She nodded and he waved her to come over. She was acutely aware of the girls watching her as she tried to walk with her head up, like a real model.

  Jukko, the choreographer, pulled out a chair. He started introducing Shirley to everyone but halfway through someone started talking about a job they had been on and Shirley was forgotten. Jukko got up and kissed Myra on the forehead, making her promise to behave herself and not cause him any aggro. She gave him a kick with one long leg.

  “Me? Aggro? Do me a favor.”

  Jukko asked the sound man to play the music, and heavy metal started booming out.

  The girls hooted at the lyrics, smoked and drank their coffee. Jukko went over to find out how long it would be before the ramp was finished so he could rehearse the girls. Meanwhile, the hammering and banging continued, the rock music belted out, and the floral sprays and the stacks of chairs were carried backward and forward. Shirley couldn’t help a small, satisfied grin; she was loving it, doing something she had dreamt about. She couldn’t believe she was here; it was really happening.

  “You got a fag?”

  Shirley couldn’t open her cigarettes quick enough. Myra’s catlike eyes looked her up and down.

  “I’ve not seen you on the catwalk before. Where did you spring from?”

  Dolly looked at the signpost as they went round the roundabout leading to Teddington Lock. She’d been getting more and more frustrated as they drove.

  “Where the hell are you taking me, Vic?”

  Morgan just grinned.

  “For God’s sake, just pull over and let me out! I’ll get a taxi back.”

  “We’re almost there, Dolly. Just a few more minutes.”

  “Almost where?”

  His grin widened. “My boat.”

  Before Dolly could decide whether he really had gone nuts, Morgan pulled up alongside Teddington Lock.

  At first she refused to get out.

  “Come on, Dolly,” he coaxed. “I was up first thing this morning refueling her and making us a nice lunch. Champagne and smoked salmon sandwiches.”

  Dolly followed him reluctantly along the wharf, feeling conspicuous in her high heels and tight skirt, until he stopped at a little ramp leading on to a tatty-looking cabin cruiser.

  Dolly gripped her handbag tightly. “Well, now I’ve seen it, wonderful. But I’ve got to go back—my dentist’s appointment, you know.”

  Morgan took no notice. He stood on the ramp and held out his hand. She hesitated, and he took her hand and guided her up the narrow plank. She teetered at one point, and he put his arm round her waist. She couldn’t push him away or she would have fallen into the water.

  “Come along into the cabin. Lunch is served.”

  Dolly maneuvered herself into the cramped cabin. The champagne looked cut-price and the sandwiches were already curling at the edges. She was thinking about turning round and getting off the boat when she felt the engines turning over and suddenly the boat was moving. The swell almost knocked Dolly over as she scrambled to the front of the boat, where Morgan was steering them out into the river.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she shrieked. “Take me back, do you hear?”

  Morgan just grinned and put a hand to his ear, pretending to be deaf.

  This was turning into a complete nightmare. Dolly closed her eyes. If she really had gone to the dentist, it couldn’t have been nearly as painful as this.

  Jukko was shouting instructions: “Three, two . . . now four, four . . .”

  The girls grouped and regrouped as they moved down the ramp to the thudding rock music. They had been at it for nearly an hour and were showing signs of tiredness, but Jukko kept pushing them up and down the ramp, up and down. And they didn’t glide along the way Shirley had been taught by Mrs. Hyde White: they stormed it—rolling their shoulders, grinding their hips, pouting sexily like an army of Amazons. But Shirley quickly picked up how to do it, and soon she was swaggering aggressively to the beat like the best of them. Yukko never stopped yelling at them, but Shirley found it exciting, her adrenaline flowing so strongly she felt she could go on forever.

  It was Myra who eventually yelled for a break. “Fuckin’ ’ell, Yukko—I’m knackered!”

  As Yukko called a halt, he gave Shirley a little nod.

  Yes! I’ve made it, she thought to herself.

