Deadly Straits (A Tom Dugan Novel) (8 page)

Braun mulled the possibilities. Dugan’s fumbling attempts to catch him in some malfeasance or incompetent action were apparent and concerned him not at all. Nor did Ibrahim know anything except the barest financial essentials of the
China Star
deal, and Braun had arranged those to look like a kickback scheme. So even if Dugan learned of
China Star
, he couldn’t go to the authorities without implicating his friend Kairouz.

Braun considered killing them both, just to be sure, but dismissed the idea. Two dead executives from the same company were bound to attract unwanted attention. But there was the problem of perception. He’d promised Kairouz that if he couldn’t control the little Pakistani, the man would die, along with his family. Braun hated breaking promises. Kairouz had to understand Braun was a man of his word. Otherwise, when things got really challenging, Kairouz might feel insufficiently motivated.

It was a conundrum, and he now regretted the specificity of his threat. Killing the Paki and his entire family would be far too sensational and sure to attract media attention. Braun sighed. How tedious. He continued to mull things over as he waited until the men boarded separate trains. He had no need to follow. He knew where Ibrahim lived.

Anna Walsh’s Apartment Building
1615 Hours Local Time
11 June

“He’s really stressed out,” Dugan said. “Apparently Braun handled the charters of
China Star
personally. The first Ibrahim learned of it was when the ship appeared on the position report. Like me, he thought it looked hinky and started asking questions.” Dugan paused. “That’s when it got interesting. He went to Braun, who blew up. When he failed to get satisfaction there, he approached Alex, who told him if he didn’t back off, he’d be fired.”

“More proof of Kairouz’s involvement,” Lou said, “but what’s Ibrahim make of it?”

“He doesn’t know what to think,” Dugan said. “On the surface it looks like some sort of kickback deal. His main fear is personal. He believes Braun has somehow forced Alex to enter a shady deal, and he’s afraid that he will somehow become the fall guy if the deal goes sour. He’s pretty conflicted. He’s worked for Alex a long time and knows he’s scrupulously honest. On the other hand, Alex seems to be deferring to Braun completely, and Ibrahim thinks he’s screwed no matter what he does. I guess that’s why he opened up to me so easily.”

“You’re sure no one saw you?” Harry asked.

“I can’t see how,” Dugan said. “We left the office separately and met off site.”

“Still,” Anna said, “I wish you had consulted us before the meet.”

“No time,” Dugan said, “Ibrahim seemed to be in a talkative mood, and I didn’t want to give him time to think about it.”

“Well, your instincts were probably right on that,” Anna said.

“I guess that’s it then,” Lou said. “
China Star
’s
not even at the load port yet, so I doubt there’s an immediate threat. We’ll just keep an eye on it and see what develops. Is there anything else, Anna?”

Anna shook her head, and Harry and Lou stood up. Anna followed them to the door. Just as they reached the door, Lou turned. “By the way, good work, Tom,” he said.

Dugan nodded as Anna let the pair out and locked the door behind them.

“Let me second that,” Anna said as she returned. “It was good work.”

Dugan sighed. “Something’s obviously up with Alex, but I know he’s a victim.”

“Given the evidence, Tom, I can’t understand your certainty.”

“I just am,” Dugan said. “I know him.”

“You seem unlikely friends, really.”

“How so?”

“Well, you’re just… different, that’s all. Alex is so… so ‘European’ I guess is the word. Tactful, multilingual, almost courtly, and…” Anna stopped.

“And I’m what…” Dugan deadpanned. “Blunt? Monolingual? Abrasive?”

“Tom, please, I didn’t—”

Dugan grinned. “How ‘bout ‘American’… will that sum it up?”

Relieved, she smiled. “Quite nicely, you bloody annoying Yank. But seriously, whatever do you and Alex Kairouz have in common?”

“Dead wives,” he said softly and looked away.

He lapsed into silence, and she thought he’d said all he intended. Then he went on.

“Years ago, Alex hired me to inspect a ship. He liked my work and became a regular client. Later I was working a short project in his office that got delayed. I tried to extend my hotel, but they were booked, as were most hotels in London, so Alex invited me home.”

