‘Tough,’ she said. ‘Let them. If they ask, you don’t know a thing.’
‘Well, I don’t,’ said Dolly in exasperation.
‘That’s fine then, isn’t it? Come on, Tone. Let’s get the fuck out of here.’
When Annie got back to Holland Park, Bri was still there on the door.
‘Hiya, Bri,’ said Tony, as he followed her in, eyeing him curiously.
Bri nodded a greeting to them both. He was tall, lean, with a shaven head and a steady gaze. A man of few words but – Annie hoped – direct action.
‘Layla!’ called Annie, crossing the marble hallway, her steps echoing in the stillness of the house.
No answer.
‘She could be downstairs in the gym,’ said Annie, peering around her with worried eyes as she made her way to the basement stairs.
Suddenly she needed to know where Layla was as a matter of urgency.
This place was grand, luxurious in the extreme. It had belonged to Constantine, one of many properties he owned all over the world. These included vineyards in the Loire Valley, an old sugar plantation in Jamaica, a beachside retreat in Martha’s Vineyard and a compound in glamorous upstate Montauk. When he died, all Constantine’s properties had passed first to Lucco, then to Alberto, with the exception of the Upper East Side apartment, and this London house, both of which were now Annie’s. Much as she loved the New York apartment, this was the place that had always felt like her true home.
Or it had done until now. After the events of the last twenty-four hours it made her feel uneasy, just being here.
Orla Delaney had made her way in here with murder in mind. Annie found herself starting at shadows. She no longer felt secure in her own home. And that explosion… she could still hear it, ringing in her ears. The jar of the shockwave when the device had gone off kept reverberating in her bones. Her mind insisted on replaying each detail, over and over. And it was dredging up memories of that other explosion, the one in the States, that had wrecked her life seventeen years ago, the whole ghastly thing playing on an endless loop. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, closed her eyes, gulped hard. It felt as if someone heavy was sitting on her chest.
Tony took her arm. ‘You OK?’
‘Yeah.’ She managed to raise a smile. ‘Bit shook up, that’s all.’
They could hear Duran Duran blaring out of the speakers, and the treadmill humming.
That was a relief. Layla was OK, she was here, she was safe. So was Tony. Annie thought again of the panic she’d felt when there was no sign of him after the explosion.
‘I thought we’d lost you back there,’ she said with an unsteady laugh.