Freddie had made sure to arrive at Stella's place in Herne Hill at precisely seven. He even freshened up for the occasion, and now he smelt of Teacher's and too much cinnamon-scented cologne. Freddie Evans wasn't accustomed to suiting and booting up for a bird, but then again, Stella Collins wasn't any old bird. He thought the entire male populous would kill to step into his shoes, and he wasn't far off.
While Stella's terraced house was in the fashionable modern-style, something that never really felt homely compared to the bedsits and messy estate flats of Fred's youth, the warmth that greeted him as soon as he let himself in the front door was inviting, and despite himself he smiled and inhaled the scent of warm vanilla from the candles in the kitchen that pervaded the entire premises.
Bing Crosby's 'The Christmas Song' was playing on the stereo, and he followed the familiar, sultry tones into the lounge, where Stella sat perched on a cream-coloured chaise in a long, ankle-length black dress, her natural feline poise making her look like something out of a glossy magazine. Her hair hung loosely on her shoulders, perfectly combed so that it cascaded downward without a hair out of place, and there was a slit up the side of the dress that revealed one of her long, tanned legs and manicured toes. Freddie could tell she was braless. He lit up at the sight like a teenager, so thoroughly distracted by her willowy figure he hardly noticed her minder Fyodor standing in the corner of the room like a great Cossack wall, big brute of a man that he was.
'Hello, Fred.' Stella's voice dripped like melted caramel from her plump lips.
The fact she'd used his first name did not go unnoticed by Freddie. He still had a dopey grin on his face as he responded in his harsh cockney, a sharp contrast from her smooth estuary English: 'Stella.'
Brushing little white flakes off his black leather jacket, he went on, 'So cold out there it could freeze the balls off a brass monkey!'
Stella was less than impressed by his crassness, but Freddie was oblivious to her distaste, laughing off the raunchy phrase as he stepped further into her house, trailing in distinct boot prints of mud and snow on the hardwood flooring.
'Sit,' said Stella. 'Have a glass of wine.'
'Sure, sure.' Fred sat down heavily on a nearby chair, which was plush and bright red, and spread out his legs ahead of him while the brunette ahead of him carefully filled two glasses with claret. Every thing she did had the grace and poise of a swan, an animal-like prowess she naturally possessed. It was enchanting. Everything she did was, really.
When the wine had been poured, Freddie took one and raised it to her with a quick 'cheers' and Stella watched him drain nearly half of it in one long pull. Only after he'd swallowed and smacked his lips together did she speak. 'Shall we get down to business?'
Fred looked at her and gestured with his hands as if to say 'go on', and she did, leaning forward sultrily. 'My father likes you, for some spectacular and mysterious reason.' He laughed as if it were a joke, but Stella was being honest. ' . . . He wants your input on a bit of a . . . problem arising in our city.
'I'm sure you've noticed the sudden Greek influence in our little town. It's no coincidence. They've been moving in on the south-east, cropping up along Croydon and Bromley. They're leaving the drugs to the blacks, but they want in on the properties and the gambling. Naturally, we can't let them do that.'
Freddie was watching her intently over the rim of his glass. 'Why you telling me this?'
'Because,' she began, folding her arms lightly over her generous bust. 'My father doesn't want to do anything about it. He doesn't see my side of things. He thinks the Greeks aren't something to worry about, but I believe that's exactly what they want him to think. And because I'm well aware they're encroaching on the East as well, and it would be in your best interest as well, I thought you, as my father's friend, could help him see eye-to-eye.'
Fred stroked the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. He was thinking it over, but Stella was astute enough to know she already had him by the balls. 'Well,' he said at last. 'I never did like the bubbles. I'll pop round and see if I can't make yer old man see things proper.'
Her coy smirk grew into a devilish smile. 'Wonderful. I'll check my diary and see when we can set something up. For now, however . . . ' This was where she drained her entire glass of wine, and as her throat greedily swallowed the liquid, Freddie's eyes grew to the size of saucers. That woman could take her liquor!
She smacked her lips similarly to how he had previously done and smirked. ' . . . Let's enjoy ourselves. – Fyodor, could you give us some privacy?'
As she refilled their drinks, the big Russian, who had stood stoic in the corner of the lounge throughout Stella and Freddie's entire conversation, slowly retreated from the room. She purposely ignored how his dark gaze bored into the top of her skull until she heard his footsteps retreat down the hall, topping both glasses to the brim.
If she was going to seduce Fred, she was going to need all the alcohol she could get.