Dugan smiled. “Cassie was just a toddler. Mrs. Hogan served a great meal, and after Mrs. Farnsworth took Cassie to bed, Alex and I had brandy and coffee.” He smiled again. “Mostly brandy. That’s when he told me his wife had died of cancer two years earlier. His wounds were raw, and it was obvious he was burying his grief in work and raising Cassie.”

“The more we drank, the more we opened up. My wife had been dead awhile, but it all came back.” He paused. “Because I had suppressed it too. My kid sister was a rock after Ginny’s death, but some things I couldn’t share even with her, but Alex and I connected. We drank and talked and vented. About good things and bad and things we missed most. We got shitfaced and maudlin and toasted lost loves, and sober and hungover and finally”—Dugan gave a sheepish smile—”embarrassed by our behavior. We never spoke of it again. But I know Alex Kairouz, and Alex Kairouz is no terrorist.”

Anna nodded, understanding and intrigued.

“Will you tell me about Ginny?”

She was afraid she’d offended him, but slowly his face softened.

“The love of my life,” he said with a wistful smile. “Her name was Virginia.”

“How’d you meet?”

Dugan chuckled. “I ran into her. Literally. I bashed my old pickup into her brand-new Mustang convertible in a parking lot.”

“You met in a car crash?” Anna asked, incredulous.

“More like a fender bender. She was livid. The first words she ever said to me were ‘Why don’t you watch where the hell you’re going, you big jerk?’”

Anna smiled. “Not a terribly auspicious beginning.”

“Oh, but it was. There she was, green eyes flashing and the wind in her red hair, ready to kick my ass, all five foot two inches of her, the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. She calmed down and we traded contact info, and then she called the next day. She was having trouble with the insurance because the accident happened on a private lot with no police report. I told her just to get her car fixed and I would pay for it, provided she let me buy her dinner to apologize. Long story short, we married a year later.”

“What did she do?” Anna asked.

“She was a teacher. First grade. She loved kids,” Dugan said.

“Did she die of cancer too?”

“Accident,” Dugan said. His face clouded, and he looked away. Anna moved closer and took his hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “it was wrong of me to pry.”

“No. It’s OK,” he said, turning back to her. “I want to tell you, though I don’t know why. It’s just… difficult to get out.” She squeezed his hand, and he went on. “We were both off for the summer when I was offered some relief-chief work. Since the only way to a permanent chief-engineer job was to start as relief, I jumped at it. We postponed a planned trip, and I went back to sea.

“It was a container ship on a North Europe run. Sat phones were new, and the ship didn’t have one. I called Ginny from pay phones on the dock in US ports, but in Europe then you had to go to the phone company or a hotel to call the US. I couldn’t always get away from the ship, but I did call from our last European port with our ETA in New York so she could meet us, and we could spend a few hours together before the next trip.”

Dugan paused. “When I called, she told me she had a surprise for me in New York, but I couldn’t drag it out of her. Then we just talked about everything and nothing, like you do when you’re in love, just feeling connected. She was talking about visiting her sister in upstate New York when we got cut off. I kept trying back but kept getting a German recording. I got through a half hour later, but there was no answer, and I had to get back to the ship.

“We hit a storm coming back, lost some containers overboard and took minor damage. We were delayed, but I knew Ginny would call the company for an updated ETA before she left home. When we docked, the Coast Guard and a crowd of insurance surveyors boarded to inspect the damage. When the crowd cleared and I hadn’t seen Ginny, I grabbed my coffee can of quarters and headed for the pay phone. I got no answer at home, so I called Ginny’s sister.” Dugan paused. “That’s when I found out.

“We had a renovated apartment, hardwood floors and rugs everywhere, all sizes. Ginny loved the damned things. She slipped on one and smashed her head on the coffee table. When she didn’t show up and her sister couldn’t reach her, she called the police. They found Ginny.

“Ginny wasn’t great with administrative details. Her sister was still listed as next of kin, and she didn’t know how to reach me or when I’d return. After the autopsy, she went ahead with the funeral. Ginny was buried the day before I arrived. I didn’t even get to say good-bye.”

Anna squeezed his hand and nodded, not trusting herself to speak, as Dugan went on.

“I know now her sister did the best she could, but I wasn’t rational. I said terrible things to her. I apologized later, but scars remain. I don’t hear from her.”

“Oh Tom, I’m—”

He ignored her, as if having started, he couldn’t stop.

