The Villain’s Daughter (25 page)

‘Oh, shit.’ Toby screwed up his face, rushed back into the office and came back with a lumpy black file. He dumped it in front of her. ‘Here, this tells you everything you need to know. Just go through the list inside. You can do it. You’ll be fine.’

‘No!’ Iris protested. ‘You can’t leave me to deal with this. I’ve never done it before. I can’t—’

‘Course you can,’ he said. ‘It’ll be good experience if you’re going to stay here.’

‘Who said I was going to stay? I’m only covering while Maggie’s on leave.’

Toby shrugged. ‘Postpone it then, rearrange, do whatever you like. Although the Brothers Grimm might not be too pleased to know you’ve turned away good customers. And, in case you’re interested, I heard it on the grapevine that Maggie isn’t coming back. Seems she wants to spend more time with that new sprog of hers. So, if you want to take her place permanently, now would be a good time to try and make a good impression.’ He took out his phone and stared at it as if expecting it to ring at any second. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. Do whatever you want. See them, don’t see them. I don’t care.’

And before Iris had a chance to say another word, he was out of the door.

‘Hey!’ She leapt up, intending to chase after him, but then slowly sank back down again. What was the point? Toby was a law unto himself and nothing she said or did was going to alter that. She looked at the file and then at her watch. There were only a few minutes left before the Elliots were due to arrive. She had to decide what was worse, cancelling the appointment or bluffing her way through it. It didn’t help that her confidence was at rock bottom. A year ago she wouldn’t have thought twice about whether she could cope, but now she was as nervous as a teenage apprentice. When she’d been working for the advertising company, all that had mattered was money and contracts, but there was far more at stake here: there were people’s feelings and emotions.

Cursing Toby, she quickly skipped through the file, trying to absorb as much of the information as she could. There was so much to take in: the type of service, the coffin, flowers, cars, obituaries, eulogies, catering. She wasn’t even sure where she was supposed to start.

Just when she’d decided that it might be better to postpone than to try and muddle through, the door opened and Mrs Elliot walked in. She was a tall, thin woman in her late forties, smartly dressed, with ash blonde hair and a tight smile. Her husband, a much smaller man, shuffled in behind her.

Iris shook hands with them both, said hello and introduced herself as Gerald Grand’s personal assistant. It was a slight exaggeration, but she sensed that this woman would be none too pleased if she knew she was dealing with the office receptionist. ‘I must apologise. I’m very sorry, but Mr Grand has been taken ill. I can rearrange the appointment if you like or if you don’t mind going through the details with me . . .’

Mrs Elliot looked her up and down. ‘Well, it’s not what we were expecting.’ She took a moment to consider the options, but then removed her coat and held it out to Iris. ‘I suppose you’ll do.’

Iris tried not to feel too flattered by the vote of confidence. ‘If you’d like to come this way.’ She led them through to a more comfortable room, offered them tea, which they accepted, and then rapidly backtracked to reception where she locked the front door - she couldn’t be in two places at once - and put the phone on answer machine. She wondered if she ought to call William, find out when he was due back, but then decided it might cause more problems than it would solve. If she was going to stay working at Tobias Grand & Sons, it wouldn’t be smart to make an enemy of Toby.

In the kitchen, Iris made a trio of teas and took them back to the lounge. Then, after picking up the file and her pen, she tried to look as though she knew what she was doing. ‘Now, is there anything that—’

‘We’ll start with the service,’ Mrs Elliot said. Fortunately, she turned out to be a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and all Iris had to do was to scribble down her instructions. And there were plenty of those. It was only fifteen minutes later when they came to the choice of coffin that Mr Elliot finally made a contribution.

‘Bloody hell,’ he murmured, peering at the catalogue on his wife’s lap. ‘They don’t come cheap, do they?’

Iris opened her mouth, intending to say that their prices were very competitive, but then smartly closed it again. She was worried about sounding like a pushy salesperson. But then again, she
was
working for Tobias Grand & Sons and was right, surely, to be espousing the fairness of their rates. Thankfully, she was saved from making a decision by Mrs Elliot’s firm announcement.

