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came over to the side of the bed.
'Don't I treat you right or something?'
'Course you do,' she answered, feeling a little uneasy, not liking the way he was looking at her.
He crouched down so they were level, the smile he was giving her devoid of any warmth, his dark eyes boring into her.
'You know, I like you a lot, Andrea. I think we could do real well together. That's why I bought you the necklace.' He paused, touching the emerald heart. 'But don't go asking silly questions, all right? About stuff that doesn't concern you.' The fingers of his good hand stroked her cheek tenderly but she felt herself tensing under the touch. The truth was, she was scared. 'Because otherwise . . .' He wrapped a lock of her hair round his middle finger. 'Otherwise we're going to fall out. Understand?'
She nodded.
'And I don't want that to happen. Because I like you. I really do.'
She felt a sharp pang of pain as he yanked the lock of hair, and she cried out. Immediately he let go, his lips parted in a pleasant, loving smile that almost made her think she'd imagined what had just happened. He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips, before pulling back.
'I've really got to go, luv. I'll call you later. Let yourself out, OK?'
And that was that. Chucking on some clothes, he'd left her there alone, wondering what on earth she'd got herself into.
She should have finished it there and then, of course. Someone who could beat and kick an innocent man to within an inch of his life and then, an hour later, come back home as if nothing had happened and make love to his girlfriend clearly had no conscience. And already he was exerting his dominance over her. If he could pull her hair like that, it wouldn't be much of a jump to hitting her. She didn't need this. She had a husband, a man who looked after and cared for her. It wasn't as if she was one of those women who put up with abusive partners because they had no self-esteem. Andrea knew she was a good looking woman. She'd always been able to attract men.
But she hadn't finished it. To her eternal regret. And now, years later, Jimmy Galante was back, staring at money that she, Andrea, had worked so hard to earn. And she still feared him, although in her current situation she feared not having him around even more.
He drank from the tumbler of whisky she'd poured for him and looked over with one of his mocking smiles.
'Half a million quid, eh, Andrea? Who'd have thought you'd ever have that kind of money.'
'I always did,' she answered firmly.
'You know,' he said, watching her over the rim of the glass, 'I've been following your progress over the years. I'm impressed by how far you've come, living in a nice, big, flash pad like this.' He gestured vaguely with an arm.
'Money isn't everything, Jimmy.'
'It is when you ain't got none.'
'I'm sure you manage. You don't look like you're starving.'
'You think there's money out in Spain? There's fuck all. I get by, that's all.'
He sounded bitter, which was Jimmy all over. Andrea had no sympathy. No one had ever given her anything. She'd had to go out and graft for it and had proved that you could be successful if you were willing to put in the sweat and the tears. No one had ever given Jimmy anything, either. He'd grown up in a Hackney council flat, with damp on the walls and cockroaches in the grime encrusted spaces behind the cheap, flimsy kitchen units. The difference was that he hadn't wanted to work, and had taken what wasn't his, and by any means necessary. His fly-by-night lifestyle might have been exciting to her once, but she was young then. Now it simply depressed her that she'd ever fallen for his charms.
Andrea changed the subject. 'If you've been following my progress all these years, you must have known I had a daughter.'
He nodded. 'Yeah, I did.'
'And it never occurred to you that Emma might have been yours?'
He shrugged. 'No, it didn't. I mean, let's face it, babe, you weren't exactly whiter than white where men were concerned, were