“My shipmates found me crying on the dock. The first thing I remember is my sister, Katy, packing up my stuff. She took me home and moved in and commuted to school. I drank. She tried to help, but she was a college kid with no idea how to handle a morose, nutty drunk. I got it in my head Ginny was murdered. I needed a target for my hate, I guess. I went down and demanded a copy of the autopsy report.”

Dugan took a ragged breath as a tear leaked from his eye. “It took a bottle of Wild Turkey to get through it, but I found Ginny’s surprise. She was pregnant.”

“Oh God. Tom, I’m so sorry.”

“I was in a drunken rage, still convinced someone had killed her. I read it all again and again—date, time, and cause of death—until I understood. Until I found the bastard.” He turned, his anguish unbearable, as he revealed a dark secret he’d shared with no one, not even Alex, in twenty years.

“It was me,” he whispered. “I killed them.”

Anna sat entranced as it poured out. His realization that Ginny died near the time of their last call. His image of Ginny irritated at the disconnection. Of an impatient wait for a callback and a slip on the rug as she rushed to answer.

“If I hadn’t kept trying,” he said, “Ginny and our baby would be alive.”

Anna sat, unsure how to respond, but knowing grief, survivor’s guilt, and failure to share these terrible thoughts had solidified this horrible notion. No words could heal this. She hugged him awkwardly as he hid his face in her shoulder, ashamed of his horrible secret.

After a while, he lifted his head. “Sorry,” he said with an embarrassed smile.

She kissed him tenderly, and he tensed. She stood and tugged him to his feet.

“Anna, wait.”

She placed a finger on his lips and pulled him toward the bedroom. Sex was slow and tender as they explored each other with the wonder of new lovers, mingled with an inexplicable familiarity. Afterward, Anna lay in the crook of his arm as she toyed with his chest hair.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

“I’m wondering why women always ask that after sex.”

He jumped as she jerked his chest hair. “Ouch. That hurt, damn it.”

“Serves you right for spoiling the moment.”

Dugan hugged her close. “Lady, it would take a lot more than that to spoil this moment.”

They lapsed into silence, each thinking their own thoughts.

“Ah… actually,” Dugan said, “I may spoil it. What about Mr. Walsh?”

“Who?” She raised her head, confused.

“You know. Your husband.”

Anna began to laugh. “My God, Dugan. You are a bloody Boy Scout, aren’t you? Ex-husband, Tom. I’m long since divorced.”

“But you said—”

“Cast as a slut,” she said, “I needed to discourage you. Actually, I was pleasantly surprised I wasn’t forced to use a knee to the groin.”

“So what happened?” Dugan asked.

“Not much to tell. We met in school, both studying forensic accounting. You know, finding people ‘cooking the books’ as you Yanks say. We married, and I joined MI5 and David went to a private firm. After training, I joined a firm supplying temps, basically a front to place me in companies under investigation. In time,” she continued, “my job seemed to upset David. I guess it was emasculating, like he was a stodgy accountant and I was a spy. He hinted and then demanded I quit, but I quite liked my job.”

She sighed. “Perhaps I was selfish. I might have dealt better with his insecurity, but I didn’t. He grew cold and had frequent—and open—affairs, as if advertising he was a stud. We divorced, and last I heard, he was married for the third time and living in the Midlands.”

“Is the offer of a penny for my thoughts still open?”

“Sure.”

Dugan hugged her tight. “David was a fucking idiot.”

Anna smiled into his chest.

“I’ve often thought so myself,” she said.

Chapter Ten

Offices of Phoenix Shipping
13 June

Braun sat in Alex Kairouz’s favorite chair and watched over steepled fingers. Alex sat on the sofa, ashen faced and trembling as he digested the news. Ibrahim’s body was found in an alley, throat slashed and wallet missing. Metro Police considered it a random street crime, as did the media. There was a small story on an inside page of
The Daily Telegraph
and a thirty-second mention on the morning news shows. Braun was pleased.

“Quit sniveling, Kairouz,” Braun said. “It’s your own bloody fault.”

“M… my fault. You basta—”

“Of course it’s your fault,” Braun said. “Didn’t I warn you what would happen if you didn’t control Ibrahim? As a matter of fact, please note I spared his wife and children. For now. I’ll remedy that if you don’t quit whining and get back in the game.”

“What do you want?”

