The Villain’s Daughter (24 page)

Iris nodded back at her. ‘I won’t,’ she said. ‘I promise.’ In her head, she knew that Vita was right, that she shouldn’t go jumping headlong into a risky alliance with a man she barely knew. However, her heart was saying something completely different.

Iris awoke to the smell of toast. Her head felt fuzzy and for a second she tensed, wondering if she was in the throes of a hangover. But then she recalled the night before, the single shared bottle of wine, and relaxed. Vita had come back to the flat, but they had stopped drinking by ten o’clock. Turning over, she stretched out her arms and yawned. She was just about fit for work, fit to face the world. Pulling on her dressing gown, she went through to the kitchen and found Vita fully dressed and seated at the table. Piles of paper were spread out in front of her and she was busy scribbling notes in a legal pad.

‘Morning. What time is it?’

Vita glanced at her watch. ‘Ten past seven. Sorry, did I wake you?’

‘No, not at all. You sleep okay?’

‘Like a baby.’ Vita grinned, nodding towards her phone. ‘That’s because I’ve got a clear conscience - unlike Rick. He’s been sending me texts since six o’clock this morning.’

‘You did tell him you were staying the night, didn’t you?’

‘Course I did. I’m not a complete sadist. Anyway, he’d have sent out a search party if he hadn’t heard from me. But he knows he’s in the doghouse. He’s worried that I might not be coming back.’

Iris poured herself a coffee, sat down and picked up a piece of toast. ‘So when are you going to put the poor guy out of his misery?’

‘I haven’t decided yet.’ Vita shrugged. ‘This afternoon? Tomorrow? When he’s had sufficient time to ponder on the error of his ways.’

‘God, you are going to make him suffer. I’m glad I’m not married to you.’

They looked at each other and laughed.

‘Seriously though,’ Vita said, ‘I want him to be clear about where I stand, about where we
both
stand. I couldn’t bear it if he went back to jail. I couldn’t. And sod it, I refuse to be one of those sad prison widows, queuing up every Saturday to catch a couple of hours with the man they love.’

Iris, as well as sympathising with her friend’s position, felt a tiny pang of envy. Vita was only reacting so strongly because she loved Rick so much. For all their differences, the two of them had a strong and special bond. Whereas she and Luke . . .

‘And why should I have to go through that,’ Vita continued, ‘just because he can’t resist the temptation of making a fast buck? It’s not as though we’re on the poverty line. We might not be rich, but we’re hardly starving either.’ She pulled a face and groaned. ‘Oh, what am I doing? I spent last night boring you to death with all this. Just tell me to shut up.’

‘It’s okay,’ Iris said. ‘You’ve a right to be upset.’

‘And you’ve a right to not have to listen to my constant whining. Especially now. You’ve got enough on your plate. Look, do you want me to stay here with you while Luke’s away? I don’t like to think of you being on your own while all this crap’s going on.’

Iris considered it. In some respects she’d welcome the company, but Vita’s continuing absence wouldn’t do much for her relationship with Rick. She glanced out of the window and towards the high perimeter wall. ‘Thanks, but this place is pretty secure. I’ll be fine. I’ll be okay.’

‘Or you could come and stay with us. At least that way there’d always be someone around.’ Vita put her elbows on the table and frowned. ‘I’m worried about you.’

‘Don’t be,’ Iris said. ‘I’ll be careful. I promise. And this place is like Fort Knox; nobody’s going to get in without an invite.’

 

At a quarter to nine, they climbed into Vita’s bright red VW Golf. Iris had thought about borrowing Luke’s car while he was away - it would save her having to walk to work and back on her own - but had decided that the hassle outweighed the benefits. By the time she’d found somewhere to park, she’d probably still have a ten-minute tramp back to the funeral parlour. They left the complex, drove along Silverstone Street and joined the traffic on the busy High Street. Shortly after, they pulled up outside Tobias Grand & Sons.

‘Thanks for the bed,’ Vita said. ‘And if you change your mind about coming to stay . . .’

Iris smiled. ‘I appreciate it - and the lift. I hope you sort things out with Rick.’

‘I’ll do my best. Call me, yeah? Let me know how it’s going.’

‘Will do.’

Iris got out of the car, looked back and waved. She had just reached the door to the funeral parlour when a rather dishevelled Toby appeared by her side. He’d obviously been out on the lash; his face was ghostly pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. His left hand, as determined as a junkie’s, was firmly clutching his fix of Starbucks.

‘Good night?’ she asked.

Ignoring the question, he stood leering towards the Golf. Vita was just pulling away. ‘Who’s the cute chick?’

‘Chick?’ Iris repeated, raising her brows. ‘Does anyone other than you actually use that term these days?’ It amazed her that Toby was still capable of thinking about sex when he was clearly so hung over.

He grinned. ‘Well, pardon me for being so retro. She got a boyfriend?’

‘She’s not your type.’

‘All the cute ones are my type.’

‘Yeah, well this one’s happily married.’ At the moment it wasn’t strictly true, but Iris refused to share that nugget of information. Toby might have his charms, but sniffing round her friend like a dog on heat wasn’t one of them.

After another brief glance over his shoulder, Toby got out his keys and unlocked the door. ‘There’s no such thing as
happily
married women. Believe me, I’ve talked to enough of them.’

Iris shook her head. She doubted if Toby ever did much talking when it came to his relationships. Before he could start to question her on Vita’s vital statistics - there was only so much he could see through the windscreen of a car - she quickly changed the subject. ‘So how come you’re opening up this morning? In before twelve, two days on the run - it must be a record.’

