She took a cigarette from her pack and Alan lit it for her. Donna’s hands were shaking so much he had to steady her fingers with his free hand.

‘Oh, you’ll be all right, will you? You’re shaking like a leaf now, and we ain’t even started planning anything!’

Donna leaned across the table and hissed, ‘Why don’t you shut up!’

Alan laughed out loud. ‘I like a bit of spunk. I only hope you’ve got a big reserve of it, Donna, because believe me, my little love, you’re going to need it.’

Alan had arranged for Donna to be taken home. As he watched the car disappear around the corner he sighed. He began a leisurely walk around to Dean Street where he entered a doorway. The small drinking club had been there since he had been a boy. The man who owned it was called Fido. No one knew his full name or anything about him. Alan was a welcome customer. He was rich, well-dressed and well-respected, and he could have a row: the perfect credentials for Fido’s place.

Fido sat in a small booth and Alan joined him without being invited. Fido was thin to the point of emaciation; he was also chalk white with sparse grey hair, and he looked like a gangling civil servant.

‘Hello, Alan, long time no see. What can I do you for?’

‘I need a message delivered on to the Island. Private. I don’t want it to get to the ears of a man called Lewis.’

Fido laughed softly. ‘I can arrange that. I deal with Lewis’s messengers anyway. He’s a slag, but he pays well. Who’s the message for?’

‘Georgio Brunos. Just tell him Alan said, find a number two. He’ll know what I’m talking about.’

‘It’s as good as done, my son,’ Fido assured him.

A woman in her forties walked over to the booth and Fido ignored her as she spoke to him, not even glancing in her direction.

‘Come on, Fido, where’s Jerry? I know he’s been in. Jack told me he has.’

Fido carried on ignoring her as he spoke. ‘Don’t you ever ask me anything about anyone again, Vera. If you do, I’ll stripe your face till the cows come home, all right?’

Vera, a large redhead, turned and walked away, her back ramrod straight with temper.

Fido sighed softly. ‘I wish these toms would get a handle on their pimps, Alan. In my young days they stuck to their mark like shit to a blanket. She’s looking for him to give him his wedge and the fucker’s nowhere to be seen.’

He shook his head sadly. ‘Today it’s all different. No finesse any more. I yearn for the good old days meself. Soho died in the sixties, you know. Once they legalised everything, the fun went out of it.’