  Bella let herself into their lock-up. She’d had to travel by Tube, which she hated, and now she was here in this filthy hole, terrified of the dead or dying rats. She sat down on a box and wondered why the hell she’d come. The truth was, she just didn’t want to be at Shirley’s on her own. Plus, she quite liked the fact that Dolly had ordered her not to. And if she did find out something useful . . . well, that would teach Dolly not to be so high and mighty.

  The noise of Harry’s lock-up being opened startled her out of her thoughts. She stood up, listening to the heavy door being drawn across, then stepped up on the crate.

  On the other side of the wall, Micky Tesco was filling the kettle, while Ray Bates dumped a pile of uniforms on the floor. Harry Rawlins followed Ray in, along with Kevin White. The men were relaxed and chatty, Harry standing immediately below Bella’s peephole.

  If only they knew, she thought.

  “You sorted out a double-up Transit van for the getaway?” she heard Harry ask Ray.

  “All sorted. Extra van plus driver.”

  “Fine,” Harry said, nodding. “Five hundred for the driver—that sound fair?”

  “Sure, Harry.”

  Standing on the crate, Bella could hear them as clearly as if they were all sitting together in Shirley’s kitchen. She just hoped they couldn’t hear the booming of her heart.

  Dolly sat in the boat, trying her best not to have a good time. But it was hard, with the wind blowing in her hair, the sun glinting on the water and the gentle up and down motion of the boat rocking her. She felt herself beginning to doze off when a speedboat zipped past, towing a water-skier behind it. The man waved to Morgan as he weaved dangerously close to the boat, sending a plume of spray into the air. Dolly was transfixed—how graceful and effortless it looked! Until the wind blew the spray all over her. Morgan quickly put the boat on automatic, then took off his jacket and offered it to her. She swiped his hand away in a fury and his jacket sailed over the side and into the water.

  Morgan gaped. “That’s my—”

  Dolly tried not to laugh at the expression on his face. It was obviously an expensive jacket and he’d worn it to impress her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

  Dolly had no idea why she thought it was so funny, but she just couldn’t help herself. Maybe it was all the tension of the last few days suddenly coming out. He was leaning over the side, shouting for her to get hold of his belt, reaching over toward the jacket, which was gently floating away out of his reach.

  “Get the boat hook!”

  Dolly spotted it on the deck. She bent down to pick it up and then almost did a Buster Keaton as she turned round, nearly taking Morgan’s head off as he reached for it.

  “Oops, sorry!”

  He yanked the pole out of her hand, and for some reason his furious expression started the laughter again.

  “Come on! Grab hold of my belt again,” he shouted, leaning over the side of the boat and reaching out with the pole. Dolly grabbed hold and hung on for dear life as he finally managed to snag the coat and start dragging it toward him. But even with Dolly holding on to him, he was leaning too far over to keep his balance, and just as it seemed he was about to pull the coat out of the water, his head dipped under. Dolly pulled as hard as she could, thinking that the boat itself was about to tip over, and with an almighty heave he managed to raise himself out of the water, still clutching his precious jacket.

  Dolly sat down on the deck and tried to get her breath while he rummaged in the pockets of the sodden jacket, eventually pulling out his wallet.

  “Thank Christ for that,” he said, closing his eyes.

  She looked at him, at his big, dopey face, with water dripping down it, and started to laugh again. She gave in to it, hysterical laughing, unable to stop.

  He looked at her and shook his head. “What a funny woman you are, Mrs. Rawlins.” He came and sat beside her, and put his arms round her, holding her gently.

  She turned to him and smiled, brushing a piece of weed from his forehead. “Thank you, Vic. Thank you so much.”

  He looked puzzled. “For what?”

  “For making me laugh,” Dolly said.

  Bella was starting to shiver and she was getting cramp in her calves. But she didn’t dare move. The men were trying on their uniforms and once each of them had found a uniform that fitted, and had taken them off again, Harry called them over and the men began to group round the orange boxes to listen to the guv’nor.

  Harry was brisk and businesslike. The men were mostly silent, listening intently, no one interrupting. Harry assigned them their roles in the raid—who was to carry the shotguns or hammers—and carefully explained the timing. The men nodded in silence. Only when Harry had finished delegating their tasks did they ask any questions.