“Your renewed participation. Does it surprise you to know your friend Dugan has been snooping about? He and Ibrahim became fast friends, unfortunately for Ibrahim. Dugan is out of control, and I’m holding you responsible for putting him back in the box.”

“I warned you this would happen,” Alex said. “How can I possibly control Thomas?”

“To start, get closer to him,” Braun said. “Play on his friendship and find a way to keep him ignorant and out of the picture. You’re a clever fellow. I’m sure you’ll come up with something. I don’t care how you do it, but contain him.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then Mr. Dugan and the family Ibrahim will all meet with accidents. Are we clear?”

Alex gave a stiff nod, and Braun rose and walked out.

He was pleased with his solution. Delegation was the mark of a good manager, and surely Kairouz could control Dugan for a week or two. After that, it wouldn’t matter.

Anna Walsh’s Apartment Building

Anna awakened and lifted her head from Dugan’s chest to peer at the lighted alarm clock. Dugan stirred, his soft snoring interrupted as he shifted in his sleep. Anna smiled down at his sleeping face, barely visible in the light of the clock. She had never before mixed her professional and personal lives. She knew she should regret it. She didn’t.

She shook his shoulder.

“Wh… time is it?” Dugan’s voice was thick with sleep.

“Ten thirty. Almost bedtime.”

He smiled. “Again?”

Anna poked him in the ribs. “
Separate
bedtimes, I mean. Come on. Get up. We need to go over a few things before I go back my place.”

Dugan pulled her close. “What’s wrong with staying right here? We seem to communicate just fine.”

Anna laughed and pulled away. “You’re too easily distracted. Up.”

Dugan sighed and sat up to grope for his boxer shorts.

“I’m gonna grab a beer. Get you anything?”

“Just a glass of wine,” Anna said. “I’ll be out after I visit the loo.”

***

Anna came in, wrapped in a silk robe, and joined him on the sofa. Dugan was staring at his beer bottle, lost in thought.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” she said.

He shook his head. “Yeah, it is. Ibrahim trusted me, and it got him killed. I should have left it to you guys.”

“Tom, you have no idea what tipped Braun off or even if Braun killed him. It could have been a common robbery/homicide, just like it appears.”

“You don’t really believe that?”

Anna sighed. “Actually I don’t, but what I do believe is that you can’t second-guess yourself in this business. Otherwise you’ll go loopy.”

“’Loopy’?”

Anna smiled. “I believe that’s ‘nuts’ in Yank speak.”

“I’m not too far from that now,” Dugan said, “and Alex is closer. Did you see him when he came into my office today?”

“He looked horrible,” Anna agreed. “What did you two talk about?”

“Ibrahim mostly,” Dugan said. “Alex is really taking it hard, but in a crazy sort of way, he’s more like the old Alex. He asked us to dinner on Wednesday. I put him off until we could discuss it. What do you think?”

“We should go. Reestablishing closer contact can only help.”

“Yeah, well, it’s likely to be strained,” Dugan said. “Apparently all the ladies of the house except Cassie are convinced I’m a lecherous toad.”

Anna smiled. “Just shows what remarkable instincts they have.”

Kairouz Residence
15 June

“Oh. I’m ever so sorry, Mrs. Hogan,” Gillian Farnsworth said as she bumped into Mrs. Hogan bustling out of the pantry.

The cook smiled. “No harm done. Did you see Cassie safe to school?”

Mrs. Farnsworth shook her head. “Barely. That Farley is a menace.”

“Aye, he’s a bad ‘un. I’d like to poison his bloody tea and bury him in the back garden.”

Mrs. Farnsworth smiled at the image of portly Mrs. Hogan dragging Farley across the lawn; thoughts of Farley rarely brought a smile. His hulking presence upset their routine, and his driving was deliberately reckless, provoking tirades from Gillian to which he responded with insincere “Sorry, ma’ams” and smirks in the mirror.

The women fell quiet as Farley came in the back door.

“Hello, luv,” he said to the cook, ignoring Mrs. Farnsworth. “How ‘bout a cuppa?”

“You’ve a kitchen in your quarters, Farley. Take your tea there,” Mrs. Farnsworth said.

“Well, ain’t we all high and mighty? The old kike took his tea here.”

