Briony grinned. ‘I am. I know just the girls to work it, too. Young, pretty, wanting to make a quick few grand to set up on their own. It would be so easy. So how much money are you looking at?’

‘Off hand, Bri, I’d say about ten thousand each. To get it off to a good start. By my figures we’d recoup that within the first three months of opening.’

She passed over a book where she had broken down the costs. Briony scanned the pages for ten minutes while Mariah smoked a cigarette.

Briony was impressed. Mariah had even allowed for an odd job man. It was well thought out, and it was viable. Two things Briony found hard to resist.

‘Shall I tell you something, Mariah?’

She smiled. ‘What?’

‘I’m in. I’m in up to me bleeding neck! This is going to be a real money spinner. It’s class, Mariah, real class.’ She shook her head in wonderment.

Mariah clapped her hands together in excitement.

‘I’m glad, Bri. I think me and you could make a good team.’

‘Plus, together as working partners, we can’t tread on each other’s toes, can we?’

Mariah saw the crafty look on Briony’s face and knew she had been rumbled. Sobering now, she said, ‘Well, Briony, there’s that to it as well, I suppose.’

‘Oh, don’t take on, Mariah. I admire your foresight. I’d have thought of something like this in your position. But I can tell you now, I wouldn’t turn on the hand that fed me. When we had all that business with Henry and his mob you was a good mate. I’d never forget that. Friends abound in our position, but good mates are few and far between.’

Mariah’s face softened and Briony saw a glimmer of the girl she had once been. Big, beautiful and innately nice. Mariah was a nice person, except it seemed too small an epithet for her huge frame.

Rupert and Jonathan were roaring drunk and the noise was beginning to disturb the other customers. Tommy watched them without intervening. He thought they were ponces, though he had given up arguing the fact with Briony. He watched her, dressed in a cream sheath dress, walk over to their table and cajole them into quieting down. He shook his head and walked behind the bar to pour himself a decent scotch. When the punters first arrived, they were given real drinks. When they were drunk, they were served from the ‘cottage’ bottles, the watered-down versions. They paid top price and Tommy’s excuse was, he was doing them a favour.

As Briony walked towards him he motioned with his head for her to the offices. Briony followed him, stopping at tables to chat for a few seconds and waving at other customers. In the office the thumping beat of the Charleston reverberated through the walls.