  Bella noticed that the men didn’t seem to like the only black man among them. He didn’t say much, and nor did the small, younger-looking man. The handsome blond guy, on the other hand, was very much in evidence, laughing and joking confidently. Less confident was a white-haired, rather elegant man with horn-rimmed glasses, who seemed constantly to be looking to Harry for approval. She wondered about him.

  One by one the men left. The white-haired man handed Harry a brand-new passport before going, saying something about DI Fuller that Bella couldn’t quite follow, while Harry counted out his payment in cash.

  “Tomorrow, then,” Harry said, shaking his hand.

  Then Harry and the handsome blond boy were alone. They both seemed so relaxed it was hard to believe they’d just been going over the details of an £8 million jewel raid. She heard Harry call the other man Micky, and she made a mental note of the name.

  “What about your model, then?” Harry asked.

  Micky laughed. “I got her in the palm of me hand, Harry.”

  “Make sure you get all the info out of her, Micky. Everything, yeah?” Harry gave Micky a playful cuff round the ear.

  Moments later the lights went off, leaving Bella blinking into the darkness. But she didn’t relax until she heard Harry finally driving away. She gave it another couple of minutes before slipping out, then Bella opened Harry’s lock-up and went in.

  The girls were gliding up and down the ramp in formation, moving like tigers.

  “In the midst of all this madness, let’s dance, come on an’ dance.”

  Jukko screamed for the lights—now they were strobing, swirling round the girls’ heads, then . . . blackout.

  The next second the girls’ heads and shoulders were picked out by spotlights, each girl lit to show off the final display of the jewels. At this precise moment they were wearing, in all, over eight million pounds’ worth of gems.

  The lights came back on and the girls fell down in exhausted heaps. Jukko clapped his hands and declared a break. Amid cheers they crawled down the ramp. Shirley jumped down, laughing, and Myra grabbed hold of her.

  “Babe, why do we let them do this to us?”

  Shirley loved the fact that the other girls included her naturally in the discussion about where to go to eat. But the truth was, she would have been happy eating a sandwich in the middle of a roundabout, she was so excited. As they all streamed out of the club, Shirley saw Micky standing on the corner, leaning against his E-type. Myra nudged her, making kissing sounds. Shirley would have preferred to go and eat with the girls, but Micky waved her over.

  Myra walked off, yelling over her shoulder that Shirley had “just an hour,” and to be a good girl!

  Shirley was feeling so good she’d almost forgotten how angry with Micky she’d been the previous night. He opened the door for her, tucked in her coat, and as he got in he took hold of her hand.

  “First, I want you to tell me you’re not angry about the other night. I’ve not been able to sleep. On my life, it was just one of those things, a heavy time all round.”

  Shirley listened to him giving her the flannel, not really paying any attention. He was good with the chat, but that’s all it was, and she’d realized that not only didn’t she trust him, she didn’t really like him much, either. For the moment, though, she was happy to go along for the ride.

  The flannel finally stopped, and then he started up the car, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and drove off.

  “Nice little place, grab you a quick bite to eat, want to hear all about it . . .”

  Shirley kept her eyes on his face as she asked him if he knew Harry Rawlins. She noticed a slight twitch at the side of his mouth, then he looked her directly in the eyes.

  “Harry who?”

  Shirley shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Micky drove on, keeping up with the chatter, trying not to show she’d rattled him. He felt for her thigh, then hitched up her skirt. Her flesh was soft and warm. He looked at the clock on the dashboard. He fancied taking her back and giving her a good seeing-to, but he doubted they had the time.

  They pulled up outside a small Italian restaurant. On the pavement, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, a long, deep kiss. He felt her respond, her arms tightening round him—then he released her.

  Micky knew the proprietor and a table was quickly laid for them in a cozy alcove, even though it was way past lunchtime and the place was almost deserted. Micky tossed the menus aside and ordered two fettuccinis and a bottle of chilled Pinot Grigio. Then he tilted Shirley’s chin and kissed her gently.

