It was a beautiful morning and the massive, pitted concrete fortress of the Barbican was looking as attractive as it ever could as I crossed the courtyard towards the arts centre. The terrace outside the café was packed with people sitting in the sunshine, but no one I knew. I threaded my way through the crowds into the cool, faintly unsettling foyer with its squat pillars and odd angles, then headed into the half-empty café, scanning the tables for Bianca Drummond. She was by the window, looking serious in glasses and a high ponytail as she tapped at her laptop. There was an empty coffee cup in front of her, the inside veiled in dirty brown foam. As she saw me approach she slammed the laptop shut.
‘You’re early.’
‘So are you,’ I pointed out. ‘And you’ve been here a while.’
‘I don’t want to miss her.’ Bianca looked past me and bit her lip. ‘She’s not here yet. She sent me a message to say she was running a few minutes late. Could you … go away? I don’t want her to get scared.’
‘How far away would you like me to go?’
Bianca either didn’t hear or chose to ignore the sarcasm. ‘Over there.’ She pointed to the other side of the café. ‘When she comes, I’ll explain who you are.’
I did as she suggested, detouring to get a bottle of water, then sat with my chin propped on my hand, scanning the crowds for anyone who looked burdened with terrible dangerous secrets. I had more or less given up hope by the time a young woman stalked into the café and passed the food without so much as looking at it. She had a haughty expression thanks to high cheekbones, narrow eyes and a small, discontented mouth. She went straight over to Bianca and said something to her. Very tight jeans and a plain T-shirt and wedge-heeled sandals: not English, I thought, and prepared to suffer for her looks. She cast a glance over her shoulder, tossing long straight chestnut-brown hair out of the way.
Bianca was shaking her head. She touched the woman’s arm but she shook her off. She snapped something and began to stride away.
I was out of my seat before I’d thought about it. I reached her side in a few paces, as she stepped out onto the terrace and slid on vast designer sunglasses.
‘Antoinette?’
‘Who are you?’ Unfeigned terror turned her face into a mask behind the glasses.
‘I’m a police officer. A detective,’ I said in a conversational tone, and showed her my ID as if I was showing her something on my phone, in case someone was watching. ‘I’m investigating Paige Hargreaves’ murder. I gather you might have some information for us.’
‘I told her to come alone.’ She scowled at Bianca, who had come to join us. Antoinette’s accent was pronounced, an Eastern European inflection that thickened her consonants. ‘I knew she wouldn’t.’
‘I thought you were going to tell her who I was,’ I said to Bianca.
‘She asked me if I was on my own and as soon as I said no she stormed off,’ Bianca said. ‘She didn’t even give me a chance to explain.’
‘Bianca knew I would need to talk to you,’ I said. ‘She was Paige’s friend. She’s been helping with the investigation.’
‘I was her friend too.’ The tip of Antoinette’s nose reddened and she darted a manicured finger behind her sunglasses to swipe away tears. ‘She was kind.’
‘Please come and talk to us.’ I tried to look as harmless and pleasant as possible. ‘You contacted Bianca because you want to talk to someone about what happened to you at Chiron House. You talked to Paige already. If you tell me what you told her, maybe I can do something about it.’
She gave a cracked, bitter laugh. ‘No one can do anything. It’s too late.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There’s no evidence. It’s my word against theirs. And who would listen to me? I am nobody. They are big important men.’
‘I’ll listen. And so will Bianca.’
Slowly, reluctantly, she turned and stepped through the doors into the café. Bianca pulled out a chair for Antoinette. ‘Can I get you a drink? A coffee?’
‘No, nothing.’ Antoinette collapsed into the chair and winced; they were not designed for slumping. She folded her sunglasses and wrapped them in a cloth before stowing them in their Prada-branded case. ‘I just want to talk and go.’
Bianca put her phone on the table, close to Antoinette. ‘I’m recording this interview, is that OK?’
‘Why not.’ She looked listlessly from Bianca to me. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Why don’t you start by telling us the story you told Paige?’ I suggested. ‘Exactly the way you told her about it.’
She sighed and leaned forward, speaking in a low voice that was directed towards the phone. Aside from her accent, her English was extremely fluent and colloquial. ‘OK. So, I moved to London three years ago. I worked many jobs – cleaner, barista, clothes shop. I came to learn English so I could work in an office. In my country, I am an accountant, you understand? But here I have to study to be an accountant and it costs a lot. Also, I need good English.’
‘Where are you from?’ Bianca interjected.
‘Latvia.’
‘And how old are you now?’
