The Villain’s Daughter (9 page)

‘No, he hasn’t.’ Iris raised her eyes to the ceiling. Her mother, for reasons she had yet to fathom, didn’t like Michael O’Donnell and was never slow in sharing the fact. ‘Why should he?’

‘Because I know what he’s like. He’s full of tall stories. You can’t believe a word he says. I hope he hasn’t been—’

‘He hasn’t,’ Iris said swiftly, not wanting to add to the ill feeling her mother already harboured. ‘This has nothing to do with Michael.’

‘Someone’s been putting ideas into your head.’

Iris thought of the old man in the grubby raincoat. ‘No one,’ she lied. ‘I’ve just been wondering why you’re so sure that he’s . . . that he’s dead.’

There was a long pause and then her mother’s voice grew softer. ‘Because he loved you, darling, because no matter how he felt about me, he’d never have abandoned you. And I know we moved around a lot, but Michael always had our address. There was nothing to stop him from getting in touch if he’d wanted to.’

There wasn’t much Iris could say to that. She felt guilty now about even asking - any talk of her dad always caused distress - so she simply murmured, ‘Yeah, okay. I’m sorry.’

‘Now are you sure everything’s all right? I mean between you and Luke?’

‘Fine.’

‘Because every couple goes through difficult patches, especially after—’

‘I know,’ Iris interrupted, perhaps a little too quickly. She had no desire to get into an embarrassing counselling session with her mother. She knew exactly what she was thinking - that losing the baby had caused a rift between her and Luke and of course she was right. But it was their problem and no one else’s. They would either work through it or they wouldn’t. Changing the subject, she made small talk for the next few minutes and then said her goodbyes. ‘I’ll call you at the weekend.’

It was only as she put the phone down that she thought of another question she could have asked. If her mother was so certain about it all, why hadn’t she had her husband declared legally dead ages ago? Nineteen years was a long time to be missing. If she had ever wanted to get married again . . . but that was another odd thing: Kathleen O’Connell was an attractive woman but, apart from the occasional date, had never once - at least to Iris’s knowledge - been seriously involved with anyone else. Why was that? She could hardly be pining, not if the split had been mutual, and she couldn’t have been without opportunities.

Iris knocked back the brandy and poured herself another. Too many confusing thoughts were spinning around in her head. Restless, she went to stand by the window. Gazing out over the pinprick map of lights illuminating Kellston, she began to wonder if Luke was right - perhaps they did need a new start. Coming back here had been like chasing after a rainbow: a pretty dream, but not exactly practical.

She turned to view her surroundings. The flat was rented and the ultra-modern kitchen, all snazzy, new and neat, wasn’t really to her taste. There was an almost unnerving sterility about it. The walls were a stark brilliant white and everything shone too brightly. She preferred a more old-fashioned style, the kind of surroundings she’d been comfortable in when she was growing up: a big wooden table in the middle of the room, a pile of pans and clutter. But perhaps that was her problem: she had got into the habit of always looking back instead of looking forward.

And where had that got her?

Perhaps what had happened earlier was a sign that she should stop pursuing the past. There was no real mystery as to how Jenks had found out about her missing father. Michael had a loud voice, especially after a pint or two, and could easily have been talking in any number of pubs. It wouldn’t have taken the old man long to figure out that she was Michael’s niece and that there might be a few quid to be made from leading her on. There could be all kinds of reasons why he hadn’t bothered to show up - the most likely being that a better opportunity had come his way.

 

It was another half-hour before Luke walked through the door. He was carrying a fancy bouquet of yellow roses, all crinkling cellophane and flowing ribbons. ‘Sorry about last night,’ he said, giving her a shame-faced grin. ‘I should have called. I meant to, I really did.’

Iris took the flowers and stood on her toes to kiss him. Determined to make the effort, she had washed her hair and changed into a dress. ‘Thank you. They’re lovely.’

‘You look great,’ he said, standing back to admire her. ‘What’s the occasion?’

‘No occasion. I think what you meant to say is that I always look great.’

‘Absolutely,’ he sensibly agreed. Leaning forward, he wrapped his arms tightly around her. His mouth nuzzled softly against her neck. ‘Only tonight you look even greater than usual.’

