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  ‘Have you got any ideas?’ she asked, looking up at a large brown bear that was standing in the corner. The bear, she thought, had a slightly mortified expression. ‘Do you know what he likes?’

  Chris pulled a face. ‘Not a clue. Someone told me about it, said his house was full of the stuff.’

  ‘Weird,’ she said. ‘Would you put any of this in your home?’

  ‘Only if it was called Trojan.’

  ‘Trojan?’

  ‘My brother’s dog,’ he explained. ‘The bull terrier from hell. Now there’s one animal I wouldn’t mind seeing stuffed and shoved in a cabinet.’

  They carried on browsing, moving from case to case. After a while a tall, stooped man with very pale skin and a shock of white hair approached them. It was hard to tell how old he was. He could have been anything from fifty to seventy.

  ‘Morton Carlisle,’ he said with a small bow of his head. ‘I’m the proprietor of Beast. Would you like some assistance?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Chris said. ‘I’m looking for something, for a colleague. He’s interested in… you know…’ He made a general sweeping gesture with his hand. ‘Stuffed animals.’

  Ava noticed Carlisle wince at the word stuffed although he was quick to cover it up.

  ‘Well, as you can see we have a wide selection of mounted animals. Is there anything in particular you’d care to take a closer look at?’

  ‘I’m not sure. To be honest, I don’t really know what he’s into.’

  ‘Your colleague,’ Carlisle said patiently. ‘Is he a collector? If so, we may have already met. The world of taxidermy is a small one.’

  Chris hesitated as if pondering on the wisdom of divulging his business contacts to a complete stranger. His eyes raked the room before coming back to rest on Carlisle. He weighed up his options for a few seconds more, but then, unwilling to make the wrong choice, decided to throw caution to the wind. ‘Borovski,’ he said. ‘Anatoly Borovski.’

  ‘Ah, Mr Borovski,’ Carlisle said, bringing his long slender hands together as if in prayer. He briefly touched his chin with his fingertips. ‘Indeed. I may have just what you’re looking for. Come this way.’

  Carlisle turned and swept off towards the rear of the store. As they followed him, Ava recalled again how this had once been a funeral parlour. It was here that the bodies had been cleaned and embalmed and laid out in the chapel of rest. Strange, she thought, how the business had changed but that the premises continued to be inhabited by the dead. There was something inescapably macabre about the place.

  Carlisle led them into a room where he lifted his arms in a wide dramatic gesture as if welcoming them to previously unknown delights. ‘Here we are!’ he exclaimed. ‘The birds!’

  ‘The birds,’ Chris repeated glumly, glancing not altogether tactfully at his watch. ‘And Mr Borovski likes these?’

  ‘Oh, indeed. He has a very keen interest.’

  ‘And are there any in particular that —’

  ‘Over here, over here,’ Carlisle said, ushering him towards the larger cabinets at the back.

  Ava followed in their wake, peering at the collection as she trudged behind. There was a vast array of birds both of the native and more exotic variety. There were birds small enough to fit into the palm of her hand and ones with the kind of wingspan that would strike terror into their prey. There were pheasants, owls, buzzards and eagles. There were parakeets and parrots and toucans. She stopped to peer into a dome containing two pretty European bee-eaters with jade green breasts.

  ‘Ava?’ Chris called out.

  She hurried over to join the two men. Chris was scrutinising the contents of a large glass case. Inside, perched on a rock, was a gyrfalcon with brown flecked plumage and black eyes ringed with yellow.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘It’s either this one or the sparrowhawk.’ He turned to look at the case behind him, indecision etched on to his face.

  Ava studied both mounted birds. Although she could appreciate the skill involved, she couldn’t see the beauty. For her the loveliness, especially of birds of prey, was in the flying, in the swooping and soaring, in the graceful way that they travelled through the sky. These poor creatures had been grounded forever. Sensing, however, that a choice had to be made – and that Chris wasn’t likely to make it in a hurry – she pointed confidently towards the falcon. ‘That one,’ she said. ‘Yes, definitely that one.’

  Morton Carlisle nodded sagely. ‘Yes, an excellent choice. Quite excellent.’

  Ava gave him a thin smile, suspecting that the response would have been exactly the same if she’d chosen the hawk.

  ‘Okay,’ Chris said. ‘I’ll take it.’

  Carlisle bowed his head again. ‘I’m sure Mr Borovski will be very pleased.’

  They went back into the other room where the sale was rung up on the till. Ava drew in her breath as she saw the amount – sixteen hundred quid. Jesus, you could buy a second-hand car with that. Or an awful lot of shoes. Whatever was cooking with Borovski must be one hell of a deal.

  Chris put his credit card into the machine and punched in his number. ‘You deliver?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  He took a business card for Belles out of his wallet and gave it to Carlisle. ‘Any time after eleven in the morning. Call me if there’s a problem.’

  Carlisle held the card between his finger and thumb, quickly reading off the details before dropping it beside the till. Ava saw a flash of what might have been disgust fly across his face. She figured that he wasn’t a fan of lap-dancing clubs although he was, apparently, perfectly happy to do business with their owners.