“You aren’t Daniel,” Mrs. Farnsworth said. “And do not call him that. It’s not teatime, in any event. Stop loafing. Wash the car.”

“I did it yesterday,” Farley said.

“Then do it again.”

He glared at her, barely under control, and a chill ran through her before he slammed out. She felt Mrs. Hogan’s arm on her shoulders.

“Don’t you worry, dearie,” the cook said. “He lays a hand to you or Cassie, I’ll gut ‘im like a pig, I will.” She held open a capacious apron pocket to display the handle of a kitchen knife. Suddenly, burying Farley in the lawn didn’t seem so far-fetched.

Mrs. Farnsworth smiled. “An appealing thought, Mrs. Hogan, but if you’re arrested, where ever would we find a cook as good?”

“Hah. Nowhere, that’s where, me girl.”

“Right you are.” Mrs. Farnsworth composed herself. “Now, where were we?”

“Oh, I almost forgot. Mr. Kairouz rang to—”

“He did? Is anything wrong? He’s been very upset about Mr. Ibrahim.”

“Aye, that he has,” Mrs. Hogan said, “but he seemed a bit better just now. In fact, he rang to tell me we’ll have guests tonight.”

“Who?”

Mrs. Hogan made a face. “Mr. Dugan and his tart.”

“Her name is Anna Walsh, Mrs. Hogan, and Alice Coutts tells me she’s a lovely girl.”

“Aye,” the cook said, “and what else do you call a ‘girl’ fancyin’ a rich gent old enough to be her father? She’s a tart, right enough.” She sighed. “But it’s him that’s the letdown. Men. Even the best of ‘em thinks with the wee head down below. Mr. Kairouz excepted, o’course.”

Mrs. Farnsworth stifled a smile. “Mr. Dugan isn’t quite old enough to have sired Ms. Walsh. Do try to keep an open mind.”

“Oh, aye. I’ll give the little tart every benefit of the doubt, I will.”

Hiding her amusement, Mrs. Farnsworth moved down the hall to sit in her tiny office under the stairs. She’d turned the former closet into a neat and efficient workspace, with a small desk and chair. A corkboard was covered with schedules and “to do” lists, and an under-desk computer fed a flat monitor and keyboard. A photo collage of Cassie filled the opposite wall.

As always, the photos brought a smile, one that faded a bit at her tired reflection in the monitor. She had fine features and soft brown eyes, but her hair was as much salt as pepper now, and there were lines that hadn’t existed even weeks ago. Not that she cared. Physical beauty had only brought her pain. Her plain, matronly image and the “proper” world she created was a safe haven, not only for her, but for Cassie as well.

She smiled at the photos again. Cassie—her great treasure—bequeathed by a dying woman who had seen through her lies and trusted her anyway. A woman who squeezed her hands and extracted a promise. A promise Gillian fully intended to keep. Progress was uneven and success unsure, but Cassie would have a good life. Gillian would see to it.

Twenty-Seven Years Earlier
Her Majesty’s Prison Holloway
North London

When the prison gates clanged shut behind Daisy Tatum, she was terrified. Not of freedom, but of failure and slipping back into her old life. She was twenty-two and had never had a job or a bank account or a credit card. She’d taken every course prison offered but knew it wasn’t the same. A charity had gotten her a job, but she’d never waited tables.

The first day was bad. She mixed up every order and dropped a tray. But the café owner, an ex-con himself, was patient. Two weeks later she walked home to her tiny apartment, her first ever paycheck in her pocket. She was unlocking the door when strong arms encircled her.

“Hullo, luv. Don’t we look smart? A regular stunner,” Tommy’s beery breath wafted over her as he pushed her inside into the tiny kitchenette.

“Right hurtful it was, you not comin’ round to see dear ole Dad. But I kept tabs on ya. She’s busy, I sez to me self, so I’ll just pop round and see her.” He glared. “So ‘ere I am.”

Daisy stared, mute, tears streaking her cheeks.

“There, there now,” Tommy said. “No need to carry on, though I’m a bit misty me self. Prison suited you, I see. You ain’t near the washed-out hag you was. Do a fair business among the lads what fancies older birds, I’ll wager. Matter of fact, we’ll have our own little family reunion in a bit, but first you can say hello to an old friend.”

