tighter. He was like a snake, squeezing the life out of her. Then suddenly he eased off, and his voice was gentler.

  “This is the last time, Marion. I swear, on my life, it’ll be the last favor I ever ask you. Just get that little girl on that job at Amanda’s.” Then he pulled her head back and kissed her, a hard, vicious kiss, and however much she hated him, Marion could feel a surge of heat inside her. Even now he could still do it to her, just like he had when he was a kid of sixteen. She’d been a fool to pick him up, but then she’d always liked pretty, sixteen-year-old boys, and Micky Tesco was a classic. He’d grown up now, though, wasn’t a pretty little boy anymore. He was more like a monster, and that feeling in the pit of her stomach made her ashamed.

  She pushed him away, but he wouldn’t let her go. He wasn’t finished with her yet. He pulled her head toward him again and she felt herself responding. And then it was just like it had always been. With one hand, Micky cleared all the diaries and notebooks from the desk. He lifted her up and laid her across the desk.

  “Well, Marion, here’s one for old times’ sake . . .”

  Shirley had finished her coffee and smoked a second cigarette. Suzy was getting a little edgy, continually looking toward the door, then back to Shirley. Eventually the door opened and Micky stood there, smiling.

  He grinned over at Shirley. “Won’t be a moment, sweetheart.” Then he shut the door again.

  Marion was sprawled on the desk with her jeans round her ankles and her silk shirt unbuttoned. Micky looked at her with disgust.

  “Tidy yourself up. Come on, pull your trousers up, for Christ’s sake!”

  Marion hastily hitched up her jeans and buttoned her shirt. She had to search round for her glasses.

  “Smile, sweetheart.” Micky held his hands together like a camera. “That’s a good girl.”

  He opened the door wide, beckoning Shirley over, and Marion just had time to sit back down at her desk, trying to hold back the tears.

  “Marion, I’d like you to meet Shirley.” Micky ushered Shirley in and closed the door behind her.

  Marion’s hands were shaking as she motioned for Shirley to sit down in the director’s chair. She looked at the pretty, innocent-looking girl before her and wondered if she had any idea what sort of a man Micky Tesco was.

  “So,” she said, with a deep sigh. “You want to be a model, do you?”

  Bella was standing at the window, waiting. They’d already called Shirley’s mother, only to be told, in a rather abrupt tone, that Shirley had left hours ago. Bella closed the curtain again and turned back to Linda.

  “Where the hell is she?”

  Linda was sitting on the sofa. “You remember that little gun?”

  Bella switched on the TV. “What film is this?”

  Linda got up and switched the TV off again. “Listen to me. At the lock-up. Dolly had a gun.”

  “What about it?”

  Linda chose her words very carefully. “Well, if something was to go wrong, I’d feel a lot safer if I had it.”

  Dolly walked into the lounge. “Had what?”

  “Your gun,” said Bella. “Linda was saying she’d feel a lot safer if she had it.”

  “No. No guns,” Dolly said.

  Linda appealed to her. “Look, I just thought . . . for protection, you know—if something goes wrong.”

  Dolly turned on her sharply. “Didn’t you hear what I said? No guns!” She sat on the sofa. “Right, I’ve been working out exactly what we’ll say . . .” She looked at the sofa. “What in God’s name is that?”

  It was the most extraordinary Guy Fawkes dummy: a pair of ratty jeans stuffed with old tights and bits of newspaper, a bulging sweater—and now Linda was stuffing the seat of a pair of tights with bits of old magazines.

  She held the dummy up. “It’s great, isn’t it? When I’m parked, for cover, I’m going to put his arms round me like this. And then, you see, we’ll look as if we’re snogging. I mean, if Harry drives past and sees me sitting in the car, he might think it looks suspicious, right? But if he sees a couple snogging, he won’t pay any attention, right?”

  Bella was sarcastic. “Brilliant. What sort of a feller has a head the size of a peanut, with a pair of knickers on top?”

  Linda giggled. “It’s not finished yet. He hasn’t got his hat on.”

  Dolly shook her head, watching the two girls. “You’re like a couple of kids!”