  Chris waited for the receipt and put it in his pocket. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘A pleasure,’ Carlisle said.

  Chris turned to Ava. ‘Okay. Job done. Let’s get out of here.’

  They were halfway across the room when the door to the shop opened and a fair-haired man in his mid-thirties walked in. Ava was simultaneously aware of two strong physical reactions. One was her own – the man had the kind of good looks that would make any girl’s heart miss a beat – and the other came from Chris. She felt his whole body stiffen as a hissing breath escaped from between his lips.

  Ava looked quickly from one to the other before her gaze settled on the stranger again. He had a beautifully sculpted face with a strong chin and piercing blue eyes. But it wasn’t just his handsome features that had captured her attention; the guy had an extraordinary air about him, a kind of magnetism, something that could only be described as charisma.

  Chris, however, wasn’t feeling the love. He glared at the man with pure hate in his eyes. Ava could feel the rise in testosterone levels. Like two male dogs meeting on neutral territory, they stood their ground, each trying to stare the other out. Neither of them spoke. It was an animalistic exchange, cold and nasty.

  The impasse was broken only by the arrival of Morton Carlisle. Sensing that an ‘incident’ was brewing – and not relishing the collateral damage that was likely to result from two grown men scrapping in his gallery – he inserted himself smartly between them. ‘Ah, Mr Wilder. How nice to see you again. Please, do come with me.’

  As Wilder allowed himself to be gently propelled away, he glanced over his shoulder and said in a soft mocking tone, ‘I hear they can stuff anything in here – even rats.’

  Chris made as if to lunge for him, but then thought better of it. ‘You’ll pay for that, you bastard!’

  ‘Is that a threat?’

  Chris Street’s cheeks were tinged with red, his hands clenched into two tight fists. ‘No, mate, it’s a fuckin’ promise!’ And with those angry words, he turned his back and stormed out of the gallery.

  Ava, startled by the exchange, hurried after him. ‘Who on earth was that?’ she asked as they got into the Merc.

  Chris didn’t answer. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, opened the window and glared at the door to Beast. He smoked furiously, staring at the gallery as if he was in two minds whet
her to go back in or not.

  Ava didn’t ask again. She could see that he was steaming and didn’t want to aggravate him further. The best thing to do, she thought, was to try and put some distance between him and Mr Wilder. Quickly, she started the engine, placed her hands on the wheel and said, ‘Where to?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Where would you like to go now?’

  He threw the butt of the fag on to the pavement and closed the window ‘Belles. Take me to Belles and then you can drop the car off at the house. I won’t be needing you again today.’

  ‘Already? But it’s only —’ She stopped, seeing the look on his face. ‘Belles it is,’ she said. ‘Will there be someone at the house to let me in?’

  Chris took the remote control for the gates out of his pocket and threw it on the dash. ‘You can hang on to that.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks.’

  Ava waited for a gap in the traffic, pulled out and started heading for Shoreditch. The atmosphere in the car was tight and strained. She knew that the smart thing to do was to keep her mouth shut and hope that he would calm down soon. She was feeling none too happy herself. It wasn’t even eleven o’clock and already she’d been dismissed for the day. They hadn’t discussed her salary yet – and now certainly wasn’t the time to be raising the subject – but if he was paying her by the hour she wasn’t going to be earning much.

  ‘You know what that bastard did?’ said Chris, his voice still full of rage.

  Ava gave him a sidelong glance. ‘What did he do?’

  ‘The fuckin’ bastard sent a dead rat through the post!’

  ‘What?’ She jumped, shocked by the revelation. ‘What… why… why the hell did he do that?’

  ‘Because that’s the kind of guy he is. He’s sick and he’s twisted.’

  Ava frowned, trying to reconcile the vileness of the act with Mr Wilder’s remarkable features. She knew it was wrong to judge by appearances, but it was often hard not to equate beauty with goodness. ‘No other reason?’ she asked. And then, worried that it might sound like an accusation, she rapidly added, ‘I mean, you’re right, it’s sick, it’s really disgusting, but why would he do that?’

  ‘He doesn’t need a reason.’

  ‘You two have history, huh?’

  Chris gave a nod. ‘Oh yeah, we’ve got history all right.’

  Ava waited, but he didn’t elaborate. In fact, he didn’t say anything else at all until they got to Belles and she pulled up by the door. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up later? I can come back. It’s no trouble.’

  ‘No, I’ll get a lift home with the old man.’

  ‘Well, call me if you change your mind.’

  ‘I won’t,’ he said, undoing his seat belt. ‘Look, sometimes it’s like this, yeah? Other times we’ll be on the go all day, maybe until late at night. Short hours, long hours. It balances out in the end.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Chris got out of the car and leaned down to speak to her like he had when they’d stopped outside the Hope and Anchor. ‘Oh, and one other thing,’ he said. ‘About your driving…’

  Ava braced herself for some unwelcome macho criticism. ‘Yes?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve seen worse,’ he said before slamming the door.

  Ava raised her eyebrows. And that, she thought, was about as close to a compliment as Chris Street would ever get.

