The Villain’s Daughter (21 page)

As she passed through the main gate of Silverstone Heights, Iris looked up at the three ‘For Sale’ signs and was glad she and Luke hadn’t committed to buying a place. In the current economic climate, property was hard to shift. She found herself wondering how many couples were forced to stay together through financial commitments when the relationship had long since run aground. Not that she and Luke had reached that point yet but . . .

Iris jogged up the stairs to the second floor and unlocked the door to the flat. She figured she should just about have time to grab a shower and get changed before going to meet Guy Wilder. She could have gone straight to the bar from work and saved all this crazy dashing around. Why hadn’t she? Because she felt it was only polite to freshen up, to put on some clean clothes. Except she knew that wasn’t the only reason. She wanted to make a good impression. She wanted him to
like
her. But that was only, she inwardly insisted, because she needed his help. It had absolutely nothing at all to do with that lean sculpted face or the way his gaze seemed to reach into the very heart of her.

Twenty minutes later, showered and with her make-up done, she was still trying to decide what to wear. Something casual, she thought, but not too casual. There was a thin balance between looking good and looking like you’d tried too hard. Black? That was always a safe bet, but she’d been wearing black last time she saw him. She tried on a few more items before finally settling on a pair of slimline dark grey trousers and an emerald green shirt. The green, she knew, accentuated her red hair.

Iris checked her watch. It was ten to six. She had to make a move. The sensible thing to do would be to take the car - that way she couldn’t drink anything but coffee. It was important to keep a clear head, to be able to tell her story as succinctly as she could. After picking up the keys, she juggled them in her hands for a few seconds, but then put them back down on the table. Maybe a glass of wine, or two, was just what she needed.

Vita Howard pushed back her long dark hair and smiled across her desk at the young man who had turned up just as she was leaving. Neal ‘Duggie’ Duggan was knocking on nineteen, but with his slight skinny frame, smooth face and big blue eyes could easily pass for several years younger. He was a throwback to an earlier era, an Artful Dodger who made his living from picking pockets.

‘So,’ she said, ‘you in bother again, Duggie?’

He threw up his hands in mock horror. ‘Aw, Mrs H. Have a bit of faith. You think I’m gonna make the same mistake twice?’

It was over nine months since Vita had last seen him. He’d been up on charges of theft after being caught on CCTV skilfully relieving a local magistrate of his wallet, a pack of cigarettes and a mobile phone. Fortunately the film had been grainy enough to cast some doubt on the identity of the thief. When push came to shove, one grey hoody looked much the same as another. She had managed, after weeks of hard work, to get the charges dropped.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘So if it’s not my professional services you’re after . . .?’

Duggie leaned forward and grinned at her. ‘I’ve always reckoned that one good turn deserves another.’

Vita raised her brows, still smiling. For all her disapproval of the way he made his living, she had a sneaky regard for him. He was, despite his faults, curiously endearing. He was also one of the few clients she had who wasn’t dependent on drugs; Duggie got his rush, his kicks, from ‘spreading the wealth’ of the richer inhabitants of the area. The truth, of course, was that he only spread it as far as the local bookies and his favourite pubs.

‘You’ve lost me,’ she said.

Reaching into his pocket, he took out a brown leather wallet and slid it across the desk. ‘I didn’t realise.’ He pulled a face, his mouth turning down at the corners. ‘I’m sorry. If I’d known who he was . . .’

It took Vita a few seconds to recognise it. The wallet belonged to her husband, Rick. She picked it up, flipped it open and peered inside.

‘I saw the photo of you and when I checked the name and . . . well, I reckoned it had to be your old man.’

Vita nodded. The photo was a few years old, a close-up snap that accentuated her large dark eyes. She stared at her own reflection for a moment before checking that both of his credit cards and his bank card were in their usual place. It was only as she looked in the section at the back that she got an unexpected surprise. There was a hefty wad of notes sitting there. Frowning, she wondered what Rick was doing with so much cash. He’d been pleading poverty for the past couple of weeks. Even yesterday, when his daughter had come round, she’d been the one who’d had to fork out for the rented DVD and a pizza.