‘Twenty-eight.’ She could have been five years older or younger, I reflected. ‘Anyway, I worked hard. I saved. It’s difficult because of rent and the cost of living here, so I worked as much as I could. I had a job in a shoe shop and it was my lunch hour. I was sitting in the break room, registering with temp agencies – you know, office work? I was so tired of that job. People so rude and smelly, and children that didn’t listen.’ She pulled a face. ‘The assistant manager saw what I was doing. I thought I would get in trouble for looking for another job but she told me if I could waitress, there was an agency that needed girls for evening and weekend work. Weddings, that kind of thing. Of course I said I was interested.’
‘What was the name of the agency?’ I asked.
‘Delahayes.’ She spelled it for me. ‘I phoned the number she gave me and they said, yes, come round, let’s talk. The office was in Victoria, near the train station. When I arrived, there were many girls there – ten, twelve. They looked at all of us and said to five of us, yes, you come through here. The others, they told to go.’
‘How did they decide who to keep?’
‘Some of the girls they told to go were fat. Some were not good-looking or had no style. No grooming. One was too old. One had gum, you know?’ She mimed chewing. ‘And bad teeth. A couple of them had tattoos.’
‘And the ones who stayed?’ I prompted.
‘We were all pretty, thin, nice. Some tall, some small. All young. One very young. She said she was eighteen, but …’ Antoinette shrugged. ‘Of course, I was not an idiot. I was already thinking it was something for sex – a brothel, a club. I was ready to leave. But the girls who worked there came in and told us it was waitress work and their clients were very wealthy so they wanted girls who looked respectable and nice and could behave themselves properly. And then she told us what the pay was. Three times what I could earn in the shop.’
‘And was it waitressing work that they wanted you to do?’ Bianca asked.
Rather to my surprise, Antoinette nodded. ‘Waitressing, yes. They trained us in silver service. I did two … three weddings? And then special corporate events in the City. Lots of very rich people. It was places that didn’t have usual staff – special venues. We were brought in for the evening. It was OK, you know? They had rules about your hair – no coloured dye – and your nails. My God, they would inspect you before you started work every time and it was like the army. They didn’t allow anything.’ She cackled. ‘We called one manager the general because she was so strict. We had to walk the same, talk the same, wear our hair the same, no jewellery, no perfume. Lots of rules. But good money, and it was fun.’ Her face changed. ‘Until the Chiron Club almost two years ago. The twenty-second of July.’
‘What happened?’ I asked, my ears pricking up at the date she mentioned. That was the day before Luke’s car had been spotted in Standen Fitzallen.
‘It was a special event. Only the best girls picked.’ She looked away for the first time. ‘I was pleased to be chosen. There was a bonus, too. Two hundred pounds per girl, plus tips. We weren’t supposed to accept tips – it wasn’t usual to get anything over what we were paid, but we were paid well. The general told us the club members were generous and liked to reward the girls they liked by giving them cash at the end of the night. We were supposed to remember to smile and be nice and talk if they wanted to talk. Some of us were waitresses. Others were to sit at the tables in case the men wanted to talk.’
‘Like escorts?’ Bianca asked.
‘No, this is another word for prostitute, yes? Not escorts. More like decorations. Like the flowers on the table. They were the most beautiful girls who were chosen for this.’ She shrugged. ‘I was a waitress. I thought that was OK. I didn’t want to sit and listen to them talking all night. Men like that are boring. Always boasting. No one cares about your money, Gerald.’
I found myself laughing along with Bianca and Antoinette’s mournful expression lifted for a second, a sparkle appearing in her eyes.
‘We laughed at them, you see. That was why I liked the job.’ The light went out of her face as she went on. ‘That night, they gave us dresses to wear for waitressing – short but smart. They told us we had to wear very fine tights or stockings, and three-inch heels at least. Not fun for waitressing, but OK, I am used to heels, for me it was no problem. And then we were ready. The evening started at seven with a champagne reception.’
‘How many men were there? What was the occasion?’
She shook her head. ‘Two hundred? I think it was a special summer party or a celebration. I don’t know. There was a big cake, I remember. Huge. Everyone was drinking a lot, shouting, cheering. The men, they started out polite, but they were watching us, and talking about us. We could all tell. You always know.’
I nodded. ‘So you were uneasy.’
‘A little. But a big group of men, they talk about sex. Always. So.’ She looked uncomfortable. ‘They were young, some of them. Handsome. Very rich. We were flirting, you understand? Playing games with them? It wasn’t difficult. We were all thinking of the tips at the end of the night. Some of them pinched bums or groped us because it was crowded where the reception was. We warned each other who to avoid. I was black and blue, but I kept smiling, smiling, like I was having fun.’
‘Of course,’ Bianca said warmly. ‘That’s what you do.’
