Nula nearly purred with satisfaction. No longer was she Nula the loser, shunned at school with the other wannabees, a dull ugly girl from a dull ugly background. Now – at last – she was sought after. Tradespeople kowtowed to her, wanting her money. All Charlie’s mob and their wives and girlfriends stepped around her very, very carefully, because she was Charlie’s, and if you upset Charlie, you were going to be in the shit.

She understood that Charlie was in a dangerous game. But Charlie was smart; he had a strong sense of self-preservation. And of course Terry was always there, watching over him.

Nula had to sigh over that. Yeah, Terry was always there. Having Terry hovering in the background was like having a beautiful red fox fur or a huge box of Belgian chocolates right where you could see it, but always out of reach. She’d fallen in love or lust or some damned thing with Terry on that long-ago night when he’d – out of pity – asked her to dance. Now she had Charlie. Charlie was the bigger prize, she knew that, but . . . she still had that yen for Terry.

Maybe she could make him have a yen for her?

Unlikely. Terry wasn’t a player, and Jill was in the way. There was Charlie to consider, too, and Charlie wasn’t a man you wanted to upset, not ever. She knew his pride would be hurt if she managed to get Terry into bed. He’d lose it. Kill Terry, possibly kill her, too. She’d sounded Jill out, asking her if she ‘partook’, but Jill had just looked at her with blank dislike. The silly cow hadn’t even understood what Nula meant. Now Nula supposed all their fun evenings were going to have to be stopped, anyway. It was a relief, to be honest. She’d only ever done the parties to please Charlie. No way could she, pregnant with Charlie’s child, get up to those sort of tricks any more.

Yeah, Charlie was OK and she loved being Mrs Charlie Stone. He was over the moon at the baby news. But irritatingly she still had that itch for Terry.

Much as she wanted it to, it never seemed to go away.

25

It was a total bloody bore, being pregnant. Nula didn’t like it. She was massively sick for the first three months, then feeling sore and bloated and just plain damned ugly for the remainder. It reminded her of how she had been, back in the day – the little fat bird. Her mood was foul and Charlie took to staying out much more than he usually did, scarpering into town on business or down to the gatehouse to sit in the saintly Jill’s kitchen – Nula had lumbered her huge ungainly form down the drive and found him in there, twice, chattering away to Jill. That had seriously annoyed her.