‘It’s all there,’ Duggie said, as if her expression was down to some form of suspicion. ‘I ain’t touched a penny, honest. I swear on me life. Six hundred quid.’ He grinned again. ‘I counted it.’

Vita glanced up at him. ‘When did you take this?’

‘Ah, you’re not gonna get mad, are you? It was a genuine mistake. Like I said, if I’d had any idea—’

‘Duggie, love, I’m not getting mad. Not at all.’ She forced another smile, trying to hide her confusion. ‘But will you please just answer the question. When did you take it?’

He glanced at his watch. ‘I dunno. It was today though. About lunchtime? One?’

Vita was tempted to ask why it had taken him five hours to return it, but she’d already guessed the answer. No one like Duggie was going to hand over this amount of cash without a few second thoughts. ‘Well, thanks,’ she said. ‘I guess.’ She screwed up her eyes and stared at him. ‘Although, as you took the damn thing in the first place, I’m not entirely sure how much gratitude I should be showing.’

‘True enough. Still, at least I did the right thing in the end.’

Vita couldn’t argue with that. ‘So where was he when you nicked it?’

‘Oh, he was outside Belles.’

‘What?’ she said, unable to disguise the sharpness in her voice. Belles was a sleazy lap-dancing joint in Shoreditch and its clientele was mainly City boys, wheelers and dealers, bankers and brokers looking for somewhere to squander their bonuses. Most of Belles’ business was done in the evenings, but there was a healthy lunchtime trade too. And if everything she’d heard was fact, there was no shortage of sex and drugs for sale. What the hell had Rick been doing there?

Duggie, aware that he’d put his foot in it, shifted uneasily in his chair. Quickly, he tried to retrieve the situation. ‘I’m not sayin’ he’d been inside, Mrs H. I didn’t see him coming out or nothin’. I just mean he was near the club. There was a crowd, you see, standing around and . . .’ His response petered out into a shrug.

‘It’s okay,’ she lied. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

But Duggie, unwilling to be the inadvertent cause of a marital rift, couldn’t leave it alone. ‘Or maybe it wasn’t outside Belles at all. Shit, I could be well wrong. Now I come to think, it might have been the High Street. Yeah, yeah I think it was.’

Vita looked down at the wallet again. She had got as much out of Duggie as she was likely to and now wanted to be alone. ‘Well, thanks for returning it,’ she said. It was hardly moral to reward criminality, but he probably expected something for his trouble. Taking out a fifty, she offered it to him. ‘Here.’

Duggie sat back and shook his head. ‘Nah, I don’t want nothin’. I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right, would it?’

‘Take it,’ she insisted. ‘Go out and enjoy yourself. Just promise me that you won’t nick anything else tonight.’

He hesitated, his gaze fixed on the note. His nicotine-stained fingers crept towards it, but then withdrew again. ‘Nah, I can’t. You were good to me, Mrs H. No one else gave a fuck, but you stood up for me. You worked real hard to get me off those charges and I won’t never forget that.’

‘Please,’ she said, dropping the note in front of him. ‘I want you to have it. I’ll be offended if you refuse. Look on it as a reward for doing the right thing.’

Duggie’s precarious sense of right and wrong had its limits. He didn’t need telling twice. Swiftly slipping the fifty into his pocket, he scraped back his chair and stood up. ‘Ta. If you ever need anything . . .’

‘I’ll be sure to call.’

‘I mean it,’ he said. He paused, his big blue eyes gazing down at her. For a second, with his pale cheeks flushing red, he looked as awkward as an adolescent.

‘Now fuck off,’ she ordered, ‘before I change my mind.’

Vita took a deep breath as he closed the door behind him. She was oddly touched by what he’d said and done. There wasn’t much to recommend working in a place like Kellston, but rare experiences like this made it seem worthwhile. However, if Duggie’s act had temporarily restored her faith in human nature, it hadn’t done much for her faith in her husband. She picked up the wallet again and turned it around. Rick had been robbed over five hours ago. Why hadn’t he told her? He must have noticed it was missing by now. There was only one reason why he wouldn’t have called and that was because he didn’t want her to know - and the only reason for that was because he’d had a wad of dodgy cash on him.