‘We’ll have the oak, thank you.’

‘Oak?’ Mr Elliot questioned.

‘And what’s wrong with the oak?’ Jean Elliot turned to glare at him. ‘I suppose you’d rather see him dumped in the ground in a cardboard box.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘You didn’t need to. We all know how you felt about Jonathan.’

‘All I’m saying is that things are a bit tight at the moment.’

‘Yes, well we all know why that it is, don’t we? If you spent less time in the pub and—’

‘You saying that Johnny boy didn’t like a drink?’ He snorted. ‘As I recall, the whole reason we’re here is that he drank himself to bloody death.’

Iris looked from one to the other. She glanced down at her file, but there was nothing in its pages to deal with marital disputes. Hoping to avert yet another funeral - Jean Elliot appeared more than capable of murder - she quickly interrupted.

‘There’s really no need to make a decision now. You can take the catalogue home with you, have a think about it and call us when you’ve made up your mind.’

‘It’s the oak,’ Jean Elliot said again.

Her husband gave an ugly sneer, but this time kept his mouth shut.

‘Very well,’ Iris said.

The two were still bickering as they left. Iris was glad that she’d managed to make a reasonable job of taking down the details, but was relieved to see the back of them. She had heard that funerals often brought out the worst in families and was beginning to understand how.

She was in the process of typing up the notes when her mobile rang. She checked the number and saw that it was unavailable. Immediately, she thought it must be Luke calling from Belgium.
About time.
‘Hi,’ she said, but the only sound from the other end was silence. ‘Hello? Luke?’ The line wasn’t dead. It had that curious kind of silence as if someone was waiting to speak. ‘Hello?’ she said again. ‘Is that you?’

After waiting a few more seconds, she shrugged and hung up.

Less than a minute later, it rang again. ‘Luke?’ she repeated. Again, there was that odd silence. Was it just a bad connection from Brussels? She waited, uneasily aware of a few faint sounds coming down the line. Breathing perhaps? Or she could just be imagining it. ‘Hello?’ she said once more, waiting a while before disconnecting.

Iris laid the phone on her desk and stared at it. She wasn’t sure if she wanted it to ring or not. If it was Luke, then yes - she’d be relieved - but she wasn’t convinced that it
was
him. It was ten-thirty, not the kind of time he’d normally call when he had a morning full of meetings. Although having neglected to speak to her for so long, he might be having a crisis of conscience.

When the phone went off again, she jumped. Warily, she lifted it to her ear. This time she said nothing. There was another short silence and then she heard the sound of breathing - that kind of low, heavy breathing that was only meant to threaten.

Iris felt her heart begin to thrash in her chest. Her mouth went dry. ‘Who is it?’ she eventually managed to mumble.

The heavy breathing continued.

Jabbing at the button, Iris cut the connection, turned off the mobile and threw it across the desk. For a while she just sat there, overtaken by panic. Her hands were shaking and she clenched them into two tight fists. A wave of fear rolled over her. It was not the content of the call that scared her as much as the knowledge of who was behind it. The Streets, quite clearly, were still determined to bully her into submission.

For the next five minutes, Iris didn’t move. She kept her wide eyes fixed firmly on the phone as if her malicious caller might somehow have the power to make it ring again.

It was a while before Iris recovered enough to start thinking about what to do next. Her first instinct was to grab her coat, head for home and lock herself in, but that wouldn’t do much for her future employment prospects. It was over an hour since Toby had disappeared and there was no sign of William either. If she left the office unattended, she’d need to come up with a damn good excuse - and a couple of heavy breathing phone calls would hardly cut it.

Eventually, she came to the conclusion that she was probably as safe here as anywhere else. A sense of outrage was beginning to grow inside her. It wasn’t exactly replacing the fear, but was helping her to cope with it. How dare the bastards do this? She thought about ringing Guy, but couldn’t really see what purpose it would serve. It was unlikely he’d had time to see Chris Street yet. But then another wave of fear rolled over her. What if he had? What if Guy
had
already talked to the Streets and this was their nasty, sick response to the meeting?

