Bella picked up Linda’s breakfast tray.

  “Of course, it’s open, José,” she called. She flicked a warning look to Linda as he entered. He smiled warmly and bowed toward Bella. Linda picked up some tissues and loudly blew her nose.

  “How’s our invalid today?” He looked at the tray. “What’s this? You don’t like Anna’s cooking?”

  Linda muttered that it was fine, but she just wasn’t hungry. That secret look flashed between José and Bella as José sat on the bed.

  “I have some news for you.”

  Bella smiled brightly. “Oh, yes?”

  “Yes,” said José. “The taxi at your villa—my chauffeur was able to make out most of the number plate. The police are sure they will be able to trace the driver.”

  Bella tensed up. “I thought we’d agreed we didn’t want to take it any further?”

  José got up, touching her lightly on the shoulder. He caught sight of the two plane tickets on the dressing table and picked them up. “What are these? Two tickets?”

  “Oh, I just hadn’t got round to telling you yet, darling,” Bella said lightly.

  He placed the two tickets very carefully back on the dressing table. “I see.” With a thoughtful incline of his head, he walked to the door. “Excuse me.” His manners remained impeccable, but there was no disguising the iciness in his tone.

  The door closed softly behind him.

  “You’ll have to tell him, Bella.”

  Bella banged the breakfast tray down and turned furiously to Linda. “Tell him what? We’re running back to England because we’re scared stiff Harry Rawlins is gonna nick our money?”

  “I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t mean that!”

  “Then what did you mean?” Watching Linda squirming, tears in her eyes, Bella thought that sometimes she could really hate her. “Well, come on, Linda. What? You want me to tell him about the raid?”

  Linda shook her head.

  “Oh, that’s it. You want me to tell him about me. You want me to tell him what I was. He’s asked me to marry him, Linda! You think he would have done that if he knew what I was? A tart?”

  Linda began weeping. “I didn’t mean that. I . . .”

  José had no intention of eavesdropping, but when he heard Bella’s voice raised in anger, he couldn’t help it. He stopped and listened. What he heard was the voice of a stranger—coarse and grating—not the Bella he’d come to know at all. As he listened it grew even louder.

  “I’m telling you, Linda, he’s not going to find out about me. I’m not gonna lose him, not for you, not for Dolly, not for anybody! I don’t give a shit about the money. This is what I’m gonna do, Linda. And stop crying for Chrissake! I’m gonna tell him that we’re gonna go back because you wanna see your mother.”

  José moved closer to the door, straining to hear every word. Linda murmured something about not having a mother, then he stepped back sharply as Bella’s voice screamed out, “Well, you bloody got one now, you stupid bitch!”

  As shocked as he was bewildered, José decided that he had heard enough and quickly walked back to his room. Pausing in the doorway, he saw Bella emerging from Linda’s room, her face set in an ugly grimace. He closed the door.

  Shirley Miller’s mother, Audrey, had a new live-in lover—one Raymond Bates. Five foot six, Ray was a rotund little man with strange, dark tufted hair all over his chest and sticking up on top of his head. But despite his odd looks, Ray was her man and she loved him. Most importantly, he was straight—he had his own business, a garage—and that made Audrey happier than she’d been in years. Which was why she felt a little nervous when she saw the cable lying on the mat. Cables rarely meant good news. She opened it and walked into the kitchen.

  “Our Shirley’s comin’ home.”

  Ray looked up with a grin. “All right, is she?”

  Audrey sat down at the table. “Well, that’s my holiday up the spout. I’ve really been looking forward to it. ‘Come to Los Angeles,’ she said. I’ve only just gone out and got all that gear, all them summer clothes, and now . . .” Her mouth began to tremble. “I’m not goin’ now, am I?”

  Ray reached over, gave her hand a squeeze and picked up the cable. “What’s she comin’ home for? You think she knows about us?”

  Audrey took out a crumpled bit of tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “Oh, yes, I’m sure she’s heard about us. Headlines in the News of the World, we are!” Her expression turned serious. “Something’s wrong, Ray, I know it. I mean, why did she call us up one minute and say, ‘Come out, have a holiday,’ say she’s sending me money, then I get a cable next minute says she’s comin’ home?”

  Ray put the cable down. “Well, we’re gonna find out, aren’t we? What about you fryin’ us up another slice of that bacon?”