  Linda was now dancing round the room with the ridiculous dummy, a pair of shoes dangling from the legs of its jeans.

  “For Christ’s sake,” said Dolly. “Can’t you two concentrate on anything for more than two seconds? Didn’t you hear what I said? I’ve worked out what we say to Harry.”

  Linda put the dummy down. “Sorry, Dolly. Which one of us is gonna make the call then?”

  Dolly looked up. “Who the hell do you think?”

  In a cozy corner in a little pub in Mayfair, Micky poured Shirley another glass of champagne, and she drained half of it in one go. She couldn’t believe her luck. The meeting with Marion Gordon had gone just the way she’d always dreamt it would. Marion had looked her up and down, asked her to walk the length of the room, and then sat back. She’d seemed a little bit edgy, but maybe they were always like that, these high-powered model agents. Quick as a flash, she’d said she’d fix up a photographic session, and might even have a job lined up for her.

  Shirley was brimming over with happiness, and the words were tumbling out over each other.

  “Oh, Micky, the girls she’s got, they do Vogue, Elle, Tatler, all the really top jobs. I’ll never be able to thank you properly!”

  Micky smiled and filled her glass again. “Oh, I’ll think of a way, darlin’.” He took a quick look at his watch. “I’m afraid I’m gonna have to make a move.”

  Shirley looked at her own watch and gasped when she realized the time. She stood up. “Oh, my God, I’d no idea it was so late!”

  Micky picked up her bag. “I’ll drop you back at your car. Here you go, don’t forget your handbag.”

  “Oh, thanks, Micky.”

  Micky stood close, but he didn’t reach out to touch her, he just smiled down into her eyes. “That’s all right, Shirley. Come on, let’s go.”

  For a moment Shirley had thought he was going to kiss her, and even though part of her wanted him to, she was pleased he didn’t. It made her like him even more.

  He opened the door and guided her toward the E-type. Still the perfect gentleman, he helped her in, then bent over the seat belt. This time she really wanted him to kiss her. She was intensely aware of his hands, his body, the smell of his cologne. Shirley was tall, at least five-eight, and Terry, her husband, had only been about five foot six. She’d never minded, never really thought about it, but suddenly it was nice to be with somebody so tall, so strong-looking.

  As the car moved off, she seemed to be in a dream. Micky was looking at her.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “I can’t believe I’m gonna be a professional model now. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

  He smiled. He had a lovely smile, thought Shirley.

  But Tesco was thinking: Shit, I’m gonna be late for Rawlins. He’ll hit the fucking roof.

  Harry entered the lock-up and put down the cases he was carrying. Gordon Murphy had already made coffee and was sitting on one of the orange boxes, studying the layout of Amanda’s nightclub.

  “Not exactly a piece of cake, is it, Harry?” he said.

  Harry helped himself to coffee and sat down with a wry smile. “Never said it was, did I?”

  Murphy grunted. “Well, the man we need to look over the place is Colin Soal. D’you know him? You’ll have to pay through the nose, but he’ll do a good job. He’ll scope out every inch of the place, down to the toilet paper. We’ve gotta have a good man inside there, Harry. There’s so many entrances and exits, and that kitchen’s a bastard.”

  Harry didn’t answer. Eventually Murphy looked at him. “What d’you reckon about Colin Soal?”

  Harry seemed tetchy, looking at his watch. “Yeah, I remember him. He was . . . A bit long in the tooth now, isn’t he? Where the hell is Micky?”

  Murphy nodded at the suitcases. “You on the move?”

  Harry smiled. “Well, if the wife can find me, so can half of London.”

  “D’you think Dolly’s going to try and pull something tonight?” Murphy asked. “You got any idea where she’s gonna hand over the cash?”

  Harry’s mouth tightened. He didn’t like all these questions. “No idea.”

  Harry got to his feet and started pacing up and down. His fists clenched and unclenched as he worked himself up into a temper. It was coming back to this place, he thought, this stinking lock-up. He hated it, but it was one of the few things he’d got left; she’d taken everything else, the bitch.

  Harry went to the telephone, which was in a small annex.

