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Stopping by the door, Leo pulls out his wallet, showing the bouncer his ID.
“Through there.” The bulky guy points towards the reception room overlooking the street.
The decor is all blacks, whites, and golds, sumptuous fabrics and intricate detailed wood and mouldings.
“Mr. Fairfax, Mr. Townsend requested you wait in the lounge area. If you, or your guest—” She smiles up at me, straight teeth and dark pink lips glowing. Typical Heath girl. “If either of you need anything that’s not available, one of the hostesses will be glad to help you.”
The tall blonde guides us through a tight black wood hallway. It’s so confined that involuntarily my body hunches in on itself.
Pulling and tugging at the scandalously short hem of her black dress, she stands straight when we reach the opulent bar area. Black and white blend to deep purples that make the golds richer, almost gawdy.
Portraits of cantankerous-looking old men in black silk cravats, boasting purple or yellow rose boutonnieres, line the walls with the occasional church ceiling nude.
“Remember, anything you need…” Her hand rests on my shoulder, but her smile and eyes are firmly on Leo.
Jesus Christ.
“Thank you.” Making his way deeper into the round room, he searches the place, and I follow.
There are tall bistro tables with stools dotted around the three-sixty bar. The sides of the room are lined with futons and cushion-scattered nooks. There are a couple of bigger tables, and one of the sides has a seating area with high-backed sofas and Persian rugs. Gold translucent silk and purple gauze veil the space. You can only just see in.
“Two vodkas, doubles. Cold.”
“Iced glass, no ice.” The bartender nods at Leo before he reaches for the top-shelf bottle of Belvedere and then pours the double measures into ice-clouded crystal tumblers.
Soft piano chords fill the air, and my chest squeezes my pulsing heart.
The music is so beautiful, like my wife. She could spend hours playing away. I love the way she smiles as she plays. It’s something so simple, but it brings such infectious contentment.
“Here.” Handing me the ice-cold drink, Leo clinks the bottom of his crystal tumbler to the rim of mine and throws it back.
I do the same, savouring the way the thick liquid coats my mouth and burns down my throat.
“We’ll take two waters,” he tells the bartender before directing us over to the veiled-off area.
“I thought we agreed we weren’t going to get involved in shit like this.” Sitting on the edge of one of the midnight-blue sofas, I take another look around us.
I’ve been here before, and for all its wealth and trappings, I still hate it.
“Freddie and I have vetted it thoroughly, Christopher
. Nothing to worry about,” he says, sitting back into the sofa. His legs are crossed, jacket unbuttoned like he’s the lord of the manor.
“Brothels are illegal.”
Taking a deep breath, he twists to look at me. His face is serious, jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.
“We can argue about this all night. The reality is that what the girls chose to do outside their job…it’s not our concern. This is our means to an end. You want your wife back, don’t you?”
I won’t answer that—he knows what I want. The only thing I’ve always wanted…
“Arabella is here. She’s onto something, and we need to find out what it is.” He falls quiet before he adds, “Don’t worry, you’re not the only strait-laced guy to visit.” His chuckle is cut off by company.
Oliver Townsend is your typical private-school yuppy. He wears the contents of his bank account on his person. His dark suit is the kind of tailored that is one of a kind. The Patek Phillipe timepiece on his wrist is hefty and encrusted with diamonds.
“What’s up, boys?” Extending his hand as we stand to greet him, he puts his glass down on the table carelessly, his drink tipping slightly over the rim. When I take his hand in a firm handshake, a grin forms on his lips. “What the fuck happened to your face?”
Great. As always, the prick is wankered. It’s how he spent most of our time at college and uni. “Nothing that you need to worry about.”
