The Exciting Life (8 page)

‘
What’s Bryanston?’

‘
It’s a public school in Dorset. Dad paid for me to go there
when I was thirteen. I left in Forty Nine when I was
eighteen.’

‘
I never realised you went to a posh school.’

‘
I didn’t do much work. All I did was form allegiances with the
sons of other crooks. I didn’t leave with a qualification to my
name. Anyway, you were saying?’

‘
Yes, why don’t you do something for charity? An event or
something?’

‘
Like what?’

‘
I don’t know. Maybe something for Annie’s brother. He runs
Tanner Beresford. I’m sure they would benefit from some help, and
it would make you look good.’

‘
You know that isn’t a bad idea. What could we do
though?’

‘
Why don’t I meet him and discuss it?’

‘
You want to do it?’

‘
I’ve already met him. He seemed to like me.’

‘
I bet he did.’

‘
Nothing like that. Please Patrick. I want to do something to
help you.’

‘
Okay,’ he smiled. ‘See what you can do.’

Iris didn’t even phone to make an
appointment to see Kenneth Holland. She decided to grab the bull by
the horns and go and visit him on spec. She wondered if she should
call Annie to get the address of Tanner Beresford, but changed her
mind. The least she could involve her, the better. Instead, once
Patrick had left for the day, she put on her favourite suit - an
emerald green dress and jacket that complimented her colouring, and
was decorated with a beautiful diamante brooch given to her by a
wealthy jockey she’d once had as a client. It was a reminder of the
life she wanted to leave behind, but at the same time it made her
look respectable and well-off.

There
was a library round the corner from her flat, and Iris found a
business directory, to look for the address of Tanner Beresford.
She saw it was based on Horseferry Road, and so she set off and
caught a bus to Victoria. Once there she took a taxi the short
journey to Horseferry Road. She wanted to create the right
impression and turn up in style.

The
offices of Tanner Beresford were based in a large block close to
Lambeth Bridge. Iris knew the area well. One of her clients had
been an MP with a flat in a street off here, and she laughed to
herself when she recalled her visits to him - when he would always
get her to dress as a French maid and talk in a stupid accent.
Who’d have thought just a few months later, she would be here on
business; about to put a non-sexual proposition to the head of a
major charity?

She
entered the heavy, wooden rotating door that led onto a very
grand-looking reception. A prim-looking girl in heavy-rimmed
glasses sat behind a huge desk, and on spotting Iris, gave her a
very insincere, well-rehearsed smile.

‘
Can I help you?’ she asked in a snooty voice.

‘
Yes, I’d like to see Mr Holland please.’

‘
Do you have an appointment?’

‘
No, but I’m a friend of the family.’

‘
Well you can’t see him without an appointment. He’s a very
busy man.’

‘
But it’s important that I speak to him. Just tell him it’s
Iris Lindholm.’

‘
Mr Holland is indisposed. Could you please make an appointment
Miss Lindholm?’

Iris
took a deep breath. There was nothing she hated more than jumped-up
office girls who thought they were better than her because they had
a job where they got to skivvy after some man. But she couldn’t let
the girl see her irritation - it would spoil the image she’d
cultivated for herself.

‘
Can you just telephone his office and ask him to see me for
five minutes?’

‘
No.’

There
was the sound of a bell, and Iris realised it was the lift
announcing it’s arrival. There was a bank of lifts to the left-hand
side of the marble-floored lobby, and when the one nearest to her
opened, and Kenneth Holland emerged, along with a tall, rather
sleazy looking dark-haired man, Iris hoped and prayed he’d
recognise her. At first he walked past her, just throwing her the
slightest glance. She caught sight of the receptionist smirking and
she felt her cheeks burn red. But suddenly there was a
voice.

‘
Miss Lindholm?’

She
silently thanked God and turned around. Kenneth and his associate
had both stopped close to the revolving door and Kenneth was
looking at her with a furrowed brow.

‘
Hello Mr Holland,’ she said breathlessly – playing helpless
always worked with men.