  Audrey blew her nose. “Oh, Ray, love, you’ll have to fry it up yourself. I’m gonna have to lie down, I don’t feel too good!” Audrey didn’t know what the matter was with her lately. She kept feeling sick all the time.

  Ray went and picked up the frying pan. “It’s all right, darlin’,” he said with a wink. “I tell you what, one day I’ll take you to Disneyland!”

  Audrey gave him a sad smile and went to bed.

  Dolly arrived at the clinic. The reception was all very tasteful—soft music playing, potted plants—but the soothing décor didn’t make Dolly feel any less nervous as she walked up to the desk, carrying her overnight bag with everything in it, even the dark glasses. The receptionist smiled at her.

  “It’s . . . er . . . Mrs. Rawlins. I’m, um, Mr. Jarrow’s patient.” Dolly could hardly speak.

  The receptionist did her best to calm her. “Ah, yes, we’re expecting you. Good morning, Mrs. Rawlins. Now, you’re going to be in—” she turned the pages of her ledger—“room 4E. I’ll just call for a nurse to take you through. I’m sure you’ll really love this room; it looks over the gardens. Oh, Mrs. Rawlins . . .” She reached beneath the desk and brought out an envelope. “This arrived for you two days ago.”

  Dolly was taken aback. Mail? There shouldn’t be any mail for her—nobody even knew she was here. Dolly’s hand was shaking as she ripped open the envelope and read the cable inside. The receptionist was poised, pen in hand.

  “I don’t appear to have a forwarding address for you, Mrs. Rawlins. Would you . . .” She stopped when she saw how shaken Dolly looked. “Are you all right, Mrs. Rawlins? Not bad news, I hope?”

  Dolly hurriedly stuffed the cable in her pocket and picked up her bag. “You’ve had this how long? This cable?”

  “Two days, Mrs. Rawlins. You see, we had no forwarding address.”

  Dolly was already on her way to the exit.

  “Please give Mr. Jarrow my apologies, I’m afraid I have to . . . I’m so sorry.” And she was gone.

  Harry was standing on the brow of a hill, looking down in to an orange grove. In a clearing he could see Tony leaning against his taxi, arguing with Jimmy, who was holding a handkerchief to his bleeding nose. The men were shouting at each other, but Harry couldn’t hear what they were saying.

  He watched Jimmy turn on his heel and walk up the hill toward him. “He’s a cocky son of a bitch,” Jimmy muttered as he reached Harry. “He’s only gone and butted me. Did you see ’im? He butted me one in the face!”

  Harry’s mouth tightened. “Did you get the cash?”

  Jimmy patted his bulging pockets. “There’s two grand. He said it’s all that’s left. He spent the rest. He’s also panicking. The police have been round asking questions, and his girl—”

  Harry cut him off. “He tell them anything?”

  Jimmy shrugged. He looked down at the taxi, then back to Harry. “What do you want me to do?”

  Harry put his hand out. “Give me a coupla hundred.”

  Jimmy fished a bundle of banknotes out of his pocket. Harry grabbed them and set off down the hill. Tony watched him approach, opened the door and got inside. Harry climbed in beside him.

  “He got no right to do that to me—you owed me, you know?”

  Harry gave him an ice-cold stare. “I hear the police have been asking you questions. That right, Tony?”

  “Yeah. They been to see my girl, too, and I don’ like it!”

  “Nor do I.” Harry smiled nastily. “So I think you better take a trip, clear off for a few days.”

  “What do you think I am?”

  Harry moved fast, reaching over and gripping Tony’s balls hard before he knew what was happening. Tony was in instant agony.

  “You want to hang on to these, you better do as I say, all right?” Harry snarled.

  Tony could only nod.

  Harry let go. “Here, enjoy yourself!” He tucked some notes into Tony’s shirt pocket. As he got out of the car, he turned and leaned in close. “I don’t wanna see you round for a while, all right?”

  Tony hunched over the steering wheel, his face a grimace of pain. Harry slammed the door and walked back up the hill. Jimmy met him on the path and they both watched as the taxi screeched off, raising a cloud of dust in its wake.

  “You shouldn’t have let him go, Harry.”

  Harry shrugged. “We got enough money to fix me a passport?”

