‘Georgio and Davey sell to anyone with the money, and I myself have dealt with car dealers who look like they’re on the dole and yet have wads of money in their pockets. So, no, it doesn’t seem strange to me at all.’ Donna could hear her voice rising and fought to keep it at an even level.
‘All right, love, calm down, it was just a thought. You’re his wife, and I’m his mother. We’re the two women closest to him. We both know him inside out, but maybe in different ways. Stephen says he stripped the businesses, do you know why?’
Donna stood up and went to her handbag for cigarettes. ‘Look, what is this, Maeve? Am I on trial now along with Georgio? You missed your vocation, you should have joined the GPS.’
Maeve was flabbergasted. Never once, in all the years she had known Donna, had the girl spoken to her like that. But she wasn’t a girl anymore, and Maeve admitted this to herself. She was a woman, a woman of nearly forty who only looked like a girl because she had never been scarred by the trials of childrearing. Only the want of them. They had all looked after Donna and now, after five months without her husband, it seemed she could look after herself.
‘I’m sorry, Donna, I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. I apologise for interrogating you like that!’
Donna turned to face her and smiled. Tin sorry too, Maeve. Maybe I’m too touchy. If I could just have the VO …’ Maeve jumped from her seat and left the kitchen to find the Visiting Order. ‘Of course, I’ll get it for you.’
Donna closed her eyes and lit herself a cigarette. Never had she had cross words with Maeve before. But her saying all those things about Georgio hurt Donna, because deep down she knew they were all true. Now Georgio wanted to drag her into the mire with him, and after yesterday she knew in her heart she was going to let him.
Stephen was in his office when Donna turned up there. He was interviewing two girls from Manchester who had decided to take on TS, as it was known, as a sideline. Telephone Sex brought Stephen in nearly eight thousand pounds a week. He was forever buying new airtime and changing numbers, because Oftel caught up with him, but the legislation was no problem. It was only a warning and maybe the threat of a fine. Within twenty-four hours they were up and running once more. The regular clients had a landline phone number where they called, gave their credit card number, explained what they wanted and then were given a number to ring. A lot of the girls had phones at home; others had mobiles. It depended on the girl’s situation. Some worked from their local park, chatting into the
them phone while they watched their kids on the swings. Others worked from pubs and clubs. That was the best thing about it: you could do this work anywhere. One thing all the girls had in common was that they despised the customers and joked about them shamelessly.
Delia Markham and Josie Whalley were both young prostitutes who wanted to take on TS as a way of making extra money. They could average ten pounds from each call, which meant up to a hundred pounds a day tax free.
Donna sat outside Stephen’s office and waited while he finished his interview. His secretary Carmel was an austere woman in her forties who took her job seriously. She made Donna a coffee and then went into the office to announce her arrival. Donna was amazed to see the two girls who were interviewed. They didn’t look like escorts any sane man would want to be seen with. She picked up a magazine and flicked through it. Stephen’s offices were white, almost clinical. Two large prints were on the wall, both of women in high-fashion poses. Cannel’s desk was practically clear with only two phones and a large ledger. A fax machine stood inside Stephen’s room. It seemed very sparse to Donna but she didn’t really give it much thought.
This was only her second visit here, and the constant ringing of the phones amazed her. She had never realised escorts were in such demand. Georgio had gone to great pains to assure her this wasn’t anything to do with call girls, but after looking at the two young women in Stephen’s office, she was beginning to wonder.
Since the revelations from Georgio she was beginning to wonder lots of things: it seemed she had been just a bit too naive to be true. She heard a high-pitched laugh and stared at the office door. It opened and Stephen was seeing the two girls out.
‘You can rely on us, Mr Brunos, we know all the tricks, believe me!’
He smiled tightly. ‘If you could leave your details with my secretary, I’ll get back to you.’ He turned to Donna, obviously embarrassed, ‘Donna, do come in. Carmel, a pot of coffee when you’re ready.’ . . -
Carmel was looking at the two girls with distaste. She nodded almost imperceptibly at his words.
Donna stepped into the office and sat down. ‘I can’t see them escorting anyone, Stephen.’
He grinned. ‘Neither can I, Donna! One of my friends sent them. I had to see them as a favour really. They’ll never get any work from me, I can tell you. My girls are all like Miss Jean Brodie’s!’
Donna smiled as she said: The creme de la cremeV
‘Precisely. Now what can I do for you?’
‘I want some help from you actually. I was wondering if you could give me some advice.’
‘Of course.’
‘I want to pass over the main work on the sites to Paddy. I’ve done all that I can there now, and there’s no real reason any longer for me to be constantly on the sites. Everyone knows I can do it, so if I delegate to Paddy I think I’ll probably have more time for the office work, which is what I do best.’
‘So what do you want from me? You seem to have everything sorted out OK.’
‘What I want from you is advice on how much I should pay him for the extra work. I was thinking of bringing him in on a percentage, like a bonus scheme, you know. Say two percent?’