He came
closer to her and took his hand from his pocket, offering it to
her.

‘
Nice to see you Miss Lindholm. Are you here to see
me?’

‘
I am actually,’ she said. ‘I have a proposition to put to
you.’

‘
Lucky old you Holland,’ the other man said with a lecherous
sneer. Just looking at him, Iris could tell he was the sort who
liked kinky sex. She could tell them a mile off. Either that or he
was a closet homosexual. Sometimes the line between the two was
very thin.

‘
What’s that?’ Kenneth asked her. He then stopped. ‘Tell you
what, Leo and I were just going for lunch at Shepherd’s. Would you
like to join us?’

‘
That would be super,’ Iris beamed, hoping the receptionist
behind her was seething. There was nothing she liked more in life
than to be vindicated. ‘Thank you.’

She
turned and smiled sweetly at the receptionist and walked swiftly up
to Kenneth and Leo.

‘
Miss Lindholm,’ Kenneth said.

‘
Iris, please.’

‘
Iris, this is Leo Andersson. Leo, this is Iris
Lindholm.’

‘
Enchanted,’ Leo said, taking Iris’s hand and bringing it to
his lips like some old Latin lover. But as she looked into his dark
eyes, they showed nothing but malevolence, and it excited her.
There was no bigger turn on than a touch of evil. ‘Lindholm?’ he
asked. ‘Are you Swedish too?’

‘
My father was.’

‘
Same here. See we have lots in common already.’

Shepherds was on the corner of Great Peter Street and
Embankment, and was very popular with MPs and very important men.
Iris felt no fear in entering the rather stuffy restaurant, with
its wood panelling and waiters that looked as though they had rods
up their arses. She’d come here plenty of times with the various
men she’d escorted; but the good thing about places like this was
that they were discreet. No one was going to point her out and call
her a whore. After all, to know this, they would have had to have
used her services as well.

She sat
with Kenneth and Leo, and Kenneth ordered a glass of ale for
himself and both Iris and Leo asked for vodka and
tonics.

‘
You don’t drink spirits?’ she asked Kenneth.

‘
I prefer not to. I’m not even that fond of ale, but one can’t
have water in a place like this.’

‘
So how do you know each other?’ Leo asked them.

‘
Iris is the girlfriend of Annie’s business
partner.’

‘
So you’re taken?’ Leo said with a mock frown. His gaze was so
intense that Iris blushed and looked away. It was as though he
could see straight through her.

‘
Yes, sort of,’ she replied.

‘
Well that is a shame?’

‘
So how do you two know each other?’ she asked, aware that she
sounded flustered.

‘
My father was friends with Michael Holland,’ Leo replied. ‘I
like to think I’ve been like a big brother to Kenneth,’ he said,
slapping Kenneth on the arm, which caused him to smile
uncomfortably. ‘He repaid me by letting me sit on the board of
Tanner Beresford.’

‘
So what is this proposition you’d like to put to me, Iris?’
Kenneth asked.

‘
I’d like to do something for your charity,’ she said.
‘Something to raise money.’

‘
Like what?’

‘
I was thinking of a fashion show, maybe at
Bruno’s...’

‘
Annie’s nightclub?’ Kenneth asked, wrinkling up his
nose.

‘
It’s really not that bad. You only think it’s sordid because
that’s how Annie’s allowed it to become. Clear away the sleazy
patrons and you’ve got a nice venue. I was thinking of a little
intimate fashion show. I’ve some model friends who could take part.
People could come and watch it, and profits from the drinks would
go to the charity. At the end of the night, they could bid for the
clothes and the money could also go to Tanner Beresford. How does
that sound to you?’

‘
Well we’ve never done such a thing before. I’m not sure our
board members would want to be associated with a tacky Soho
nightclub.’

‘
Well this one would,’ Leo said. ‘Bloody spiffing idea if you
ask me. What were you thinking of charging on the door
Sweetheart?’

‘
Oh I don’t know. Ten bob. A pound.’

