He shrugged. ‘When you’re making crack cocaine, that’s the vital ingredient. Crack gives a quicker hit than pure coke and a more rapid comedown. Dealers love it. Bumps up the sales. Belle, for God’s sake, be careful. You say you walked into this place? You were bloody lucky to get out. Didn’t they try to stop you?’

Belle nodded. ‘Yes. They did.’ If she hadn’t run for it, who knew what might have happened?

‘You ought to report this to the police. Like, now. Although I suspect they’ll have cleared out already, thinking you’ve probably done that.’

Belle felt chilled with the shock of this, despite the bright sunshine and the beautiful setting all around them. She couldn’t report it to the police. Charlie Stone and her dad were involved. And – oh good Christ – if this sort of thing was going on there, did they know about it? And what about the other sites? Was this a one-off, or were there more?

No. They couldn’t know. This must be going on without their knowledge.

‘Einstein – Nige – you’ve been a great help. Thanks,’ she told him.

‘Seriously, Belle. Please be careful,’ he said.

87

Nula was in the vast gold-and-purple master cabin of Lady of the Manor, which was moored up near the Beaulieu River. They’d been sailing around the Med for a week or so, calling in at St Tropez, then Palma, then back to England. The crew had pampered them, and Nipper and Sammy had been there too, to oversee security. Nipper had travelled back to Essex overland the day before yesterday, leaving Sammy here on the yacht, in charge of things.

Nula was trying on the dress for tonight’s party, clipping on her diamond drop earrings and worrying about ear sag. She’d been wearing drop earrings since she was twenty, and all these years of yanking down the flesh of her ear lobes had stretched them. She decided that once their ‘big occasion’ was over, she’d talk to her chap in Harley Street – he did all her work and he was very good, even if he did charge a bloody fortune – and get her ears prettied up.

She stared at her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Long ago, her horrible nose had been replaced by a neat turned-up retroussé and she’d got a set of bigger tits. More recently, she’d had her neck tightened up. Maybe a bit too tight? No, it was OK.