  “Right, my little beauty, tell me everything. I want to know all about it.”

  As Shirley started talking, the waiter came and opened the wine, while Micky was given a bottle of San Pellegrino without even asking. Shirley would have rather been telling someone else about her day—someone who she thought really cared about her—but right now there wasn’t anyone else, and Micky was so attentive, and seemed so interested, that she soon forgot about it.

  “You ended with a blackout?” he said incredulously. “Like in the war?”

  “No, silly,” she laughed. “It’s when the lights go out at the end of the show for the finale, when we walk down the ramp. We’ve got all the jewels on, and then the lights go out except for spotlights on your head and neck to show off the jewels.”

  Micky smiled. “Well, just shows you—you learn something new every day, don’t you?”

  Dolly lay in the bath and gently soaped her whole body. Funny, really, every morning she took a bath, and yet this one felt different. Special. She was suddenly aware of her body, not just something to wash, dry and put clothes on top of, but something that somebody else might want to touch.

  Dolly studied her red toenails. She had nice feet, elegant. But then she’d always taken care of her feet, since shoes were one of her passions. Some women went for hats; Dolly went for shoes. Maybe it stemmed from her childhood, her feet being shoved into the cheapest ones available. Dolly remembered her mother’s feet, with her bunions and corns, the heel worn into a bulge at the back. She looked at her own smooth, hairless legs and smiled. She began to think of Vic Morgan, saying his name to herself.

  She sat up. This was getting stupid. But she couldn’t get him out of her mind. She knew he felt the same way. But then, what way was that exactly? She shook her head. Why was she putting herself through this torture? For what?

  Then a heavy cloud came sweeping over her . . . Harry. Morgan was dismissed from her mind—just a bungling, heavyweight man, who for one moment had made her laugh. But it had proved something: she was still capable of enjoying herself, and still capable of attracting someone else. Her mood shifted and Dolly got out of the bath. She caught her reflection in the mirror and decided she should have her hair cut.

  Bella made herself a sandwich and ate it watching the telly. Where the hell was Dolly? She kicked herself for not having taken her phone number. She had so much to tell her.

  She looked round Shirley’s lounge. What was it she hated about it so much? There was nothing really ugly; nothing out of place. The sofa, the chairs, the carpet—they all matched.

  That was it. Nothing stood out. There was nothing surprising. It was as if it had all been ordered from the same magazine. Bella began to think of Rio, the villa, José. It all seemed so far away, as if it had never happened. She wondered if this was her life now, watching stupid TV programs in an empty house.

  The lounge lights were still on as Shirley parked the car. She knew she’d be in for a grilling from Bella—and she probably had it coming. She’d been gone all day and hadn’t even bothered to call in. Truth was, she hadn’t really expected the rehearsal to go on for so long, but as Jukko pointed out, they rolled the following night—Sunday. They had to know exactly what they were doing.

  Vic Morgan was standing shaving, with a towel wrapped round him, when the doorbell rang, almost making him nick himself. He wandered through to the hall and peered through the spyhole. Curious, he opened the door and the delivery boy shoved a parcel into his arms and asked him to sign for it. As he scribbled his name, Morgan noticed the boy had terrible BO.

  He carried the parcel to the table and ripped off the outer layer of packaging. Inside was a box with Italian writing. What on earth . . . ? But as he opened the box it all fell into place. It was a jacket. Not exactly the same as his old one, but very similar. He carefully took it out of the box and put it on. He looked a bit odd in the mirror, wearing a towel round his waist and a jacket on top, but the jacket looked so elegant, the material hung so perfectly, the color was so rich and deep, that even wearing a towel, he looked decidedly elegant and stylish. He felt the soft material between his fingers. Must have cost a fortune, he thought. He turned this way and that in the mirror, grinning inanely. No one had ever, in his whole life, bought him a gift like this. He was touched. More than touched: he was so taken aback that he sat on his bed for a while wondering what his next move should be.