Читать книгу: «Sinner», страница 2

3

Another person who seemed to have Alfie on their mind was Franny Doyle, but it was another couple of hours before she’d cleaned herself up and found herself walking slowly along the bustling streets of Soho towards their club just off Sutton Row.

Although Soho had changed a lot over the years, she still felt at home here. It gave her a certain kind of peace like nowhere else did.

She’d been raised in the small square mile of Soho and around each and every corner were memories. Happy childhood memories, and she could almost feel the ghosts of the past.

She smiled sadly to herself as she walked past St Anne’s Church on Dean Street, remembering how her father Patrick, a number-one face, had once raced her home from there to their large house in Soho Square; him running, and her pedalling away on the new pink bike he’d given her, like her life depended on it. And they’d laughed hard and hysterically whilst the rain lashed down, and they’d been soaked to the skin but it hadn’t mattered, not one little bit.

Until those days had become complicated, they were happy ones. And she supposed that’s what she missed most of all. The simple pleasures. The laughter, something that was certainly absent from her life of late, though one thing that being back had done was reconnect her with the past, and take away any doubts she had. It made her see even more clearly what was important to her, and that was family. Family came in all different ways and in all different manners. Family didn’t need to be about blood, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t protect them like they were. No matter what it took. No matter what she had to do.

So yes, even though life at the moment was difficult and stressful, and at times it felt like she wasn’t coping properly, she was pleased to be here among the vibrant streets of Soho. Not that it had been her idea to come back – it had been Alfie’s. Nor had it been her idea to get back into the club business – again that had been Alfie’s – but considering the state of mind he was in, she couldn’t have persuaded him otherwise even if she’d tried.

Though hopefully, very soon, Alfie would realise what was best for him. Realise he really did need to get away. Properly away. To Spain. To Mexico. To Brazil. To anywhere but here. He’d looked ill earlier, a shell of his former self, and no matter what, she still did care about him. She always would. Just because he’d be in one country and her in another, it wouldn’t mean the end of them, but right now, her and Alfie’s relationship was the least of her worries.

Taking a deep breath, Franny closed her eyes for a moment, the enormity of everything washing over her. She had to keep on believing that things would work out in the end. In fact, they had to, because it wasn’t just Alfie feeling anxious. If things didn’t work out very soon, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do.

Opening her eyes and regretting not putting a warmer top on, Franny, once more beginning to feel the pressure build up, started to walk again, still with Alfie firmly on her mind.

Ten minutes later, having stopped for a quick catch-up chat with one of the old prostitutes who’d worked the area for as long as she could remember, Franny arrived at the club. She walked down the stone basement stairs towards the discreet entrance and as she did, her phone rang.

She answered quickly. Her tone was hushed and cold as she stood in the shadows of the night, her gaze darting around anxiously.

‘Yes? … What? … For God’s sake, haven’t I told you not to call me unless it’s an emergency? … No, you listen to me. I said that I’d come round and I will. I’ve never let you down before have I? … No, that’s right. You know I’ve got a lot on so I don’t appreciate you making everything harder … I’m going to check on Alfie first, but like I say, unless you want us both getting into trouble, don’t call me again on this number.’

‘Who shouldn’t call you again?’

Franny jumped, turning round and letting out a small scream as she clutched the phone to her chest, backing away. ‘Jesus Christ, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Don’t go around creeping up on people like that.’

Vaughn Sadler stepped out of the shadows into the light, staring at Franny, his green eyes twinkling with suspicion. ‘I wasn’t. Not my style, darling. Sneaking about has never been my thing.’

He held her stare and, annoyed, she waved him off. ‘Whatever, Vaughn. You carry on telling yourself that.’

Vaughn tilted his head, finishing off his large cigar. ‘You seem jumpy.’

Wiping away the tiny beads of perspiration on her brow, Franny snapped, ‘Well yeah! Because you’ve jumped out on me.’

Vaughn leant in, a smirk spreading across his handsome face. ‘You carry on telling yourself that … So go on then, who was on the phone? Who shouldn’t call you again?’

