She was asleep again, her head resting on his shoulder. He eased her gently back to her side of the bed and then turned over. He was more than worried about his business, and he needed the deal with Frank King to come off. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep afloat for much longer, he’d be bankrupt.

Moyra eased the bedroom curtain aside. She could see the small red dot of a police officer’s cigarette. There were two of them; bored with sitting in the car they were taking a breather, walking around the estate. She let the curtain fall back into place.

“There’s two of them still prowling around outside, George!”

Marlow lay face down on the bed, his naked body draped in a sheet that just covered his buttocks. He was lean, taut, muscular.

He banged his pillow. “Just ignore them.”

“It’s tough, they’re outside day and night, and I know there’s another two in the flat opposite us. I’ve seen them, I know they’re cops, and they’ve got a camera.”

“You’d think they’d have better things to do with ratepayers’ money.”

“Yeah, but it makes my skin crawl. And her from next door is in and out, talking to everyone! I feel everybody looking at me when I go out. Bastards, this is harrassment! I’d like to get them, the bastards. Why?”

“They’ve got nothing better to do. It’s the way they work, look at the way they treated me over that other business. They stitched me up over that! I just hope to God they find some other sucker and lay off us.”

“You hope! Jesus Christ, am I going nuts?”

“Then come here . . . Take your dressing gown off and come to bed.”

Moyra slipped off her Marks and Sparks satin robe. It was sexy, like the old film stars used to wear. Beneath it was a matching nightdress with thin ribbon straps.

“You look good, Moyra. That color suits you, and it looks expensive.”

“Yeah, well, it was cheap, like me!”

“Don’t say that! Come here . . .”

She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. She wanted to cry, she wanted to bang on the window and scream at the pigs. “I don’t feel like it, George.”

“Then just lie with me, let me hold you.”

He took her gently in his arms and rested his head on her breast. She stroked his hair.

“Why, George, why did you pick that bloody girl up?”

“Because . . . because she was there, Moyra, and if you think I wouldn’t give anything to turn the clock back . . . I wish to God I’d never picked her up.”

“But you did.”