The Villain’s Daughter (11 page)

‘Perhaps you’re not that bothered.’

‘What?’ Iris said, glancing back at Sandra again.

The woman nodded towards the dance floor. Luke and the girl had moved away from the bar. The blonde had curled her arms rather intimately around his neck and was nestling against his shoulder. Her long fair hair, the kind of hair that was reminiscent of Chris Street’s trophy wife, fell in a long silky curtain down her back. Luke was leaning in close and whispering something, but she couldn’t read his lips. Iris felt a tiny shiver of doubt, but quickly dismissed it. At the end of the day it came down to trust; either she believed in him or she didn’t. There couldn’t be anything going on or Luke would never have insisted on her coming. It was just a dance, a dance between colleagues.

 

It was another hour before Iris decided she’d had enough. Sandra had wandered off in search of more champagne and hadn’t come back. The scarlet woman had disappeared too and Luke was now deep in conversation with a huddled group of clients. Having endured three more dances and too many corny pick-up lines from a number of guys drunk enough to chance their luck with a girl who appeared to be on her own, she decided her duty was well and truly done.

Iris made her way over to Luke and told him she was going home. ‘I’ve had a really good time,’ she lied. ‘I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. It was a hectic day at work. You don’t mind, do you?’ She omitted to tell him that she’d taken the afternoon off, but there was no reason why he should ever find out. ‘You don’t need to come with me.’

He seemed relieved that she wasn’t asking him to leave too. ‘Well, let me get you a cab at least.’

‘No, really, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. There’ll be plenty outside. ’ She stood on her toes and gave him a kiss. ‘You enjoy yourself. I’ll see you later.’

As it happened, there wasn’t a taxi in sight when she stepped out into the crisp night air. She waited for a couple of minutes, but then decided to start walking towards Leicester Square. The longer she hung around, the colder she was going to get. Then, as she was turning the corner, she spotted a bus that was heading for Kellston. It had just pulled up at the stop and she had to do a teetering run in her high heels in order to catch it. Luckily, the driver wasn’t the type who waited until you were almost there before gleefully closing the doors and accelerating away.

Iris thanked him for waiting, bought a ticket and found a free seat about halfway back. She was aware of a pervasive smell of alcohol coming from the other passengers, but there were no obvious drunks in evidence. The traffic, she thought, shouldn’t be too bad at this time of night. With luck she’d be home within half an hour. Maybe even less. She stared out of the window at the bright lights and the crowds. Even after a year she still hadn’t got used to the size of London. As a child she hadn’t been aware of its immensity; her little carefree world had revolved around the much quieter streets of Kellston.

Once the bus had freed itself from the tangle of the West End, it sped along at a good pace. Iris, reviewing the evening, found herself pondering on the warning Sandra had given. Was the blonde really a threat? If so, maybe she shouldn’t have left Luke alone. There was such a thing as asking for trouble - but then again there were such things as loyalty and trust. Luke might have his faults (who didn’t?), but infidelity, as far as she was aware, wasn’t one of them. She hadn’t been the easiest person to live with for the past six months, but all that was going to change. From now on, she was going to concentrate on what was important.

Iris wondered what Michael was doing and whether he was still in the pub. The Dog and Duck kept long hours and didn’t usually close until well after midnight. Hopefully, Rick and Vita would still be there. She didn’t like to think of him celebrating his birthday without friends. Not that he didn’t have a wide circle of acquaintances - other than his compulsory absences at Her Majesty’s Pleasure, he had lived all his life in Kellston and seemed to know half the population. However, she wouldn’t trust many of them to see him safely home.

And then she started thinking again about what Michael knew, or didn’t know, as regards what had happened to her father. Perhaps Vita was right about the reason he didn’t like to talk: her parents’ separation, and Sean’s subsequent disappearance, was clearly surrounded by more than her own personal pain and confusion. Sometimes the things that hurt most were the things that were hardest to talk about.

Iris was still dwelling on this when she realised that she’d overshot her stop. Standing up, she rang the bell, but by the time the bus halted again she was at the south end of the High Street. Getting off, she looked around her. She was never normally down this way, but fortunately it wasn’t too far a walk back.