Franny bristled with anger, desperate to get away. ‘Sorry to tell you this, Vaughn, but you’re not my keeper. Now if you don’t mind getting out of my way, I’m here to see Alfie.’

She turned to head for the entrance but felt the firm grip of Vaughn’s hand on her arm.

‘Not until you tell me.’

Franny shook her head, pushing her long chestnut hair out of the way. ‘Not a chance, and not because I’m hiding anything, but because it’s none of your business. Now I’d appreciate it if you’d take your hands off me.’

Vaughn dropped his hold. The coldness in his tone turned to ice. ‘I don’t like you, Franny, and I certainly don’t trust you. If it wasn’t for Alfie, after that stunt of yours you pulled last year, you’d be six foot under.’

‘Is that a threat?’

‘No, it’s a regret. We should’ve got rid of you a long time ago because I know as well as you do that behind that pretty face of yours and those big innocent eyes, you’re a scheming bitch and come to think of it, you still owe me a lot of money. I don’t forget, and I certainly don’t forgive people who rip me off.’

Trying to keep her temper under control, Franny chewed the inside of her bottom lip. ‘You know it wasn’t like that.’

‘Like I say, you’re a scheming bitch. You might have Alfie fooled, darlin’, but sweetheart, I know your game. You are so like your father it’s unreal. Gangster through and through aren’t you?’

Irritated, Franny sighed. There was no love lost between her and Vaughn, who’d been Alfie’s business partner for a long while now. And no, she didn’t entirely blame him for being pissed off with her. But he knew as well as Alfie did that the stunt he was always referring to, the ripping off he often spoke about, simply wasn’t true. Okay, she’d taken his and Alfie’s money without asking them last year. A lot of money. Two million pounds to be precise. But it wasn’t about conning or cheating anybody. The fact was she knew if she’d asked them they, or at least Vaughn, would’ve said no. And no would’ve meant two people who were very dear to her would’ve likely been killed by the notorious Russo brothers, who’d demanded the money in return for her family’s safety. Not that it’d ended up being as simple as that, far from it, but she would defy anyone not to do the same in her position, and that included Vaughn.

‘I didn’t rip you off, you know that, and I’d do it again if I had to.’

Vaughn nodded. ‘I know, and that’s the problem. You aren’t to be trusted, and if Alfie can’t see that, then I’ll make it my business to make him see.’

‘Keep out of my business, Vaughn, you hear me?’

‘Not a chance. I’m going to bring you down, Franny.’

Franny barged past Vaughn, pushing down her anxiety and doing her best to ignore what he was saying.

‘I’m watching you, Franny Doyle. You hear me? I’m watching you!’

As Franny walked into the overheated basement club, her mood wasn’t helped when she saw Alfie slumped across the bar with one of the women who worked for them almost sitting on his knee. The minute she saw Franny, she blushed, tottering off quickly in her too high stilettos and shorter than short mini skirt muttering an apology under her breath.

Stony-faced, Franny sat on the Perspex bar stool next to Alfie as she looked around the club full of wealthy punters. Punters who were happy to flash their black Amex cards and pay well over the odds for the middle-of-the-road Champagne they served. And in return for their money, they got to wind down and chat freely to the pretty girls who worked there, away from their wives’ prying eyes.

Not that their girls were actual underage girls, not like Charlie Eton’s. That wasn’t even a possibility. To Franny, Charlie was the scum of the earth. She’d seen first-hand how young they were as well as seeing how badly he treated them, and in truth, it made her sick to her stomach. They were all vulnerable or runaway kids who saw Charlie and his club as an escape. Somewhere better than where they had come from. And Christ, that was the most depressing part of it all.

Franny had always been strict with the recruitment process. The youngest girl who worked for them at the moment had just turned twenty, and on account of it being almost impossible to know how old someone was just by looking at them, she always insisted on seeing the girls’ passports without exception.

The other thing she was strict on was making sure the girls understood from the get-go that the place wasn’t a knocking shop, or an escort business, nor did it have a room at the back for giving clients sneaky blow jobs.