  Jimmy nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” He dabbed at his nose, and Harry could smell blood alongside the usual reek of sweat.

  “I need it quick. I’m leaving tonight.” Harry started down the hill.

  Jimmy hurried after him. “Maybe we could talk about that bit of business now? D’you wanna take a look at it?”

  Harry just wanted to be rid of him. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll take a look at it for you.”

  Jimmy was all over him. “That’s great!”

  Harry snapped, “Don’t they sell deodorant round here, Jimmy? You stink!” He stalked off, leaving a crestfallen Jimmy literally stewing in his own juice.

  Dolly drove to the convent and parked in the courtyard. Fortunately it was lunchtime, and she was able to get to the lockers, rip off the posters and remove the bags without being seen. They were so heavy, she had to take them to the car one at a time. Just as she closed the boot on the last one, the Mother Superior appeared at her side, as if out of nowhere.

  She smiled. “Mrs. Rawlins . . .”

  Startled, Dolly whipped round.

  “How nice to have you back.” The Mother Superior smiled graciously. “I hope you enjoyed your holiday.”

  Dolly was desperate to get out. Suddenly she spotted a strap from one of the rucksacks sticking out of the boot. The Mother Superior watched as Dolly opened the boot and tucked it back in.

  “I was, er, just collecting a few belongings from the lockers . . .” She desperately tried to think of an explanation. “For the Brownies.”

  “Oh, then you’ll be seeing Mrs. Gregory.”

  Dolly stopped. “I’m sorry, who?”

  “Mrs. Gregory—Brown Owl.”

  “Oh . . . yes,” Dolly stammered. “Yes, of course. I’m collecting these for Mrs. Gregory. I-I really must go.”

  The Mother Superior watched Dolly’s little green Fiesta drive out of the main gates, then walked slowly back to the main door.

  Strange woman, Mrs. Rawlins, she thought to herself, always seeming to be in a rush. But a good woman, she was sure; a very good woman.

  Jimmy’s kitchen was littered with empty beer cans and dirty dishes as usual. Harry ripped the top off a beer can and took a deep pull while Jimmy leafed through an old copy of Vogue magazine Maria had brought back from the hotel where she worked as a cleaner. Harry wanted to get back to London as soon as possible, and the waiting was making him edgy.

  Jimmy pushed the magazine over to Harry. “Here, Harry, take a look at this.”

  Harry looked at the centerfold spread in front of him. Photographed on black velvet were rows and rows of the most exquisite rubies, diamonds and emeralds—necklaces, earrings, tiaras, rings. As Jimmy leaned over him, Harry again caught the stench of his BO.

  “I talked it over with Micky Tesco while he was stayin’ here. You know Micky, don’t you, Harry?”

  Harry lit a cigarette with a bored expression and shook his head. He looked at his watch.

  “You sure this passport’s on its way?”

  “Yeah, the guy says he’ll ring soon’s it’s ready.” Jimmy leaned closer. “Look at these babies, Harry. You know how much this lot’s worth? Eight million. That’s eight million quid’s worth right there. Turn over the page.”

  Harry looked at his watch again as he flipped the page.

  “Look, Harry, I promise you, you’ll be on the plane. But you just look at the blurb down the side of the picture, there. Look what it says.”

  Harry read it. It was advertising a forthcoming charity fashion show being put on at Amanda’s nightclub in three weeks’ time, and all the jewelry on display was lent by Asprey, Garrard, Nijinsky—you name it.

  Harry frowned. So what?

  Jimmy rummaged through a drawer and came back with a stack of photographs. He grinned at Harry.

  “Micky Tesco, he’s a sharp one. You sure you never heard of him?”

  Harry sighed. “I told you, I don’t know Micky Tesco.”

  “He was on an embassy job. He’s a clever lad.” Jimmy riffled through the photographs until he found the one he wanted, and placed it down proudly in front of Harry. It showed Jimmy with his arm round a tall, blond, handsome young man with a mean expression on his face.

  Harry gave it a bored look.

  “You see, you gotta have a crack team, Harry. For eight million, it’d be worth forking out a bit for the best.” He shoved the magazine under Harry’s nose. “All those little jewels will be on loan for the night. Look at ’em!” He picked up the photograph of Micky. “He’s a good-looking feller, isn’t he? And he’s sharp, he’s very sharp, Harry.” He shrugged. “But he’s young. He needs the right man with him—someone with your experience, someone who knows the ropes.” Jimmy was still going on about it when the phone rang.