After the warmth of the bus, the air felt even colder than it had before. She rubbed her hands together, pulled up the collar of her coat and set off for home. This part of the long High Street was virtually unknown to her. The majority of shops lay in the middle section and Tobias Grand & Sons was at the northern end. It was only as she was crossing the road that she noticed the blue neon sign in front of her: Wilder’s. She almost stopped dead in her tracks - not the wisest thing to do when cars were hurtling towards you - but somehow, amidst the blaring of a few angry horns, she managed to make it to the other side. Iris understood now why Guy hadn’t given her the name of the bar he owned; he must have presumed, after introducing himself, that she’d put two and two together.

Trying not to look too obvious, she gazed casually in through a narrow transparent strip in the otherwise opaque window. It was busy. She searched the faces for Guy Wilder, but couldn’t see him. And then, just as she was about to go, he walked straight into her line of vision. Dressed in the kind of suit that must have cost more than she earned in six months, he stood out from the crowd. But it wasn’t just his clothes that made him shine; he was the kind of man who had a certain aura about him.

Guy had stopped to talk to a couple sitting at a table and Iris watched as he leaned down, chatting and laughing with them. She knew that she should walk away, go straight home, but couldn’t resist lingering for a few seconds longer. There was no harm in looking was there? It was only when he glanced up that she realised what a mistake that had been. As his eyes met hers, she jumped swiftly back. She could feel her cheeks blazing red. Mortified, she quickly moved off.

Iris had only gone five yards down the street when she heard the door to the bar opening. A brief snatch of music, of voices, floated through the air.

‘Iris O’Donnell. Is that you?’

She could have ignored him, but she didn’t. She could have kept on walking, but she didn’t. Instead she turned around and smiled.

Guy Wilder smiled back. ‘Not running off, are you? I believe I owe you a drink.’

Inside, the place had a laid-back lounge bar type of feel. The red walls were covered with old black and white movie-star photos: Bogart and Bacall, Cary Grant, Bette Davis. A number of soft leather sofas and chairs were arranged around low tables. The lighting was subdued, the music smooth and the atmosphere easy and relaxed. Most of the patrons appeared to be in their late twenties, early thirties, but there were older people there too. It was the kind of establishment where anyone could wind down after a long, hard day at the office.

Guy Wilder led her through to a more private area at the back. She was aware of several female heads turning to watch them; the eyes were mainly concentrated on him with just a few fleeting glances in her direction - as if to judge and assess the possible competition. As she took off her coat to reveal the little black dress, he gave her an admiring glance. ‘You look amazing.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, gracefully accepting the compliment. Then, as she sat down, a horrifying thought leapt into her head: what if he imagined that she’d got all dressed up for
his
benefit? ‘Actually, I was at a Christmas party. I was a bit tired so I decided to call it a night but, of course, I couldn’t find a cab. A bus came along, so I jumped on that, but I missed my stop and ended up down here. That’s why I . . . I was just . . .’ Iris realised she was starting to ramble and abruptly shut up.

But Guy, if he noticed her discomfort, tactfully glossed over it. ‘Well, God bless London Transport. It seems the fates have conspired to bring you to my doorstep. Let me get you that drink. A glass of wine or would you prefer champagne?’

Iris had drunk enough champagne for one night. She thought about asking for a coffee, but changed her mind. Perhaps she was in need of something stronger. ‘Thanks. A glass of red would be nice.’

Guy disappeared for a minute and then returned with a bottle of Cabernet and two glasses. She stared at the bottle; she had only been intending to stay for the one. He must have seen her surprise because he smiled. ‘Don’t worry, we’re not obliged to drink all of it.’

Iris wondered just how transparent she actually was. ‘So, how have you been?’

‘Oh, getting by. Doing my best to contain my grief.’

She gave him a look.

He winced. ‘Sorry. I’ve got in the habit of doing that, of hiding behind sarcasm. It’s not an attractive trait, is it?’

Iris gave a light shrug. ‘You’ve not had the easiest of times. I guess it comes down to whatever gets you through.’

Guy poured two glasses of wine and passed one over to her. ‘Cheers,’ he said. His blue eyes gazed intently into hers. ‘Here’s to . . .?’ He paused. ‘To new beginnings, new friendships . . . and buses that never stop where they’re supposed to.’