Stephen raised his eyebrows and shook his head. ‘I don’t know what Georgio will have to say about that.’
‘With respect,’ Donna told him, ‘Georgio isn’t running the businesses - I am. I feel that Paddy has put in an awful lot of time and energy and should be rewarded.’
‘Well, yes, I can see what you’re getting at …’
‘Good,’ she said briskly. ‘I always find it helps to talk things through, don’t you? By the way, I was unaware until last night that Georgio has a twenty-five percent interest in this place. Or should I say, I have a twenty-five percent interest? I was going through Georgio’s papers and wondered exactly what Talkto Enterprises was. Then I finally found an address for it in Georgio’s phone book, and it was here. I thought this was called Brunos Escort Agency? I assume you changed the name at some point. What I am really interested in, Stephen, is where my twenty-five percent of the profits is going?’
The atmosphere in the room was electric. Stephen’s dark handsome face looked amazed. Donna relaxed in her leather chair and smiled at him charmingly.
He regained his composure. ‘The profits for Talkto are being ploughed back into the business for the first two years, Donna. Georgio will tell you that much himself. You should start realising a profit in the next few months, I will get my accountant to have the books ready for your perusal by the weekend. That’s if you insist on seeing them?’ His voice was stiff.
‘I do insist, Stephen. I insist because it seems you and my husband have a habit of starting up businesses and putting my name on them. Now the money from this enterprise would come in very handy at the moment -1 need capital and I hope you are going to tell me that I have some. Because these premises in Soho can’t be cheap, the escort agency must be doing a roaring trade, and
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them Talkto - whatever that is - must be doing OK or I would have thought the partnership would have been dissolved. So how well is it doing and what exactly is it?’
Stephen was saved from answering by Carmel arriving with the coffee. When she had left the room, Donna sugared her own coffee in silence.
‘Talkto is a phone line. You see them all the time in papers and magazines. You know the ones. “How to cope with bereavement” or “How to cope with arthritis”. We have been gradually setting up a small library of different lines; they are going quite well in fact. We also do sex lines. You know: “How to achieve orgasm”, “What to do if yoilr husband’s impotent”. They are the bigger moneyspinners, I admit, but they are perfectly legal and they provide a service.’
Donna smiled. ‘So that’s what Talkto is. How does the setup work?’
Stephen shrugged. ‘You phone an 0898 number, you listen to a recorded message. The calls can last anything up to ten minutes. They supply leaflets etc, you leave your phone number and we send them on.’
Donna sipped her coffee. ‘I see.’
Stephen picked up his own coffee and said acidly, ‘Nothing illegal about that, is there?’
Donna frowned. ‘I never suggested there was, Stephen. I just wanted to know exactly what my name is being used for. I don’t think you or Georgio give me credit for even a few brains in my head. I find my name is being used for all sorts and neither of you thinks I have a right to be informed. I have already had this out with Georgio and now I’m having it out with you. If I am to run these businesses properly then I need to know what’s going on.’
Stephen interrupted her. ‘You’re not running this business! You’re nothing but a sleeping partner. Georgio put up an amount of money in your name. You have no say in running it, Donna.’
‘I have the right to see the paperwork though, and I want to see it this weekend, as arranged.’
‘You’ll get all the relevant information, Donna, don’t worry.’
‘But I’m not worried, Stephen. It’s you who seems worried,’
He stood up. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’m very busy, Donna.’
She stood up too and walked to the door. Opening it, she saw another girl sitting outside waiting to be interviewed. The girl was small, with backcombed black hair and heavy make-up. She wore a tight red Lycra dress and high heels. She was chewing gum loudly.
‘Another favour for a friend, Stephen?’ Donna’s eyebrows rose as she spoke.
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He watched her as she walked from the office. His breath was coming fitfully, so great was his temper.
Carmel carried on with her phone call, seemingly unaware of the atmosphere around her.
Donna drove out of London and on to the A13 bound for home. She was going to go through Georgio’s office with a fine-tooth comb, and then tomorrow she would visit him fully primed. Before she agreed to his newest scheme she wanted to know everything that was going on. It seemed she had been a fool over the years, and in a way she didn’t blame Georgio for keeping her in the dark.
She had been like a child in a lot of respects. He looked after her, patted her on the head when she’d been a good girl, and gave her a present when the fancy took him. For her part she had allowed this treatment of herself and now she was wondering why.
Why the hell had she allowed herself to be treated so shabbily? Why hadn’t she done something about it - asserted herself before now? Her husband was in prison doing .eighteen years, their lives were destroyed, his businesses were going down the pan, and she had known nothing, nothing at all. She had not even guessed that something was wrong.
Was it because she was so frightened of him casting her aside if she pried? She knew he had cultivated Harry Robertson and the others because they were on the Council, and Harry dealt with Planning. But somehow that didn’t really seem illegal because everyone they knew was doing it and they paid their taxes. What was the difference?
