He put on his underwear shorts and struggled into his dressing gown as
he crossed the living room. There was a tiny hall, and a front door with
a peephole. Tim swung the flap aside and put an eye to the glass.
The man outside looked vaguely familiar. He had the face of a boxer.
Broad-shouldered and well built, he would have been a heavyweight. He
wore a gray coat with a velvet collar. Tim put his age at late twenties.
He did not look like a newspaper reporter.
Tim unbolted the door and opened it. “What is it?” he said.
Without speaking, the man pushed Tim aside, stepped in, and closed the
door behind him. He walked into the living room.
Tim took a deep breath and tried not to panic.
He followed the man. “I’m going to call the police,” he said.
The man sat down. He called: “Are you in there, Dizi?”
The girl came to the bedroom door.
The man said: “Make us a cup of tea, girl.”
“Do you know him?” Tim asked her incredulously.
She ignored him and went into the kitchen. The man laughed. “Know me?
She works for me.”
Tim sat down. “What is this all about?” he said weakly.
“All in good time.” The man looked around. “I can’t say you’ve got a
nice place here, because you haven’t. I expected you to have something a
bit flash, know what I mean? By the way, in case you haven’t recognized
me, I’m Tony Cox.” He stuck out his hand. Tim ignored it.
Cox said:
“Please yourself.”
Tim was remembering the face and the name were familiar. He thought Cox
was a fairly wealthy businessman, but he could not recall what his
business was. He thought he had seen the man’s picture in a
newspaper–something to do with raising money for boys’ clubs in the
East End.
Cox jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Did you enjoy her?” “For God’s
sake,” Tim said.
The girl came in, carrying two mugs on a tray.
Cox asked her: “Did he enjoy it?” “What do you think?” she said sourly.
Cox took out his wallet and counted out some bills. “Here you are,” he
said to her. “You done a good job. Now you can fuck off.”
She took the money and put it in a handbag.
She said: “You know, Tone, I think the thing I like most about you is
your beautiful manners.”
She went out without looking at Tim.
Tim thought: I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life.
As the girl left, the door slammed.
Cox winked. “She’s a good girl.”
“She’s the lowest form of human life,” Tim spat.
“Now, don’t be like that. She’s just a good actress. She might have got
into films if I hadn’t of found her first.”
“I presume you’re a ponce.”
Anger flashed in Cox’s eyes, but he controlled it. “You’ll regret that
little joke,” he said mildly.
“All you need to know about me and Dizi is that she does what I tell her
to. If I say
“Keep your mouth shut,” she does. And if I say “Tell the nice man from
the News of the World how M. Fitzpeterson seduced you,” she will. Know
what I mean?” Tim said: “I suppose it was you who contacted the Evening
Post.”
“Don’t worry! Without confirmation, they can’t do a thing. And only
three people can confirm the story: you, Dizi, and me. You’re not going
to say anything, Dizi’s got no will of her own, and I can keep a
secret.”
Tim lit a cigarette. He was finding his confidence again. Cox was just a
working-class hoodlum, despite his velvet collar and his gray
Rolls-Royce. Tim had the feeling he could handle the man. He said: “If
this is blackmail, you’re on to a loser. I haven’t any money.”
“Quite warm in here, isn’t it?” Cox stood up and took his coat off.
“Well,” he resumed, “if you haven’t got money, we’ll have to think of
something else you can give me.”
Tim frowned. He was lost again.
Cox continued: “In the last few months, half a dozen or so companies
have put in bids for drilling rights in a new oil field called Shield,