‘Oh Christ,’ she muttered. Then she thought of Charlie, her husband, forcing himself on Jill, and headed for the cloakroom to be sick.

39

Jill hurried down the driveway to the gatehouse, wishing she was a hundred miles away from the Stones and all the crap they brought with them. Even Terry was getting jumpy lately as they rose higher and higher in this dangerous world.

Just a week ago, he’d taken her to one side and said he had something to show her.

‘Yeah? What?’ she had asked, expecting a gift, a surprise, something light-hearted and fun.

But Terry looked grim. He’d taken her upstairs to the master suite and pointed out the cupboard set into the eaves.

‘You know I was talking to you about hide codes? Run codes? Because of the business we’re in, with Charlie,’ he said.

‘What?’ she asked again, puzzled.

‘I’ve fitted a bolt inside.’ He went to the cupboard and opened it. Inside, Jill could see the silvery gleam of the bolt. She looked a question at Terry. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘If anything kicks off, anything that frightens you, then you and Belle hide in here, OK?’

Jill had gone pale as he spoke. ‘You’re scaring me,’ she said.

‘I don’t mean to. I just want you to know it’s here, that’s all. In case.’ Terry closed the cupboard door and turned to his wife, kissing her lips.

‘Yeah. Got it.’

‘You remember the passwords? Well, more of a passphrase. One for run, one for hide.’

‘I remember.’

‘What’s the “run” one then?’ he asked.

‘Oh for Christ’s sake Terry . . .’ Jill was busy today, she didn’t want to be wasting time with this. And it spooked her, even talking about it.

‘What is it?’ Terry persisted.

‘Chipboard.’

‘Right. And the hide one?’

‘If you want us to hide, you’ll ask if your pen is in the bag in the hall,’ said Jill.

‘Never forget that. OK?’

‘OK.’

Now, hurrying back down the drive, Jill remembered all that and thought that she’d felt so much safer when they’d all been young and Charlie Stone had been into the hard game, not the drugs.

Safer, and happier too.

1970s

40

Charlie was one of the big criminal capos now, pushing the boundaries in every direction. He had forged a close connection not only with families up and down the country but also with the Matias crew who fronted a cartel in Colombia, so that Charlie’s gang could take care of things at the London end. For the last few years he’d been doing a brisk, steady trade in hashish through Morocco and Turkey, but he always wanted to push further.

‘I’m like a shark,’ he said. ‘Stand still and I die.’

He’d started importing Thai cannabis through Gatwick airport, paying baggage handlers to remove cases of drugs.