He put the drug paraphernalia on the kitchen bar, and Daisy’s terror turned to rage as he ignored her to melt heroin in a spoon, humming a tune to himself, her own aspirations irrelevant. Memories came flooding back: the nightmare of being strapped spread-eagle on a filthy mattress when Tommy sold her virginity to a fat pedophile with halitosis; of turning tricks for “special clients” in the back of Tommy’s “gentleman’s club” until she looked old enough to be put on the streets. She remembered rebellion and attempted escapes and beatings. And more beatings when she failed to make enough or to induce miscarriages or just because Tommy bloody well felt like it. Beatings until all the fight was out of her and the pain dissolved into a dull blur of the drugs, Tommy’s “little pick-me-ups” to keep her ambulatory and producing. She remembered his sneer when he visited her in jail to tell her she was worth neither bail nor a lawyer and to warn her to keep her bloody mouth shut and do the time.

Tommy’s tune ended abruptly as the kitchen knife entered his chest to the hilt, propelled by 120 pounds of hatred fueled by thirteen years of rage. He died surprised, unable to believe his kindness was so unappreciated.

Daisy panicked. She gathered her meager belongings and fled, stopping to make a call from a pay phone. A short bus ride later, she sat on Gloria’s sofa.

***

“Served the bastard right,” Gloria said, “but Daisy’s history. We have to reinvent you. And you can’t stay here, luv. They know we were cell mates. This is the first place they’ll look. But not to worry. Auntie Gloria’s on top of it.”

Gloria found Daisy a place to hide with a trusted friend of a friend and reappeared two weeks later, in disguise and carrying a shopping bag.

“Sorry, luv,” she said, hugging Daisy. “The coppers were all over me for a while, but I think they’ve given up. Just to be safe, I came here by tube and transferred a half-dozen times.” She grinned and led Daisy to the sofa. “I wanted to deliver your new life in person.”

Daisy looked on, confused, as Gloria fished a newspaper from the shopping bag. She saw a photo of a woman resembling herself above a story titled “War Widow Dead in Car Crash.”

“Wh… what is this?” Daisy asked.

“Your new life, luv,” Gloria said. “Gillian Farnsworth, age twenty-four. Died three weeks ago in a crash. Widow of Leading Seaman John Farnsworth, Royal Navy. Poor sod. Died in the Falklands when the Argies sank his ship. No kids and both John and Gillian are only children of dead parents.” Gloria smiled. “It’s bloody perfect.”

“I… I don’t know Gloria. How can I—”

“Daisy. Luv,” Gloria said. “We couldn’t ask for more. Widow of some poor enlisted sod blown up by an Argie bomb. Anyone asks, you tear up. It’s too painful to discuss. It’s perfect.”

“But… but how can I pretend? I don’t know anyth—”

“You don’t pretend, luv,” Gloria said, “you become.”

She pulled a thick file from her bag.

“It’s all here. Parents’ names, important dates, schools, teachers, everything. With that mind of yours, in two weeks you’ll know Gillian better than she knew herself.”

“But surely there’s a record of her death.”

Gloria nodded. “In Oxford, where she died in a crash while passing through, and which is not at all cross-referenced to Reading, where she was born and lived her whole life. Only a search at Oxford will turn up Gillian’s death certificate, but someone would need to know first, that she was dead, and second, that she died in Oxford. But no one is likely to be looking. She has no family, and all her friends live in Reading. If they should cross your path in London at some point, they’ll just assume it’s a coincidence. Many people share names.”

“But how will I live? I’m not even a very good waitress, and I’m sure she worked at something I couldn’t possibly do.”

Gloria smiled. “Perfect again. She worked as a nanny to a family that returned to the US just before her death. She was between jobs. I phoned the American family, pretending to be a prospective employer. They didn’t know of her death and gave a glowing reference.”

“I don’t even know what a nanny does.”

“She wipes noses and bums and says ‘there, there’ a lot,” Gloria said. “You’ll pick it up. We’ll position you with an arriving American family. They’ll likely be clueless and over-the-top with the whole idea of having a ‘real British’ nanny. That’ll give you a chance to get Kings Cross out of your speech. Most of the Yanks can’t seem to tell a Yorkshireman from an Aussie anyway. Anyone who isn’t North American sounds like Sir Lawrence Olivier to them.” Gloria patted her hand. “You’ll do fine, luv.”