All that was required of them was to look pretty, to be friendly, and to keep smiling, in addition to getting the punters to buy drinks. Lots of drinks. Obviously, what the girls did in their spare time with the clients wasn’t any of her business, but she warned them from the outset that if she heard them offering the clients sex, they’d be out on their ear before they could say the full works.

Membership for the club was in excess of ten thousand pounds a year, and so far, not only was the place doing very well, they also had a waiting list. The clients seemed to appreciate the air of discretion and sophistication, so having Alfie looking like he was about to vomit all over the expensive, plush black marble floor any minute was not a good look.

For the clients’ benefit, Franny kept a wide smile on her face whilst hissing a whisper. ‘For God’s sake, just sit up, Alf. You look a mess. This isn’t the time or the place.’ Half-cut, Alfie stared up at Franny. He winked at her. It always surprised him that even when she was angry she looked beautiful. In truth, she looked even more beautiful when she was annoyed, which didn’t mean to say she pissed him off any the less. In fact, it just added to his irritation.

‘Oh, that’s nice, ain’t it? No hello, no kiss, just straight in chewing me ear off.’

‘I wouldn’t have to if you carried yourself properly.’

Alfie shook his head. ‘Jesus, Fran, leave it out. All I’m doing is having a drink in my own club. No more, no less. It’s not a crime.’

Still holding her smile as she seethed, which she knew was more to do with her encounter with Vaughn, than Alfie, Franny snapped, ‘Like I say, you look a state, and you’re embarrassing yourself. Having the girls fall over you isn’t the way to run a place, not this kind of place anyway. And before you ask, Alf, I’m not jealous – far from it. This is about business and this business is supposed to be a classy joint. Now I get that something’s going on with you, but don’t bring that something to work.’

‘Cometh the ice maiden.’

‘Grow up, Alfie!’

With Franny’s arrival acting like a bucket of cold water, Alfie sat up, glaring, his blue eyes piercing from underneath his fringe of thick black hair. ‘Listen to me, if you only came down here to give me grief, why don’t you just turn your pretty backside around and go home. I can do without another lecture.’

Franny sighed, her voice softening as she touched his hand gently. ‘If you must know, I came here to see if you were all right. I was worried. You haven’t been yourself. Look what you did earlier. I just want to know what’s happening … Come on, talk to me, Alf.’

Alfie stayed silent for a moment before shrugging, trying to dispel his gnawing unease.

‘I’m fine. How many times do I have to tell you?’

‘Alf, it’s me you’re talking to. There’s something going on, I know there is. You’re distant. I can feel you pushing me away.’

Alfie looked at her evenly. ‘You think this is about Bree and you, don’t you?’

Franny bristled, her voice tight. ‘What … what are you talking about?’

Gently, Alfie took her hands. ‘I’m talking about you. You think I still miss her. That I’m still in love with her, don’t you?’

A flicker of relief crossed Franny’s face and more relaxed she said, ‘I don’t know – are you?’

‘No, and you know why?’ Franny shook her head but let Alfie continue to talk. ‘Because why would I want to waste my time on someone who didn’t love me back? I mean, she can’t have cared. She can’t have given a damn about me if she just dropped me the way she did. Going off like that without even a goodbye. I don’t know what I was thinking getting together with her in the first place.’

Seeming slightly distracted as if wanting to get on with what she had to do, Franny said, ‘You were hurt, Alfie. I understand. You thought I’d left you. It’s as simple as that.’

Alfie shook his head, genuine warmth and regret in his tone. ‘No, I was wrong, Fran. I’m surprised you don’t hate me. I put you through shit and hurt you badly, yet it’s not Bree sitting here, is it? It’s you … And I know this sounds bad, but it’s a good job that the pregnancy didn’t work out, otherwise if the baby had turned out to be mine, I’d have been lumbered with Bree for the rest of my life.’

‘Exactly, and I’m not holding any grudges, Alf. Bree is in the past now. She’s forgotten. What’s done is done. We don’t have to mention her again.’ Franny squeezed his hand and gave him a kiss on the cheek, indicating that the topic of conversation was now closed.