Her heart sank as she thought about him being at Belles. She wasn’t quite sure what she was more stressed about: the idea of him ogling some curvy bimbo with a bra size she could only dream about or that he’d slipped back into his former ways. No, he couldn’t have. He’d promised her - no more jobs, no more crime, and definitely no more time.

So what was he doing with six hundred quid in his wallet?

Vita snatched her mobile out of her bag, pressed one on the keypad and then instantly hung up again. This wasn’t the kind of conversation to have over the phone. If she wanted to know the truth she’d have to ask him face to face.

Iris hesitated before pushing open the door of Wilder’s. Was she doing the right thing? She was suddenly assailed by doubt. Maybe, by enlisting Guy’s help, she was only going to make matters worse. Things were complicated enough without involving someone else in the mix. But then again, what choice did she have? Her problems weren’t going to disappear of their own accord; either she took control of the situation or became another victim. If the Streets found her dad before she did, Sean O’Donnell was done for. If they didn’t,
she
was in the firing line.

Iris steadied herself and stepped inside. As Guy had predicted, the place wasn’t busy, but there were enough tables occupied for it not to seem too empty. Her eyes quickly swept the red-walled room, but there was no sign of him. Noah, however, was standing behind the bar.

Iris smiled, relieved to spot a familiar face. It might be the twenty-first century, and she might be a modern woman, but she still felt faintly uncomfortable about walking into bars on her own. She went over to him and placed her bag on the counter.

‘Hi,’ she said, ‘How are you?’

Noah didn’t smile back. Instead he gave a small nod and said rather brusquely, ‘Guy’s upstairs. He won’t be long.’

Iris hovered for a second, not sure whether to order a drink or not. Was it her imagination or could she sense frostiness in the air? She hoped it wasn’t to do with her. She opened her mouth, intending to embark on a little small talk, but then smartly closed it again. There was something in Noah’s expression that told her it would be a waste of time. ‘Okay. Thanks. I’ll just take a seat then, shall I?’

His only response was a slight, indifferent shrug of the shoulders.

Iris, feeling awkward, turned and walked away. She chose a table in the far corner, well apart from the other customers. Once she’d sat down she wished she’d bought that drink. She was in need of some Dutch courage. Noah’s attitude hadn’t done much to help her nerves and she wondered if he knew why she was here. If he did, he probably had a right to be annoyed. Guy had enough issues with the Streets without her adding to them.

With nothing else to do, she stared at the framed print directly in front of her. It was an old movie still of Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, a promotional photo for
To Have and Have Not
. Now
that
, she decided, was sexual chemistry. You only had to look at them to know they would end up together. For a while she pondered on what that mysterious connection was, that vital crazy spark that could so easily grow into a raging fire.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’

Iris looked up to see Guy Wilder standing over her. He was dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a crisp white shirt. His fair hair was damp - he must have been in the shower - and slicked back from his forehead. Her heart gave a tiny leap. It was just the surprise, she told herself, and yet knew that it was something more. It was a thought she quickly pushed to the back of her mind.

‘It’s okay. I’ve only just got here.’

‘Didn’t Noah get you a drink?’

She glanced over towards the bar. ‘Erm . . .’

Guy, following her line of vision, grinned. ‘Oh, right. He’s still got a strop on, has he? Don’t worry, it’s nothing to do with you. He can be a right moody sod when he puts his mind to it. I hope he wasn’t rude.’

‘No,’ she lied. ‘He just seemed a bit . . . distracted.’

‘Woman trouble, I’m afraid. He thinks she’s messing him about - hell, she probably is - so he’s venting his frustration on the rest of the world. Look, let me grab a bottle and I’ll be right back.’

Iris watched as he strolled over to the bar, leaned over and said something to Noah. Noah’s gaze immediately flicked towards her and she looked away, embarrassed by the idea that he might think she’d been badmouthing him. She stared down at the floor. She was starting to have those doubts again. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come.

A short while later, Guy returned with a chilled bottle of Chablis and two glasses. ‘I hope you don’t mind white,’ he said. ‘You all right?’

Iris nodded. Her lips tried to smile, quivered and didn’t quite make it.