at the seams . . . beautifully made. And the fabric was costly. She touched the underwear. None of this stuff was cheap. She saw the Janet Reger label. The tights were expensive too – Aristoc. Christ, if she lived to be a hundred she’d never be able to afford clothes like this. She threw back the covers with a sigh, and made for the loo.

107

Lenny was downstairs waiting for her at the door of what seemed to be an office. Angel stepped into the room and looked around in fascination. It was book-lined and plush, with an elaborate sandstone fireplace, two large tan Chesterfield couches set to either side of it with a vast marble coffee table in between. There was a desk over by the window, a gold banker’s light set on its tooled leather surface. The whole room was discreetly luxurious and shouted money. There was no sign of Annie Carter.

Lenny followed her into the room, closed the door behind them. Angel went over to one of the Chesterfields and sat down. Lenny came and sat down opposite.

‘How are you?’ he asked her.

Angel shrugged. She didn’t know what to say. Yesterday had been a nightmare. And everything that had happened since was surreal.

‘They burned out the flat in Clacton,’ said Lenny.

‘What about . . . ?’ She couldn’t even say his name.

‘The body? That’s gone. They removed it. Then they torched the place. Cleared out the downstairs neighbours.’ Lenny’s eyes grew concerned. ‘You never spoke to them, did you? You didn’t know them at all?’

‘No.’ The place where they’d lived had never been ‘part of a community’. Angel didn’t even know what that phrase meant. No one spoke to anyone else around there. No one wanted to know.

‘Angel . . .’ Lenny started, then paused.

‘They’ll be looking for him,’ said Angel.

‘Yeah, they will. And this is important, Angel – you never knew him, OK? If anyone ever asks you, you know nothing about the man.’

‘He has a wife,’ said Angel. ‘He has kids.’

Lenny was frowning. ‘You’ve never seen them?’

‘Yeah, I have.’

‘Have they seen you?’

‘I went there once or twice. Someone told me Donny was married, that he was just stringing my mum along, keeping her as his bit on the side. I didn’t believe it. I didn’t want to, anyway. So I wanted to know for certain.’

Now Lenny’s voice grew more urgent. ‘Angel – did his wife see you?’

‘She saw me. And once, she spoke to me.’

Are you one of his women . . . ?

‘Only the once? You’re sure?’

‘Only the once.’ Angel looked down at her lap, then up at Lenny’s face. ‘She’ll be heartbroken. Won’t she?’

‘Babe, you mustn’t worry about that. All we got to do now is keep our heads down. You got a passport?’

Angel thought of Donny callously building up Dora’s hopes of a trip to Spain. Dora’s excitement over it, her happy face as she pored over bikinis and beach dresses. That cruel sod.