With the cocaine in his system making him flick from one mood to another, Alfie growled as he pulled away from Franny, snatching hold of the glass of whiskey on the rocks in front of him. He raised it.

‘Well let’s drink to that. Good riddance to her, that’s all I can say. I had a lucky escape from that bitch …’ Alfie paused, his demeanour once again changing as he thought about the letters. ‘But the point is, Fran, what’s going on with me, it isn’t about her. I’ve just got a lot on my mind. You know, making a go of this place, all the long hours, it catches up on a person. I’m not as young as I use to be.’

Seeing an opportunity, Franny stared at Alfie. ‘That’s why you should get away. Take a break. Go back to Spain. We could even open another club out there. You were happier when we were living out there. Think about it, Alf, it could work out great.’

‘You’re keen on getting rid of him all of a sudden. That’s all I seem to hear these days. If you ask me, it seems a bit odd.’

For the second time that evening, Franny jumped as she turned around to see Vaughn again, and like before he stared at her coldly.

With Vaughn making her feel paranoid, Franny hissed, ‘Well I didn’t ask you, and it’s not about being keen, Vaughn, or about it being odd. It’s about what’s best for Alfie, and in case you haven’t noticed, he’s not himself at the moment. If you want to see something else in that, be my guest, but let me tell you something, you’re wasting your time.’ She turned back to Alfie. ‘Look, Alf, I’ll see you later.’

Franny began to walk away through the crowd of noisy, milling people, but she stopped in her tracks as Vaughn caught up with her, speaking out of earshot of Alfie. ‘Where are you going, Fran?’

Slowly, Franny turned on her heel to stare back at Vaughn who stood inches away, his muscular body rigid with anger.

‘What?’

‘You heard me, where are you off to?’

Franny’s expression spoke hatred. ‘You’re like a dog with a bone, aren’t you, Vaughnie? What’s your problem?’

‘Just answer the question, Fran. It’s not that hard.’

Expert at keeping her temper even, Franny’s voice was devoid of emotion. ‘I’m going home. It’s been a long day. Happy now?’

‘Home? Are you sure about that?’

Snorting with derision, Franny shook her head. ‘Whatever it is you’ve got to say, just say it.’

Giving a cloying smile, his handsome face twisted with a hatred that matched Franny’s, he leant forward to whisper in her ear. ‘Oh, I will, when the time’s right, that is. When I’ve worked out what exactly it is you’re up to.’

Franny laughed scornfully, and then said above the music, ‘You’ve clearly got too much time on your hands, Vaughn, or maybe you just need to go and get laid. Now if that’s all, I’m going home.’

‘Not quite all … Tomorrow I think you and me should go over the club’s accounts and then you could explain to me why there’s a lot of unaccounted money going out of the business.’ Franny didn’t turn to acknowledge Vaughn’s words; she continued to walk straight out the door.

Outside in the street, Franny leant on the black, wrought-iron railings, welcoming the cool. Shaking, she closed her eyes, breathing deeply, feeling the beginning of a tension headache. There was no way she could meet Vaughn and go over the books because he would want answers, and she had none to give him. The last thing she could do was tell him why she’d been taking money out of the business without telling either him or Alfie. But she knew Vaughn well enough to know he wouldn’t back down, and very soon he’d cause her real trouble, which was one thing she couldn’t afford to happen. So she had to work out what she was going to do about Vaughn. One way or another she was going to have to stop him.

After taking a couple of minutes to compose herself, Franny pulled out her phone and dialled a number. It was answered after only two rings.

‘Hi, it’s me … Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to be so angry, it’s just that you know you shouldn’t call me on this number; anyone could’ve picked up, and things are becoming really difficult. I think Vaughn’s on to me … Anyway, I’m coming now, okay? See you soon.’

As Franny pushed down her sense of guilt, she slipped the phone back in her pocket, hurrying along Sutton Row, not noticing Charlie Eton and his men striding towards the club.