‘I couldn’t lose the job, you see. I wanted to work more. I thought I had to do it.’ She shivered. ‘One of them said he would give me a hundred pounds if I kissed him on the cheek. I wasn’t sure but I said OK, and when I went to kiss him he grabbed me and put his tongue in my mouth.’
‘Did you complain?’ Bianca asked.
She laughed. ‘Who to? The general didn’t care. Anyway, I had said yes. He gave me the money afterwards and I felt horrible. Like a whore.’
‘He tricked you,’ I said. ‘That wasn’t what you agreed to.’
‘No, but I was stupid to say yes.’ Her face crumpled. ‘I behaved like I was OK with it. They thought – well, maybe they didn’t care. But I felt it was my fault, what happened later.’
‘What happened later?’ I asked gently.
‘It was after the main course. We had served. One of them had put his hand in between my legs and I couldn’t stop myself – I spoke to him sharply. He said he was sorry.’ She shuddered. ‘He looked so angry with me. But one of the other men, an older man, he told me I was right. Some of them were kind. I was so upset I needed a minute to myself. I ran out to find the bathroom. There were two young men in the hall, and I asked them if they knew where it was. I was confused. I hadn’t been there before, and I didn’t know how to get to the staff area.’
I waited, but Antoinette didn’t go on. She was sitting very still, her eyes fixed on the table, and she was trembling. At last she said, ‘I should have asked one of the other waitresses. My fault. I remember one of them laughing. The other said, “Yes, I know where it is. Come this way. I’ll show you.” He brought me to a door and said, “Here it is.” I said, “Are you sure?” and he opened the door. The other one was behind me and he shoved me inside. It was full of coats, and dark. They put a coat over my head and wrapped it around, tight. Then they pushed me against other coats and I screamed as loud as I could, but no one heard. They took turns with me. I couldn’t fight – they were behind me and I think one held me down while the other one did what he wanted. I was so scared. I thought I would die. There was no air. I went limp, as if I’d fainted – I thought that might make them stop, even if I couldn’t fight.’ She smiled bitterly. ‘They didn’t stop. Not until they were both finished.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, appalled. ‘I’m so, so sorry. But it wasn’t your fault.’
‘I should have known.’
‘You couldn’t have. You were there to work. You should have been safe.’ I pushed my own anger down because it wasn’t helpful, not then, but I knew it would resurface later. These men and their entitlement. ‘Did they speak to you afterwards?’
She shook her head. ‘They left me in the room, in the dark. I got dressed again – my tights were ripped, so I took them off. I tried to clean myself up. I came out and found the general but she wouldn’t listen to me. She got one of the men who works at the club and he called a car for me. He told the driver I was ill, and to take me straight home. I was so shocked. I wanted to go to hospital, or the police, but the driver took me to my flat and made me go in. The man at the club said I should forget everything that had happened, that it would be best for me, too. I asked what he meant and he gave me an envelope full of money.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘It was so much money.’
‘How much was it exactly?’ I asked.
‘Four thousand, eight hundred. I – I took it.’
‘I’d probably have done the same. A rape trial is a nightmare for the victim,’ Bianca said, with a wholly unwarranted glower in my direction.
‘I knew they would say I’d agreed, if there was a trial.’ Antoinette took out a tissue and dabbed at her nose. ‘I knew they would say I’d kissed the other man. No one would have seen anything suspicious. They would say I was an immigrant trying to make money off drunk men by lying about them. And I would lose the money. I would have nothing. It felt like the right thing to do to just …’ she mimed wiping the air. ‘It was gone. It never happened.’
‘Did you ever make a complaint to the police?’ I asked.
‘I tried. About six months later, I was still thinking about it. I realised it hadn’t gone away. I could still see their faces. They had probably forgotten everything, but I remembered.’ She looked fierce for a moment, then sad. ‘But I had got rid of all the evidence – thrown out the clothes, the envelope. Spent the money. I had some messages on my phone from that night, where I said I was raped, to friends. I could describe the men. Not enough.’
‘It should have been enough,’ Bianca said. ‘Your word should be as good as theirs.’
‘It’s not that we wouldn’t have believed the story. The Crown Prosecution Service won’t take a rape case forward unless they think there’s a good chance of getting a conviction,’ I said apologetically. ‘That usually means physical evidence or witnesses.’
‘I asked some of the other girls if they’d seen anything. They said no.’ Antoinette sighed. ‘There was one girl who was always my friend. I tried calling her, texting her. Nothing. I never heard from her after that night. I don’t know if something happened to her, but she was gone from my life.’
‘What was her name?’
‘Iliana Ivanova. She was Bulgarian. Very beautiful.’ Antoinette welled up again. ‘I went to her house and asked her housemates, but they said they didn’t know who I was talking about. She’d disappeared, as if she had never been there.’