“Oh, I see. Well, mostly they seemed in pretty good spirits. There were a few toasts—two bottles of Veuve Clicquot. They were certainly quieter earlier in the evening, when there were other diners present. I suppose they let their hair down a bit when they were the only ones left.”

“In what way?”

“You know, raised their voices a bit, that sort of thing.”

“Did you hear what they were talking about?”

Florence almost choked on her cigarette. “I make it a point not to overhear conversations in the restaurant. Marcel wouldn’t approve of my eavesdropping.”

“But surely you can’t help it now and then? Even if it’s just a word or two.”

Florence flicked ash from her cigarette. “There’s always plenty of other stuff to do.”

A young couple walked by hand in hand and Florence smiled at them.

“Were they just laughing a lot or talking business?” Annie asked.

“Bit of both, really. There was some laughter, especially later, after the sweets and Cognac, but mostly I think they must have been talking business, maybe celebrating a success of some sort.”

“But you don’t know what?”

Florence looked around. Annie followed her gaze back toward the restaurant. The street was empty.

“They did raise their voices once, just after the last of the other diners had gone.”

“Who spoke? What did he say? Do you know what it was about?”

“No. But I think I heard one of them . . .” She glanced around her again. “It was one of those brothers, the creepy one with the milky eye.”

“Tommy Kerrigan?”

“Right. He shouted something about a ‘fucking Albanian’ or something like that.” She dropped her cigarette and stamped it out in the gutter. “You won’t do me for littering, will you?”

Annie shook her head. “Are you sure that’s what he said? About the Albanian?”

Florence shrugged. “It’s what I thought he said. He was definitely angry, though. His brother had to calm him down. You could tell he was ready to hurt someone.”

“Hurt who?”

“Anyone. I’ve seen him like that before. When he gets like that it doesn’t matter. It could easily have been me if I hadn’t made myself scarce. They’re pigs, those two.”

“Are you sure you didn’t hear anything else?”

“There was quite a bit of swearing. And the other brother called me a slut.”

“To your face?”

“No. I was in the kitchen, but I heard him. He said, ‘Let’s tell the slut to bring our bill.’ ”

“Did he give you a hard time when you appeared?”

Florence blushed. “No, not really. Just the usual. ‘Come home with me, love, and I’ll give you something to smile about.’ That sort of thing. And he kept calling me ‘sugar tits.’ ”

All class, Timmy Kerrigan, thought Annie.