  6

  Noah Clark picked up the pitcher, poured out two Mojitos and added a wedge of lime and a mint leaf. He placed the glasses on a tray and passed it over to the cocktail waitress. Throughout the process, he’d had one eye on the drinks and the other on the end of the bar. It was there that Guy was standing with a group of customers. He was, as always, the focal point of the room. People were drawn like moths to a flame. They gathered round, their social wings fluttering, jostling for his undivided attention.

  Noah understood Guy’s appeal. He’d known and adored him for over twenty years. They were friends, business partners and lovers. Tonight, however, he was worried. He knew who the tall, slender blonde was and he knew that Guy was going to sleep with her. His eyes raked over the woman. She was nothing special, he thought, just one of a breed – an Essex girl with peroxide hair, cosmetically enhanced breasts and very white teeth. She was wearing a short red dress and sporting enough bling to pay for a deposit on a house.

  Noah felt a tightening in his chest, but it wasn’t jealousy at the root of his anxiety. He had long ago become resigned to the fact that Guy Wilder was incapable of monogamy. No, he could cope with that – he knew that Guy would always come back to him – but this was something else entirely. There was trouble brewing and the result could be explosive. The girl in question was called Jenna and she was Chris Street’s ex-wife.

  Noah looked at Guy, caught his eye and beckoned him over.

  Guy excused himself from the group and joined him at the other end of the bar. ‘Problem?’

  Noah leaned forward, put his elbows on the counter and lowered his voice. ‘There will be when Chris Street finds out that you’re messing with her.’

  ‘And that should bother me because…?’

  Noah gave a shake of his head. ‘Are you crazy, man? He’s going to go ballistic.’

  ‘Let him. It’s not my fault if he can’t hold on to his wife.’

  ‘You’re just trying to wind him up.’

  The corners of Guy’s mouth twitched. ‘That isn’t difficult. Did I tell you I saw him today? He was in Beast. God knows what he was doing there. Maybe he was making arrangements to have the old man stuffed.’

  Noah glanced at Jenna, pulled a face and looked back at Guy. ‘Just be careful, huh? I don’t want to be scraping you off the pavement.’

  Guy laughed. ‘He wouldn’t dare. Anyway, we’re all set for next week.’

  ‘Next week?’

  ‘Morton Carlisle’s show. We’re doing the cocktails, remember? Thursday, three ’til five at the gallery.’

  Noah gave a shudder. ‘That place is weird. And don’t change the subject. What’s the point in making Street mad? He’ll come after you. You know he will.’

  ‘It’s none of his business any more. She’s a free agent. She can do as she likes.’

  Noah knew that there was no point in arguing. When it came to the Streets, Guy was never rational. He gazed over at Jenna and said, ‘She’s not worth it. She’s just using you to get back at him.’

  Guy gave a light shrug. ‘Well, there you go. That’s something the two of us have in common.’

  ‘It’s not funny, man.’

  ‘Who’s laughing?’

  The waitress came back with a new batch of orders and passed the slips of paper over to Noah. It brought the conversation between the two men to a halt.

  ‘Catch you later, then,’ Guy said. ‘And send over another bottle of champagne when you’ve got a minute, yeah?’

  ‘Just think on,’ Noah said, but he knew his warning would fall on deaf ears. He watched as Guy walked back to the group, observing the way the men and women responded, their body language changing as he joined them again: shoulders becoming straighter, faces lighting up, smiles instantly appearing. Noah understood the effect he had on people; for him a room was always empty if Guy wasn’t in it.

  Noah got to work on the drinks: two Cosmopolitans, two Cuba Libres and a Bloody Mary. It was only early evening, but already it was getting busy. They had launched the business over seven years ago, starting off as a wine bar but gradually becoming more renowned for their cocktails. It was a calm, laid-back lounge where folk came to chill. There was flattering lighting, wide comfortable sofas, and black-and-white photographs of the old Hollywood stars on the walls – Gable, Monroe, Hepburn, Bogart and Bacall. The music was soft jazz and blues.

  Noah knew that without Guy the bar would never have become as popular as it had. He was its centre, its very heart. Wilder’s wasn’t in the most fashionable part of town, but the most fashionable people came to drink here. Despite its relaxed natur
e, there was still a buzz about the place, a unique atmosphere that existed nowhere else.

  Glancing over again towards the small group at the end of the bar, Noah saw that Guy’s hand was now resting lightly on the base of Jenna’s spine. He felt a shiver run through him. This could only end badly, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Guy’s obsession with the Streets was escalating, his need for retribution growing stronger by the day. Sending a dead rat through the mail was one thing, but screwing Chris Street’s ex was quite another. It was a declaration of war.

  7

  Faced with an unexpectedly empty afternoon, Ava had used the time to do her washing and clean up the flat. There was no sign of Tash other than the debris lying on the table in the living room, scraps of felt and cotton and ribbon that she used when she was making her hats. Tash wasn’t the tidiest person in the world, but Ava didn’t mind. She liked sharing with her. It was easy, uncomplicated. She enjoyed the chat and the laughs and the companionship. It felt like an oasis after the gruelling battleground of her relationship with Alec.