Desperate for something else to occupy her mind, Iris grabbed the Elliot notes and continued typing up their details. When that was done she attacked the other letters William had left. As her fingers flew across the keyboard, she tried hard to keep the more worrying thoughts at bay. It was pointless to dwell on what she couldn’t change. Until she heard from Guy Wilder, she wouldn’t know for certain what the situation was.

Iris was still thinking about him, about their meeting the previous night, when the main door opened. She glanced up, expecting to see Toby or William, but her eyes made contact with someone else entirely. Her body froze as the terrifying figure of Danny Street sauntered towards her. Only her heart responded, its beat accelerating until she thought it would leap right out of her chest.

She was almost overcome with fright as he came up to the desk. His face was pale and covered in a thin film of sweat. A tiny glob of spittle nestled in the corner of his mouth. There was something about the way he moved, the way he looked at her - his gaze slightly out of focus - that told her he was high as a kite.

‘Hey, sweetie,’ he drawled. ‘How’s it going?’ Although his voice was soft, it was filled with menace.

Iris was suddenly sure that
he
was the one who had made the calls. Abruptly, the adrenalin kicked in and she jumped to her feet. ‘W-what do you want?’ she stammered, almost knocking over the chair as she stood up and backed away from him.

‘On your own, are you?’

Iris shook her head. Not for the first time, she inwardly cursed her father for what he’d done, for the legacy he’d left. How was she supposed to deal with the fallout, with this vicious thug who only wanted revenge? ‘No,’ she eventually managed to splutter, ‘Mr . . . Mr Grand’s in the office.’

Danny Street grinned. He continued to stare at her while he took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulled one out and lit it. Squinting through the smoke, he said, ‘Oh, I don’t think so. Didn’t he leave a while ago?’

Another wave of panic swept over her. So he’d been watching, waiting for an opportunity to catch her on her own.

‘What’s the matter, babe?’ he said. ‘You don’t look too pleased to see me.’

There wasn’t much she could say to that so she didn’t bother trying. She could tell he was getting off on it all, enjoying the intimidation. And with him being over six foot, and bulky with it, there was plenty to be afraid of. Reversing a few steps closer to the wall, all she was thinking now was
God, I should have gone home. I should have gone home.

‘You could at least try and look pleased to see me. Ain’t it your job to make people feel welcome?’

Glancing around the room, Iris was horribly aware of how alone she was, how vulnerable. There was nowhere to run, no one to help her. She could try to make a dash for the basement, but he was faster than her, faster and stronger. There was no chance she would get there before him. ‘What do you want?’ she said again.

‘What do you think I want?’

He moved around the desk. He took a step closer to her. And then another. He was almost breathing into her face when William suddenly walked in. Iris cried out in relief. ‘Please,’ she begged, ‘get him away from me.’

William, looking startled, glanced from one to the other. ‘What’s going on?’

Danny Street turned and shrugged his shoulders. ‘No idea, mate.’

‘He’s lying,’ she said.

William gestured towards the door. ‘Perhaps it would be better if you left.’

‘A pleasure,’ Danny replied. He flicked his cigarette, depositing an offensive pile of ash on the carpet. ‘But a word to the wise, mate: you should teach your staff some fuckin’ manners. A bit of respect ain’t too much to ask.’

William responded with a thin smile. ‘Perhaps that works both ways, Mr Street.’

Danny paused. As if mentally processing the content of the answer, and trying to decide how insulting it was, a frown appeared on his forehead. After a moment, as if the effort of thinking was too much, he simply shrugged again. ‘Yeah, right.’ He took a moment to glare at William and then walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Once he was gone, Iris slumped down into the chair. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

William came over and stood beside her. ‘Are you okay?’

She nodded. ‘I am now. Thanks for that.’

‘You want to tell me what just happened there?’

Iris wished she could, but that was hardly possible without relating the whole sordid story of the events of nineteen years ago. ‘He was just . . . just being weird. I think he’s on something. He . . .’ She swallowed hard, trying to regain her calm. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I overreacted.’