  “Don’t worry, Harry, the phone’s on. I got that sorted,” Murphy called to him. Harry made Murphy nervous when he was like this, prowling round like a caged animal.

  Harry went back to his pacing. Then he stopped, facing the dividing wall with the adjoining lock-up.

  “You check out the place next door?”

  “Yeah, couple of kids bought the lease, and the next one along. Printers or something. They’re a bunch of wallies. What’s the matter, you hear something?”

  Harry was still facing the wall, listening.

  “Oh, it’ll be the rats,” Murphy said. “The place next door’s crawling with them.”

  Harry slammed his fist into the wall. “Where is that stupid git?” He turned sharply as Tesco breezed in.

  “Someone mention my name? Hey, you should keep that door locked, you know. Anyone could come in.”

  Harry just stared at him. “You’re late.”

  Micky sat down next to Murphy and picked up a coffee mug. “This hot, is it? Good.” He turned to Harry, trying to keep up the chat, telling him everything he’d done, before Harry could tear him off a strip. “I been fixing up that girl I told you about, the model for the nightclub. You said, ‘Get a girl on the inside.’ Well, I’ve got one.”

  Harry came and stood over Micky. “When I tell you to be somewhere at a certain time, I want you there.” He gave him a cold stare for a few seconds. “How much does she know?”

  Micky shrugged. Harry really did frighten him at times, but he was determined not to show it.

  “Nothin’, I told her nothin’. She’s straight, just a dumb chick. What is this? Why the third degree?”

  Harry sat down next to him. “You gotta new place for me to stay?”

  Micky could feel his own temper rising. He hated being pushed all the time. He also hated being stared at by Gordon Murphy.

  “Yeah, I got a pad for a couple o’ weeks. I bin doin’ what you told me, Harry—I can’t be in four bleeding places at once!”

  All Harry said was, “I don’t care about that. You were late.”

  “All right! I was bleedin’ late!” Micky snapped.

  “Why don’t you drop it, Harry?” Murphy said quietly.

  Harry gave him a look. “Fill ’im in. We’ll meet up here later.” He turned and walked out.

  Once he was gone, Micky stood up and kicked over the orange box. “Who the friggin’ hell does he think he is? I’m not takin’ that, not from him, not from anybody!”

  Murphy smiled and put the orange box back. “You just did, son.”

  “Where the bloody hell have you been?” Dolly shouted, her eyes blazing with anger.

  Shirley stood in the center of the lounge with a hangdog expression. “I . . . I went out for a job.”

  Dolly lifted her hands in despair. “A job? You went for a bloody job? I don’t believe it.”

  “She’s been drinking too. You can smell it on her!” Linda chipped in.

  Dolly whipped round with a furious look and just managed to stop herself from slapping her. “Shut up, Linda!”

  Linda was hurt. “Well, she has been,” she protested. “My God, if it was me . . .”

  “Well, it isn’t, so that makes a change!” Dolly snapped.

  Seeing them bicker gave Shirley her courage back. “It’s not as if I’d done something terrible. You told us to act like normal—and that’s what I’ve been doin’. I’ve always wanted to be a model . . . And, I mean, you’re not even goin’ to make the call till after midnight!”

  Dolly couldn’t believe this girl. “Didn’t it ever occur to you that we might have been worried?”

  Shirley did feel bad about that, but she wasn’t going to back down. “I wasn’t gonna give up my chance, Dolly; not for you, not for anybody! I don’t care about my share—you can have it!”

  “Just you hold your temper, my girl,” Dolly said.

  “Why the hell should I?” Shirley shouted. “This is my house! You’re shouting at me and it’s my house!”

  Bella snorted. “Two weeks in LA and she thinks she’s a bleedin’ movie star!”

  Dolly turned to Linda and Bella. “Right, get into the kitchen, the pair of you, and make us something to eat. Go on, now! And you, Shirley, sit down.”

  Shirley stomped over to the sofa and plonked herself down. “All right, Dolly, I’m sorry, OK?”

  Dolly ignored her while she fetched her notebook from her handbag, then joined her on the sofa. Shirley took out her cigarettes and lit one. Dolly wafted the smoke away from her face.