Max had died before Peter had chance to pay back everything he owed him, and his widow didn’t seem to have a clue. She still thought Max was the majority owner of the Golden Bell until Peter put her in the picture.

It was ironic really. As a hardened criminal Peter could have taken advantage of the situation. But he couldn’t do that. Instead he would stick to his arrangement with Max and carry on paying instalments to Max’s wife until he was finally 100 per cent owner of the Golden Bell.

As he sat in Max’s lounge, drinking strong tea with his upset widow, Peter felt consumed with pity for her. Max’s wife was having difficulty dealing with his death. She was an elderly lady, pale and feeble-looking. She wore smart, good-quality clothing although it seemed to hang loosely on her skeletal frame. It was obvious to Peter that she’d lost a bit of weight since the news of Max’s ill health had hit her.

As Max’s widow spoke to Peter she cried continually, pausing at intervals to dab her eyes with a tear-drenched tissue. Whenever Max’s name was mentioned a fresh wave of sobs would come over her, making her body shudder involuntarily. It was painful to watch.

The fact was, Peter had become quite attached to Max since he’d moved into business with him. Despite his obvious failings, Max was a good guy and he’d helped Peter a lot with sound advice and business acumen. He’d become a bit of a father figure to him. It was probably the closest Peter had come to having a father figure, given how his own dad had mistreated him.

Peter was relieved to get away from Max’s home. The emotional strain was getting to him, though he would be loath to admit it. There was no way he could face anyone tonight. So he rang Glynn, made up some excuse for not being at the club, then hit the brandy.

He’d be OK in the morning but he just wanted this one night to himself when he could drink to Max’s memory. In the morning he would put on a brave face while he broke the news to Adele and Glynn.

When he had spent several hours drinking alone, Peter fell into a heavy alcohol-induced sleep. He didn’t hear the phone ringing.

*

Once Adele was inside her flat and had removed her coat and shoes, she picked up the phone and dialled Peter’s number. The phone rang out several times. He was obviously not at home. Maybe he was visiting another of the clubs that he did business with. No wonder he hadn’t let her know that he wouldn’t be in the Golden Bell that night. Her mind began to wander and all thoughts of her intended conversation with Peter soon disappeared.