‘Good answer,’ she said before gently pulling away. She walked across the kitchen and put the flowers in the sink. ‘There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge. I don’t feel like cooking. Should we order a takeaway?’

‘Sounds good to me.’

As she poured some water into a vase, Iris heard him clear his throat.

‘Er . . . I got some news today.’

She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Good or bad?’

‘They want me to go to Brussels,’ he said. ‘On Monday. It’s the Fernley contract. You know, the perfume people. I didn’t think they’d consider me but . . .’

As Iris looked at his face, full of pride and excitement, she felt her heart contract. She should be glad for him and she was . . . except she didn’t want him to go away. Not right now. Not while all this weird stuff about her father was going on. ‘How long for?’

‘Oh, just for the week. Less than a week. I’ll be back on Friday.’

‘Ah, so that’s what the roses are really for,’ she said only half-jokingly.

Luke walked over, wound his arms around her waist and kissed her again. ‘You don’t mind, do you? I won’t go if you don’t want me to.’

She wanted to say,
No, stay with me
, but she couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair. Opportunities like these didn’t come along every day. ‘Of course I want you to!’

‘And I’m really sorry about Michael’s birthday. We’ll make it up to him as soon as I get home.’

She leaned back against his chest, her hands folding over his. They had been together for five years and most of those had been glorious ones. They were an established couple, a good couple. Some things, the good things, were worth fighting for. They’d been through rough times recently, but they could get over them.

Couldn’t they?

Alice watched as he moved around the room, her eyes avidly tracing the smooth planes of his body, his muscular legs and pale strong arms. She was drinking in every detail as if she might never see him again. Astounded, as always, by the fact he was with her, she pulled the rose-coloured duvet up to her chin and smiled. She was always amazed by his utter lack of self-consciousness; she would no sooner parade naked in front of him as stab a man to death.

‘There’s something I need to ask you,’ Toby said, reaching down to pick up his jeans.

‘What’s that?’

‘Promise me you won’t get mad? I know I swore I’d never ask again but . . . but is there any chance that you could help me out?’

Alice felt her heart sink. ‘Helping out’ was a euphemism for what she’d spent the past week stressing about. Could she really bring herself to do it again? She didn’t want to say no - she never wanted to say no to him - but instinctively she hesitated. ‘I-I thought it was only supposed to be the once.’

‘Me too,’ he sighed, ‘but you know what the Streets are like. Once they get their claws into you . . . I wouldn’t ask, I really wouldn’t, but you know how I’m placed. This way I can pay off what I owe them without getting any bones broken.’ He zipped up his jeans and gazed mournfully at her. ‘You will help, won’t you?’

‘I want to,’ she said. ‘But . . .’

‘But?’

Alice lowered her chin into the duvet. ‘I’m not sure if I can. I don’t . . . I mean, it’s not, not right, is it?’

‘So what’s right?’ he said sharply. But then he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Alice, love, you’re so wonderfully strait-laced. ’ Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he leaned forward, gently pushed her hair aside and kissed her neck. ‘That’s why I adore you so much.’ He kissed her again, this time on the mouth. ‘But when you think about it, it’s not actually harming anyone, is it? Come on, please say yes. Please.’

Harm, she thought, was a relative concept. Anyway, it wasn’t so much about damage as morality. She wanted to say yes, but still she held back. It was mainly because she didn’t feel comfortable with it, but also because she wanted him to work a little harder at persuading her. If nothing else it was a means of keeping him with her for a while longer. ‘I don’t know.’

His mood instantly changed again. Frowning, he stood up, grabbed his shirt off the chair and shrugged it on. ‘Well, I suppose I could do it on my own, but if one of the Brothers Grimm turn up, I’ll be done for. I mean, how the hell am I going to explain that?’ He paused, forcing out a trembling smile. ‘Still, if you can’t bring yourself to do it, I’m not going to try and force you. It’s your decision. You have to do what you feel is right.’

Alice felt the breath catch in her throat. ‘Would they really hurt you?’