  Harry jerked his head for Jimmy to answer.

  As he picked up the phone, Jimmy was saying, “I’d go over there myself, Harry, I’d pull it myself, but if I set one foot in London you know what’s gonna happen to me.”

  Harry knew only too well. Jimmy’s past history was well known in the business. Jimmy’d always been a loser—he’d pulled that job at the airport, was picked up for it and did eight years. The stash he’d had from it he’d left with his wife, Myra—£22,000. But Myra’s visits had soon stopped, and when poor old Jimmy got out of the nick there was no Myra, and no money. It turned out Myra had been having an affair with one of his closest mates. He had gone off to find him, his wife and his money. He never found his wife or his money, but he found the bloke, and he hit him a little bit too hard. He’d been on the run for two months when Harry had fronted him the money to get out of the country, and Jimmy had been in Rio ever since. Harry watched Jimmy talking on the phone and shook his head sadly. Poor Jimmy, always a loser, and now here he was, living in this shithole, still hustling, still after the big one.

  “Passport’s ready,” Jimmy announced, putting the phone down. “You wanna come along with me and pick it up?”

  Harry shook his head. “I’ll take a shower, get myself together.”

  “OK by me, Harry. I’ll be about half an hour.” Halfway out of the door he grinned, paused and pointed a finger at the magazine spread. “Whaddya think, Harry? You could set it up, easy. It just needs somebody like you, Harry, to get things organized. It’ll be like taking jam from a baby. Just look at them!”

  Harry shook his head. “It’s not for me, Jimmy. Better shift yourself, I wanna get that plane.”

  Jimmy’s face fell. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, then just shrugged and walked out.

  Harry lit a cigarette and pulled the magazine toward him. He looked at the picture of the gems for a moment, flicked through the rest of the magazine, then picked up the photograph of Micky Tesco. The blond, blue-eyed boy was tanned and fit, reminding him of himself when he was young. He threw the photograph down and went into the bathroom.

  Dolly stood outside Mrs. Gregory’s house, carrying a large bouquet of daffodils. She rang the doorbell, stepped back and looked up. After a minute, she rang the bell again, and eventually a middle-aged woman opened the door.

  Dolly smiled sweetly. “Mrs. Gregory? I’m from the convent. Mrs. Rawlins. I don’t believe we’ve met. Oh, these are for you.”

  Dolly handed over the flowers and hovered on the doorstep, waiting to be asked in. “I’ve got a few things from the convent in the car. I wondered would it be possible to have the drill hall keys?”

  Mrs. Gregory opened the door wide and gestured for Dolly to come in. In the lounge a very old lady was sitting by an electric fire, wrapped in blankets.

  “Mummy, this is Mrs. . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Mrs. Rawlins, from the convent.” Dolly smiled.

  “Mummy, this is Mrs. Rawlins from the convent,” Mrs. Gregory repeated in a slightly louder voice. She turned to Dolly. “Do sit down—I won’t be a moment.”

  Sitting in the worn armchair, Dolly smiled at the little old lady, who didn’t seem to be aware that anybody had entered the room, or that anything was going on around her at all. The room smelt of damp, polish and urine.

  “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” Dolly said brightly.

  No reaction whatsoever. When Mrs. Gregory eventually came back she was carrying a large bunch of keys.

  “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I will need these returned. Will you need them for very long?”

  Dolly shook her head, smiling. “I just want to store a few things and I’ll bring them straight back to you.”

  Mrs. Gregory fiddled with the keys and removed two large ones from the ring. “This one’s for the main door of the drill hall and this one is for the inner door. The vicar had a separate set, but, um, I think he lost them some time ago, so these are the only keys now. I’d be most grateful if you’d return them as soon as possible.”

  “Oh, I will,” said Dolly. “I most definitely will.”

  Mrs. Gregory leaned in closer to Dolly and whispered, “My mother’s totally senile now, I’m afraid. It’s so sad—she really doesn’t know what’s what. Her only joy in life used to be the Brownies; it was the only time she could get out of the house. You know I’m the Brown Owl . . .”