‘Very funny,’ he said, ‘As it happens Grimm Senior’s still sick as a pig and Junior’s got a home visit so naturally I offered to step into the breach.’

Iris suspected that there hadn’t been anything voluntary about it. Gerald Grand, despite his illness, must have applied the thumbscrews:
No opening up, no wages at the end of the month.
It was the only reason Toby would have dragged himself out of bed before midday.

She followed him inside, took off her coat and placed her bag on the desk. ‘There’s an appointment at ten. The Elliots. Are you dealing with them?’

‘Hey babe,’ he said, ‘I’m here to deal with anything that arises.’

Iris frowned at him. A Mrs Jean Elliot, along with her husband, was coming in to discuss the funeral arrangements for her brother. ‘You will try to be . . . well, just the slightest bit sensitive? ’

Toby ran his fingers through his uncombed hair and grinned. ‘What’s the matter, hun? You think I can’t do caring?’

‘I’m sure you can,’ she said, sitting down, ‘but I haven’t seen much evidence of it to date.’ William had left a pile of typing for her. Flicking through the sheets of paper, she noticed yet another two letters to go out regarding the final burial place of Connor Hills.

‘Ah, Iris.’ Toby leaned in close, breathing out a gust of last night’s stale beer. ‘Have a little faith. I was born and bred to the funeral business. I have sympathy and compassion oozing from my bones.’

‘Yeah, right. And, no offence, but it’s not the only thing you’re oozing. You might want to brush your teeth before they arrive. You stink of booze.’

Toby drew back a little, pulling a face. ‘What’s bugging you today? You get out the wrong side of bed?’

At least it was her own bed, she thought. Toby probably didn’t even remember whose duvet he’d spent the night under. And yes, she was feeling tetchy. Luke still hadn’t bothered to ring. All she’d received since he’d got to Brussels was that one grotty text. Of course she could easily call his mobile, but that felt a little desperate as if she might be checking up on him. And that, of course, would be exactly what she was doing. The idea that he might be with someone else make her stomach turn over. What she still hadn’t figured out was if that was because she still loved him or simply couldn’t bear the thought of being deceived.

‘It’s nothing personal,’ she said, gesturing towards the papers on her desk. ‘I’ve just got work to do.’

Toby gave a snigger. ‘Nothing that can’t wait. It’s not as if any of our clients are actually
going
anywhere.’

Iris gave him a dark look.

‘Okay, okay, I get the hint,’ he said. And with that, he walked off and disappeared into his father’s office.

Iris turned on the computer and started typing. While she worked, she thought about last night, first about Guy Wilder and then about Vita and Rick. She was on her third letter when a terrible notion occurred to her. A chain of apparently disconnected events abruptly came together in her head: Rick had been at Belles, the Streets owned the club, the Streets had threatened her, Rick had suddenly acquired a large amount of cash.

A cold, dread feeling invaded her stomach. No, she was wrong. She had to be. But Rick was a mate of Michael’s, which could mean that he knew all about her missing father. Could he have been the one who’d tipped off the Streets that the daughter of Sean O’Donnell was back in Kellston? Rapidly she dismissed the idea. It couldn’t be true. She’d already been here a year - why should Rick choose to tell them now? But, unfortunately, there was a ready answer to that: Candice’s mother was putting pressure on him to come up with more money. Perhaps he had simply grasped the opportunity of making some easy cash. Iris shivered. She had thought Albert Jenks was the one who’d been causing trouble for her, but maybe the culprit lay closer to home.

Iris shook her head. She didn’t want to believe it and had no real evidence that it was true. Rick was a friend. He was Vita’s husband. Surely he wouldn’t deliberately place her in danger? She was putting two and two together and coming up with five. And yet . . .

For the next half hour she dwelled on the possibility. It all made sense in a sick kind of way. Rick might have suggested to the Streets that she’d come back to meet her father - or at the very least that she knew where he was hiding. That kind of information would be worth six hundred quid to the likes of the Streets. And Rick might have made even more. There was no knowing how much he’d already spent before the light-fingered Duggie had relieved him of his wallet.

But Iris still wasn’t convinced. As soon as one voice in her head talked her round to the idea, another gave a perfectly legitimate reason as to why he wouldn’t do it. Rick was, in all probability, completely innocent. Would he really betray her like that? She thought of all the evenings she had spent in his company, all the hours they’d spent chatting and drinking together. They weren’t close - not like she was to Vita - but they did have some kind of friendship.

Iris came to a decision. There was only one sensible way to put her mind at rest. She would have to talk to Michael and find out how much Rick Howard really knew about the past.

It was getting on for ten by the time Toby reappeared. Iris stopped typing and looked up at him. He had his jacket over his arm and was heading for the door.

‘See you later,’ he said.

‘What are you doing?’

‘An emergency. Got to go.’

Iris immediately thought of Gerald Grand. ‘Is it your dad? Has something happened?’

He waved a hand dismissively. ‘No, he’s fine. It’s nothing to do with him.’

‘What then?’

It’s . . . er . . .’ With his brain still on standby after all the alcohol he’d drunk, Toby struggled to come up with an adequate explanation. ‘Does it matter? I’ve just got to go out, okay?’

She glanced at the clock. ‘Yes, it matters. The Elliots are due soon. How long are you going to be?’

‘No idea. A while. An hour or so.’

Iris glared at him. ‘So what the hell am I supposed to tell them?’