‘
I’d happily pay ten bob to see beautiful women parading
around. As long as you’re one of them Iris.’

‘
Oh I don’t know about that,’ she blushed.

‘
I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm,’ Kenneth
conceded.

‘
And surely you’re always looking for people to donate money to
the charity?’ Iris asked. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if we could drum up
some support? I mean, if we got some famous faces in, they might
well donate large amounts.’

‘
Yes they might. But why do you want to do this for us? You’ve
no need for my charity and I would imagine you don’t know anyone
who lives in a Tanner Beresford place.’

‘
No, I don’t. Not any more. But I come from humble beginnings
and I’d like to give something back. Like you do.’

They
ordered lunch. Leo opted for steak, whereas both Iris and Kenneth
had the salad. Iris found it amusing how, like her, Kenneth hated
tomatoes and requested for them to be left out of his dish. While
they were eating, the two men chatted about old times and Iris
couldn’t help but wonder if Leo would have even considered being
friends with Kenneth if he’d remained that rough and ready boy from
Battersea. She doubted it.

Leo
wanted to stay and move onto brandies afterwards, but Kenneth
looked at his watch and made to leave.

‘
I’ve a meeting this afternoon,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to go. You
two might as well stay though.’ He took his wallet from his inside
pocket and threw some notes onto the table. ‘That should cover
it.’

‘
Shall I get in touch as soon as I’ve made some progress with
the fashion show?’ Iris asked tentatively.

‘
Of course. Thank you for thinking of us Iris, it’s very kind
of you.’

He shook
Iris’s hand, then Leo’s; then headed over to the maitre d’ to ask
him to fetch his coat and hat. Once he’d gone, Leo looked at Iris
and smiled slyly.

‘
Been here before have you?’ he asked, reaching inside his
pocket for his cigarette case.

‘
No. Why do you ask?’

‘
You called the waiter John. How would you know his first name
if you’d never been here before?’

‘
Maybe I have been, I don’t recall.’

‘
My brother-in-law is Simon Duffy, the Member of Parliament for
Dudley North. I’ve done my fair share of socialising with him. You
get to know certain haunts and what they’re used for.’

‘
I don’t follow you.’

He took
hold of her hand and turned it over, running his rough fingers over
her palm. It felt intrusive, and yet wildly exciting and sensual at
the same time. Iris felt her heart start to race and her cheeks
burn.

‘
I know what sort of girl you are Iris,’ he said quietly. ‘And
I find that wildly appealing.’

‘
I’m not a tart,’ she blurted out.

‘
No, maybe not any more. But I’d lay all my money on you once
being one.’

‘
You won’t tell Kenneth will you?’ she fretted.

‘
Kenny? Dear God no. He hates anything like that. Me on the
other hand….’

‘
What are you saying?’

‘
My flat is only in Chelsea. Ten minutes away. Fancy an
afternoon of fun?’

Iris
knew she should say no. She was with Patrick and she only saw her
other clients to pay the rent. But Leo Andersson excited her in a
way no man had in a long time. She was sure her formative years had
shaped her. All that servicing horrible, sleazy men from the age of
thirteen, had made her feel comfortable in their presence. Being
treated like a whore had become normality. Maybe that was why
Patrick bored her– he actually treated her like a worthwhile human
being.

‘
Okay,’ she replied quietly. ‘But no one must ever find out
about it.’

Chapter Six

Annie
asked Iris to work the next day, so she was back playing the dumb
mannequin. Eddie Glass had lots of showbiz contacts and had
persuaded the actress Veronica Owen to wear a pair of Holland's
shoes to the premiere of her new film the following week. Veronica
Owen was the new big thing and was guaranteed to attract a lot of
attention. Annie had designed a couple of pairs for her, and
Eddie's dad had knocked up prototypes for Iris to model. But
because they'd been done in a hurry, one was in a size four instead
of a five, and pinched her toes as she paraded around Annie's salon
at the back of the building, while Annie and Veronica sat and
watched, oblivious of her suffering.