After a while, Annie, Grace and Maggs leave the table to talk to some of the other Forties. Scotch Mary goes with them. Edith grabs Daisy’s hand and drags her over to the piano, determined to raise her spirits. The man who is sitting on the stool happily bangs out the song she requests, and half of the saloon joins in singing. Even Doll puts down her knife to hum and tap along, before finishing the last inch of her pint and reluctantly standing to go home. Ruby sits, observing, no longer in the mood for their company.

Annie has left her handbag open on her seat.

Ruby checks the room. No one is looking in her direction; they are too busy singing. Quietly, she moves to sit next to the bag and feels around inside it. There are several tightly rolled wads of notes among the envelopes. She squeezes them, assessing how much there is. It would be easy enough to lift one, to pull her hand out slowly as if she were raiding a letterbox. It’s tempting.

She withdraws her hand quickly – empty. Annie is as sharp as a knife. She will have counted the notes and she will know exactly where and with whom she left her bag. Even if she only suspected Ruby of stealing, Annie would maim her for life, or worse, throw her out of the Forties and turn everyone against her.

Ruby stands and drains her gin, eyes scanning the room. No one has seen her hand in Annie’s bag, she’s sure of it.

She hitches her coat over her shoulders and walks to the door. She gives Maggs’s arm a pat as she passes, claiming a headache that requires an early night, and nods goodnight to Annie, fire burning inside her chest.

One day, she will be better than all of them. One day, she will be Queen.

21

21

Monday afternoon

You’ve sold it?’ Ruby stands in Ray’s back office, hands on hips. ‘You never sent word. You said selling it would be difficult – impossible except to a collector.’

He sits behind his desk, relishing her agitation.

‘It was mine, you bastard. You had no right to sell it without telling me first. You said we’d sort the terms. Who bought it? How much did you make from it? Where’s it gone?’

He leans back in the chair. ‘You overreached yourself with this one, Ruby. I knew you’d be in trouble over it. Knew you’d come crawling back.’

‘Fuck yourself, Ray. I’m not crawling. I just want my cut.’

He reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out his cigarette case, opens it and finds a smoke, addressing her without looking up. ‘Pass me the matches, Ruby, there’s a good girl. They’re on the shelf behind you.’

She knows where the matches are. Where they always are. She grinds her teeth as she throws the box to him.