Iris laughed as they lightly chinked their glasses together. She glanced around. ‘I’ve never been here before. It’s nice.’ She inwardly flinched at the word she had used.
Nice?
Who on earth would want to hear their bar described in such an insipid fashion? ‘I mean, it’s very . . . stylish. I like it. I love the décor. To be honest, I wasn’t even aware that it was here. I haven’t been down this end of the High Street since I moved back to Kellston.’

‘And when was that?’

‘A year ago,’ she admitted. Iris was aware that she had used
I
instead of
we
and immediately thought of Luke. But she wasn’t deliberately hiding anything. Or maybe she was. Maybe, just for a few minutes, she wanted to be a different Iris O’Donnell, a woman who wasn’t burdened by all the pain and grief of the past six months. ‘I grew up here, but we moved away when I was seven. I’m glad to be back, but the area has changed a bit over the years.’

‘And not necessarily for the better,’ he said. ‘So where are you living now?’

Iris pulled a face, feeling a need to apologise for her choice of accommodation. ‘Silverstone Heights.’

‘Ah, one of the chosen few. So how does it feel to be up there on the hill looking down on us poor minions?’

Iris felt a hot glow spread through her cheeks. She bent to pick up her glass, taking a large gulp of wine before she answered. She knew how the locals felt about the flats, that the people who lived in them believed they were a cut above the rest of the population, and she couldn’t blame them for thinking that way. The development, with its locked gates and hi-tech security systems, said as much about the people who chose to live there as those they were trying to keep out. ‘It wouldn’t have been my first choice, but I needed somewhere in a hurry.’

‘You don’t have to justify it,’ Guy said, grinning. ‘There are plenty of times when I’d have welcomed that kind of protection. I’ve been broken into twice this year. You’d have thought, with my mother being who she was and all, that they might have given me a wide berth, but no such luck. The junkies have no respect for anyone, not even the hard-working sons of local villains.’ He stopped and took a breath. ‘Talking of which, I should apologise again for that unfortunate scene you were forced to witness. I’m sorry, really sorry. I hope the Streets didn’t give you any trouble over it.’

Iris, recalling her disturbing conversation with Chris Street outside the Hope & Anchor, hesitated before she answered.

A frown crunched on to his forehead. ‘They didn’t have a go at you, did they?’

‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘It was nothing like that.’

‘But?’

Iris wasn’t sure if she should tell him. He had his own problems to deal with and his own simmering resentments. She knew how he felt about the Streets and didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.

Guy leaned forward to refill her glass. Iris, surprised by the fact she’d already emptied it, made a mental note to drink this one more slowly.
So much for only staying for the one.
She glanced at her watch; it was almost midnight. Still, Luke wouldn’t be back for ages yet and even if he did get home before her she could always claim that she’d run into Vita. The moment the excuse entered her head, she baulked at it. What she was doing was completely innocent and yet she was already thinking like some cheating girlfriend, busily making up excuses in case she got caught out.

‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,’ he said.

Iris lifted her eyes and what she saw made her heart shift. It wasn’t just his good looks or his charm - she felt a weird, inexplicable connection to him, something she couldn’t explain. ‘It was nothing to do with you.’

He sat back, crossing his legs. ‘Well, contrary to whatever impression I may have made - and I’m sure it hasn’t been a good one - I am capable of discussing subjects other than myself.’

‘I . . . I didn’t mean that.’ She knew he was just teasing her, but couldn’t bring herself to respond in the same light-hearted tone. Suddenly, making a decision, she said, ‘Have you ever heard of a man called Jenks? He’s an oldish guy, looks kind of scruffy. He was in the Hope & Anchor on Wednesday night, you know at the . . . the wake. He said something to me . . . he . . .’

‘Go on,’ Guy said.

Iris ran her tongue along her lips. They felt parched and dry. How much should she tell him? ‘It’s nothing really, he just said that he might have some information about my father.’ She briefly lowered her eyes before lifting them to meet his gaze again. ‘He disappeared years ago. It’s a long story. I won’t bore you with it. I shouldn’t have taken any notice, but you know what it’s like when someone catches you off guard. There are all these things you think about later, about what you should have said, should have asked, but I was too shocked at the time. He wanted me to meet him on Thursday evening. I didn’t say yes or no but . . . well, I went along but he didn’t turn up.’ She paused and took another sip of wine. ‘Anyway, all that aside, Chris Street approached me after I’d left the pub and started interrogating me as to what Jenks had wanted.’