‘What do you think? I owe them over twenty grand. I don’t imagine they’ll be taking me to court to get it back.’ He bowed his head, his blue eyes filling with fear. ‘I’ve fucked up, Alice, big time. I never wanted to put you in this situation, but it’s my only way out. I don’t know how I’ll cope if—’

‘Of course I’ll do it,’ she said, unable to bear the terror in his voice. There was no way she could refuse when the man she loved needed her so much.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

He smiled, leaned down and kissed her again. ‘God, you’re such an angel. What would I do without you?’

‘So long as it’s the last time.’

‘Yes, absolutely. I promise. Thank you.’

Seeing the relief in his eyes was enough to enable Alice to temporarily push her conscience aside. What he was asking of her might not be right, but it wasn’t so dreadful either. No one was going to get hurt. No one was going to die. What was that saying - what the eye didn’t see, the heart didn’t grieve over? It was the kind of quote her mother would have claimed came from the Devil’s mouth, but Alice instantly put that thought aside. The last thing she wanted to think about - especially when she was sitting naked in bed - was her mother’s thin-lipped disapproval.

‘Although there is one other thing,’ Toby said. ‘I hate to ask, but next time could you make sure that . . .’

He bent to whisper the rest of the request in her ear.

As she listened, Alice flinched. ‘What?’

‘I know,’ he said, grasping her arms and pulling her closer. ‘I don’t like it either. I really don’t. But that’s the deal - that’s what he wants. I’ve told him it might not be next week, even next month, but he’s prepared to wait.’

Alice shivered under the duvet. She knew if they were caught, she’d not only lose her job, but her reputation too. How would she cope with the shame? But then how would she cope without Toby? He had brought a joy to her life, an incredible passion she had never felt before. Without him, everything would be grey and meaningless.

‘I’d better get off,’ he said.

It was nine o’clock and she didn’t inquire as to where he was going. She didn’t want to know. No, that wasn’t true. She did want to know, but was too scared to ask. He’d never stayed the night and she had never had the courage to request it. Alice was aware that the affair had to remain a secret, at least for now. As Toby never stopped telling her, it had nothing to do with their age difference. He’d be proud to take her out to any restaurant or bar, but it was better that they weren’t seen together in public. ‘The old man’s such a dinosaur. He wouldn’t approve. He’d find a way to get rid of you, Alice, and I couldn’t bear that. The idiot wants to marry me off to some dull undertaker’s daughter.’

Alice ached at the thought of it. ‘You’re too young to get married, ’ she said quickly.

Toby gave her a wink as he headed for the door. ‘I’ll call you.’

She listened to his footsteps in the hall and then a few seconds later heard the front door slam. He was gone. And suddenly it seemed as if he had never been there. Alice bowed her head and hugged her knees. Was she happy or sad? She wasn’t sure if she could differentiate between the two any more. She buried her face in the duvet and tried not to cry.

Iris had managed to wangle the afternoon off. This had been achieved by waiting until Gerald Grand was out of the building - he would never have agreed at such short notice - and then approaching William with a sob story of how her uncle had fallen, sprained his ankle and needed her help. She felt guilty about the lie, but it wasn’t a complete fabrication: by the end of his birthday celebrations Michael probably wouldn’t be able to stand up.

As she was leaving the office, William had cleared his throat. ‘Er, could you spare a moment? I just wanted to ask. Do you . . . do you think Alice is all right?’

‘Alice?’

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘You don’t think she’s been acting a little oddly?’

Iris couldn’t remember a time when Alice didn’t behave that way. ‘Not really. What do you mean?’

William thought about it for a second, frowned and then shook his head. ‘No, no I’m sure you’re right.’ He gave a light wave of his hand as if to dismiss both her and the subject. ‘I’ll see you on Monday. Have a nice weekend.’

It was only as she closed the door that Iris remembered the conversation she’d had with Alice the previous afternoon. Perhaps there was something troubling her. Still, whatever was on her mind was her business rather than anyone else’s.

 

They were joined for lunch by Michael’s pal, Rick Howard, and his wife Kavita. Michael had refused the offer of a restaurant and chosen instead to go to his favourite pub, the Dog and Duck. Iris thought it a vaguely threatening kind of place with too many young, bored men idling away the afternoon but it had, for her uncle at least, the overwhelming advantage of being within staggering distance of his flat on the Mansfield Estate.