Feeling increasingly nervous, Milly waited.

‘What the fuck,’ he said at last, ‘are you doing, mucking Javier about?’

‘What?’

‘You heard. He’s a valuable business associate and would it hurt you to be nice to him? He’s just been on the phone telling me you’ve cancelled a date with him. You’ve broken the poor bastard’s heart.’

‘What the . . .’ Milly was gobsmacked. ‘That’s ridiculous! I don’t like him, Dad. For God’s sake, he’s a horrible little—’

Charlie flew at her. He grabbed her arms and shook her, hard.

‘You listen to me,’ he snarled. ‘You be civil to Javier. You hear me?’

Milly was staring straight into her father’s face. She saw anger there, and in his eyes a hint of desperation. Suddenly, as if realizing he was going too far, Charlie let her go. He drew back, scraped a hand over his face.

‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Off you go.’

Milly didn’t need telling twice. She bolted out the door and was gone.

85

Belle drove over to the Clacton address next day. She checked the maps when she got there and then sat in the car, frowning and staring at what appeared to be a house set in a row of identical Victorian houses. She had expected a proper office on an industrial estate, but this was just a house.

She got out of the car and walked over. There was a small chequered black-and-white path leading up to a battered-looking front door with . . . what the hell? There was a mirror hanging on the outside of it.

Very odd.

She opened the little metal gate and walked up the path. There was a bell beside the door but it looked as if someone had wrenched it out of the wall. Undeterred, Belle knocked at the flaking wood.

Nothing.

She must have the wrong address.

But she knew she didn’t. She knew she had the right one.

She leaned in to knock again. As she did so, a tiny black-haired woman opened the door a crack and let loose a torrent of some foreign language at her.

‘I’m Belle Barton,’ said Belle loudly. ‘Is the manager here? Can I speak to the manager?’

What she should have done, she could see it now, was ask Dad if there was any work going in any of Charlie’s factories. But then, she was nervous of doing that: she knew Dad would only put her off. He’d tell her not to be silly. To enjoy herself. Didn’t she have a big enough allowance? And then she would have felt guilty, and awkward, and she would still be fed up and unsatisfied.

The woman stopped talking. She stood there, her eyes wide with alarm. A rabbit in the headlights. Getting annoyed at all this, Belle pushed forward. The woman was very slight, very small. She looked malnourished, really. It was easy to shove past her and go inside.