Alan watched the different expressions flickering across her face and sighed. She seemed a nice woman, a respectable type, definitely too good for Georgio.

‘Come on, let’s go down and get something to eat,’ he suggested. ‘All this drink is making me hungry.’

Donna stood up unsteadily. She felt much better after she had consumed a large plate of spaghetti marinara, the clams still having the salty tang of the sea. It had been cooked to perfection. She wiped her mouth daintily with her napkin and Alan poured out a glass of sparkling water for her.

‘Drink that, it’ll dilute the brandy.’

Donna did as she was told. ‘That was excellent!’

Alan smiled. ‘I’ve always liked me grub. Banged up, the food is terrible - unless you cook your own. Lots of old lags become quite good cooks on a long stretch. Sex and food are the two most important things to men - and not necessarily in that order!’

Donna laughed with him. He was an attractive personality. Big enough to win attention wherever he went, Alan Cox was also gentle and kind. The kindness shone through his rough exterior, especially when talking about his children or his grandson.

‘I’m going to start putting feelers out in the morning,’ he promised her. ‘I take it Georgio wants you as the go-between?’

Donna nodded. ‘I suppose so.’

Alan grinned. ‘You don’t sound too sure.’

She finished the glass of water and said seriously, ‘I don’t know anything any more, Alan. I thought I knew a lot once. About my husband, my life. I thought I was settled. I thought I would carry on as I was until I died. I felt safe. Now, I have a husband who’s doing eighteen years, I am sitting in a restaurant with a man who, if you’ll forgive my saying it, murdered someone in cold blood not far from where we’re sitting, and I am planning the escape from prison of someone who didn’t even have the decency to tell me he kept your family for years. I am beginning to wonder if I actually know him. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder exactly what Georgio is capable of.’

Alan heard the loneliness and the hurt in her voice. Realised that Georgio, as usual, had ridden roughshod over the little woman in front of him. She was out of her depth, way out of her depth. She was frightened, intimidated and worried, deeply worried. She wasn’t the usual villain’s wife. That sort, even if they didn’t know for sure, could take a shrewd guess what the score was. This girl, or woman, was as green as the proverbial grass.

He clicked his fingers together and a waiter came over. ‘Bring a bottle of my good brandy, will you? And two glasses.’

Donna snapped, ‘I don’t want any more to drink.’