Now she was finding out so much about her husband, and none of it was good.
Stephen’s offices in Soho were for prostitutes, but hadn’t she known that deep down long ago? Hadn’t she guessed that, and shrugged it off? Stephen’s business was his business.
That had always been the way. Donna had never pried and now she was sorry. Sorry because she was finding it out all at once and it was killing a little bit of her every day.
All she wanted was Georgio home, back in her bed, his arms around her and the knowledge that he’d be there all the time.
She would do anything to gain that end. Anything.
In a way she felt responsible for Georgio and what happened to him. If she had stood beside him as a wife should, as Carol Jackson did with Davey, maybe he wouldn’t have got so deeply involved in everything. The hotels that died a death in Asia, and the Talkto business. She wasn’t stupid, she knew exactly what those phone lines were for. She had known as soon as she saw Stephen’s name alongside
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them her own, because he had always dealt in women, his mother knew that and she knew that, though it was never actually discussed.
It was the old story. If you didn’t talk about it then it had never happened.
Like her life with Georgio, in fact.
Don’t ask your husband what he’s been doing because he just might tell you, then you’d have to do something about it. Well, she was going to do something about it. Twenty years too late maybe, but she’d do something anyway.
Because the one thing she wanted now, more than anything, was to have her husband back beside her.
Tomorrow she would talk to him properly, and then give him her finalanswer. She had a feeling she was going to do whatever he asked. After all, why break the habit of a lifetime?
She had given him twenty years of her life, and could not imagine giving herself to anyone else. He was hers, right or wrong. Hers.
He was all she had, and she loved him with a ferocity that startled her it was so strong.
She knew now that no matter what he did, she would forgive him, as she had over the years forgiven him his women, his separate lifestyle, and his periodic neglect of her.
He was the only man she had ever really wanted, the only man to share her bed, and the only man she could love.
No matter what he did, he was hers, and she would move heaven and earth to keep it that way.
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Chapter Thirteen
Paddy watched as the girl gyrated around the stage. Her cosmetically enlarged breasts looked even more false in the harsh lights. As she bent jtowards him they hung down from her ribcage like two lumps of cement. Paddy sighed in boredom. Her face was angelic and he wondered if her father knew what she did for a living, and if he knew, whether he cared.
He glanced at his watch and frowned! Stephen was cutting it fine. Sipping his scotch he watched the girl once more, her swivelling hips making him want to laugh. Instead he looked around him at the men in the club. All were middle-aged, all had the shining expectant eyes of perverts, and all had half of bitter in front of them. He saw Stephen walk in at the club doorway and sat back in his seat. He hated these” places; they were depressing and the odour of cheap perfume and male sweat made him feel queasy.
Stephen slipped into the seat beside him. Ignoring the girl on the stage, he said peremptorily: ‘Did you know Danny Simmonds was murdered last night?’ He was gratified at Paddy’s look of shock.
‘You’re joking!’
“I’m not, Paddy. He was burnt alive in his ear outside his bird’s flat. You know his boy was run over, don’t you?’
Paddy nodded. ‘A crying shame that. I never had much time for Simmonds meself as you know, but the lad was nothing to do with any of it. Lewis is getting out of hand.’
,Stephen sighed. That’s Frankie White, Peter Wilson and Danny Simmonds. All brown bread. All that’s left of the blaggers now is Georgio, and unlike the others he wasn’t there. Lewis wants all the dosh, and you know the worst of it, don’t you? Frankie and Danny are only dead because Georgio wouldn’t tell Lewis where he hid it.’
Paddy sipped at his drink and shrugged. ‘Well, I’m sorry, Stephen, but I’m not going to lose any sleep over them. What’s done is done.’
‘Well, don’t you think my brother should tell that bastard Lewis where the dosh is?’
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them Paddy laughed harshly. ‘No, actually, I don’t. It’s his only insurance, isn’t it? Once he opens his mouth about it, then he follows them to hell.’
Stephen watched the girl as she picked up her few scraps of clothing and left the stage.
‘I wish I knew where Georgio had stashed the money, don’t you?’ He looked straight into Paddy’s eyes and Paddy returned his gaze without blinking.
‘No, I don’t. And I’ll give you a bit of advice, Stephen. You’re Georgio’s brother and he loves you, but like me, he can see right through you.’ And Paddy watched as Stephen’s face hardened.
A plump woman came on to the stage in a tight red satin basque. She would never see forty-five again, and as the strains of ‘Ma, He’s Making Eyes at Me’ blared out of the loudspeaker, Paddy stood up to leave. Leaning closer to Stephen, he winked and said, ‘Now this one is much more your cup of tea, eh? Old enough to be your mother.’
Laughing loudly, he walked from the smoky club, leaving Stephen fuming, not because of what Paddy had said about the stripper but because he had been foolish enough to come out into the open.
Settling back in his seat he watched the woman’s act until the end. Then he left the club as unobtrusively as possible.
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