‘Not so good,’ said Annie, swallowing hard.
‘What is it?’ Ruthie’s voice was immediately anxious.
‘Max is back.’
‘Oh?’ Ruthie was silent for a moment. ‘That doesn’t bother you, does it? I mean… it’s over between you, isn’t it? Has been for… oh, how long is it?’
‘Eight years.’ And he can still rile me like no one else. I’m sitting here shaking like an over-excited teenager just because he’s been in this room.
‘That’s right. A long time.’
‘Yeah, but… thing is, Ruthie, Layla called him because we’ve had some trouble.’
‘Trouble? What sort of trouble?’
Annie told her. And then she suggested it might be a good idea if Ruthie were to take herself off somewhere for a while.
‘There’s something you’re not telling me,’ said Ruthie.
‘There is. It’s about the woman who was shot,’ said Annie. She hadn’t told Ruthie, not even Ruthie, that Layla had fired the gun.
‘You didn’t know her, did you?’ asked Ruthie anxiously.
‘I did. Ruthie, it’s really weird. I thought she was dead, years ago.’
‘Who?’
‘Orla Delaney.’
Ruthie was silent.
‘Ruthie?’
‘I’ll pack a bag,’ she said, and hung up the phone.
Layla was in the kitchen above the Shalimar. It was eight o’clock and the club was starting to come to life, the staff busying themselves putting the champagne on ice and making sure everything was looking glamorous for the punters. Meanwhile Layla was pouring hot water on to a pot of noodles. She really didn’t think she could eat anything, not after all that had happened. But she had to try.
‘Jesus, that looks grim,’ said a voice behind her.
Layla stopped pouring. She turned to find a vision standing in the doorway. The woman was about the same age as her, but she might as well have been a totally different species. She was tall – taller than Layla herself, and voluptuously built. She was wearing an emerald-green silk evening gown that showed off a terrific pair of breasts. Her hair was big too, tumbling down her back and shoulders in a rich dark cascade. Her face was pale, long, her lips pouty and accentuated with scarlet. Her brows were straight dark lines above huge black-lashed eyes of a strikingly clear light grey.
‘Hi,’ the creature announced herself. ‘I’m Precious.’
‘You’re what?’ Layla was half-smiling at the absurdity.
‘Precious.’ The girl was smiling too, a huge megawatt grin. ‘Yeah, I know. We don’t use our real names here. You’ll meet China and Destiny too. And a couple of others. All called Jane or Margaret or something boring in real life. But this isn’t real life, is it?’
Layla blinked. ‘Isn’t it?’