The Faithless - Martina Cole [90]
‘Afternoon, my old mockers! I heard a great joke today: Why do brides wear white? Because all fucking kitchen appliances are white!’
Vincent and Derek both laughed, as was expected.
‘My mate Peter Bailey is a funny man, no doubt about it. Shame he didn’t go on the stage really – he could give that Jimmy Jones a run for his money.’
The phone rang and Derek answered it; he listened for a few seconds then passed the phone to Vincent saying, ‘Fucking hell, no wonder they need a good driver. They can’t even find their way to the Bow Road!’
As Vincent directed the men to the Portakabin, he felt the rush of adrenaline. This was the life, this was the life he had always craved, and it was within his grasp at last. He felt like the luckiest man alive.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Cynthia Callahan – she had dropped the name Tailor after she had left East London – looked around her flat and felt the rush of pride her home always gave her. She was living in a new development called Chafford Hundred, and she had a penthouse that looked over the Thames. She could see the boats plying their trades, and the shores of Kent. It was a lovely setting.
She had bought this place for yet another new start; as usual she had become involved with a man, who had eventually walked out on her. But not until she had bled him dry. She smiled to herself, the smile that made her look like an angel, but actually hid the fact she was a devil in disguise. Amoral as ever, she had understood the need to leave the South Downs, where she had been living previously, sooner rather than later. She had bought this place after reading the advertising blurb and was now awaiting the sale of her small house in Sussex.
Sussex had been good to her; she had quite liked it there – especially Brighton. Brighton had been the nearest thing to London, so she felt at home there. Now, out here in the Essex countryside, she was near enough to London to visit, but not close enough to be a part of it all. That suited her down to the ground. She had the best of both worlds really, and she did like her solitude.
She had already met a few of her neighbours. In the penthouse opposite her was a man called David. In his mid-fifties, he was getting over a bitter divorce – just the kind of man she liked. Old enough to appreciate her, and young enough to think they had a future together. He had a few quid, drove a decent car, and his furniture was expensive and tasteful. He would be her new conquest, and she was looking forward to the chase.
She opened her bedroom closets and looked at the large array of clothes. She would play the part of a retired career woman for him and, when she finally had him within her grasp, she would start borrowing money from him – just until her money arrived from the Cayman Islands of course. That would be her story. By the time he realised it was all lies, it would be too late.
She laughed with delight. It was so easy to get these men to part with their cash, and they never pressed charges – they were too embarrassed. Lying came easy to her, and she had discovered she was exemplary at it. It was said people who lied needed good memories, which was true! She had a patter, and she never deviated from it. She would talk in telephone numbers, insist on paying her half of any bills or holidays, and she would casually mention all the different business deals she had on the go. It was so easy she could con them in her sleep. Eventually she would need a cash injection, and they would give it to her unquestioningly.
It was only when it started to dawn on them that she wasn’t all she said she was that the rot set in, but by then she was already making plans for her flight. She’d be unavailable on all her phone numbers and gone from her home that they eventually found out had been rented and not owned by her. The truth was she did own it, but through a holding company and she rented it to herself. Oh, she was a clever little girlie. No paper trails, no actual criminal act, she just borrowed