Bad Blood Rising

by Eva Carmichael

  “I don’t understand,” Charlotte said perplexed, “my parents didn’t have any money.”

  “The money wasn’t from your parents, Ms O’Connor. Oh no indeed. For the past eighteen years, money has been sent regularly from England by Mrs Erica Maddox, who I believe is your aunt?” He lifted an eyebrow quizzically.

  “Yes, that’s right, Erica is my aunt, but why on earth should she be sending me money? I hardly know her.”

  “We have been further instructed, Ms O’Connor,” he continued formally, “to give you this letter.” He handed Charlotte a small white envelope which she tore open immediately. Inside was one sheet of paper bearing her mother’s familiar handwriting. ‘My darling Charlotte,’ it read, ‘if you are reading this letter it will mean that both your father and I are no longer alive. I want you to go to your Aunt Erica as soon as you can. Erica will explain everything to you personally. That’s much better than reading it in a letter. I want you to know Charlotte, that everything we did was what we thought would be best for you. All our love my darling girl’. It was signed ‘Mammy and Daddy.’

  Charlotte read and re-read the letter several times.

  “Do you know what this is about? I really don’t understand. I hardly know Erica.”

  Patrick took the letter from her and read it. “I’m sorry, Ms O’Connor, I can’t help you, I’m afraid. Of course I never actually met your parents, they were my father’s clients, and there’s nothing relevant in the file.”

  Charlotte folded the letter and put it in her bag. “You said there was a substantial amount of money put aside for me?”

  “Yes, there’s just over one hundred thousand euro,” Patrick said smiling. “Your Aunt Erica must think a great deal about you, Ms O’Connor. I will arrange for our finance department to transfer the money into your account immediately. Can you confirm the details are still correct? Your mother provided them some time ago.” He handed Charlotte a slip of paper.

  “Yes,” she nodded, “but I can’t accept this money until I know why I was given it.”

  “I suggest you do as your mother asks and visit your aunt.”

  Charlotte sighed heavily. “I’ve only been out of Ireland once, that was a family holiday in Benidorm a couple of years ago. Apart from that I’ve rarely been outside County Wicklow.”

  “Well, I’m sure the foreigners don’t bite,” Patrick grinned. “I see your aunt lives in Yorkshire. I’ve heard there’s some beautiful countryside over there.”

  “She doesn’t live in the countryside. She lives in Leeds.”

  “Well, look upon it as an adventure,” he smiled. “Do you have anyone to go to England with you? A family member or boyfriend perhaps?”

  “Not really. My mum only had her sister Erica. All of my dad’s family are travellers. They’ll be busy with the fairs at this time of year. Dad has a sister, Maureen, but she’s got four young children so she couldn’t leave them.”

  “What about a boyfriend? Surely a pretty girl like you has a boyfriend?”

  She felt herself blushing under Patrick’s gaze. “There is Rory, but he won’t be able to go to England. He has a farm to run. No, if I have to go, I’ll go alone.” Charlotte rose from her chair, “Well, thank you, Mr Flynn,” she smiled. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  “You’re very welcome, Ms O’Connor, and please, call me Patrick. Mr Flynn is what they call my father.” He smiled and she smiled back.

  “Alright, Patrick, then you must call me Charlotte.”

  They walked out into the foyer and he handed her his business card. “If there’s anything I can do, Charlotte, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call me. My private number’s on the back.”

  “I might just do that,” she smiled, walking out through reception and into the busy Dublin street.

  FORTY-THREE

  The years had taken their toll on Karl. Still powerfully built, if not a little overweight, his once handsome face now bore lines that had not been caused through laughter. His once thick black hair was peppered with grey and closely cropped, giving him a hard, menacing appearance. An old scar ran down his left cheek.

  Karl was at home in his study that afternoon, a newly acquired computer in front of him.

  “Erica, come here a sec,” he bellowed in frustration. There was no response. “Erica, where the hell are you? I need you here now.”

  The study door opened and Erica rushed into the room. She had hardly changed with the passing years. Fine lines around her eyes and mouth were the only indication that she was approaching forty. Still with a trim figure, her blonde hair was now shaped in a short bob.

  “What on earth’s the matter?” she asked with concern. “You can hear you across the park.”

  “It’s this bloody computer,” Karl growled. “How do I get the stupid thing to print?”

  Erica leant over her husband and expertly operated the keyboard.

  “There,” she said with satisfaction as a copy of the document on the screen came out of the printer. “It’s easy.”

  Karl glared at her.

  “Get me a whisky, will you?” he snapped, taking out a cigar out of his desk drawer.

  “Darling, you know what the doctor said about drinking. You must stop or at least cut down. It’s not good for your heart.”

  “What are you talking about, woman? I have cut down. These days I only drink whisky if it’s diluted with soda.”

  Erica sighed and walked over to the drinks’ cabinet.

  “Alright, but just a small one. You don’t want to make yourself ill again.”

  “Stop nagging, for goodness sake,” he hissed, taking the glass from her. “It’s probably you nagging that made me ill in the first place.”

  Erica gave a disapproving look but remained silent, choosing instead to rearrange the flowers on the windowsill.

  “What are you doing anyway?” she asked casually. “I didn’t think you liked working on the computer.”

  “I don’t, but Colin has designed a new website for the clubs. He’s done a pretty decent job.”

  Erica walked over to her husband and, looking over his shoulder, she studied the screen.

  “You can have a virtual tour of any of the three clubs,” Karl said proudly. “This is bound to get more punters in.”

  “I suppose so,” Erica gave a disinterested sigh, “but according to the papers the police are cracking down hard on sex workers. They raided three brothels only last week.”

  “Why do you think I closed Broughton Street and Percival Terrace when I did? I knew this would happen eventually. It’s getting so a punter has nowhere decent to go for a shag.”

  “Well, let’s hope they don’t come after the clubs.”

  “Don’t be daft, woman, half my punters are the police. Besides, all the clubs are legit. I have the certificates to prove it.”

  “I hope you’re right, Karl. Shirley said Cupid’s Angels are…”

  “Shirley? When the fuck did you talk to Shirley?”

  “We meet for coffee sometimes, me, Shirley and Marion.”

  “Why would you do that? They’re paid to answer the fucking phone at the agency and arrange bookings. What’s Shirley been saying?”

  “Nothing, darling,” Erica said soothingly. “She just said that the agency was getting busier by the day and…”

  “It’s just about the biggest in Leeds,” Karl interrupted. “By the time I’ve finished, it will be the biggest in the north.”

  “Shirley was just saying how she enjoyed working there, a lot less stressful than running the brothel, that’s all.”

  Karl snorted and finished the whisky in his glass.

  “By the way, Karl,” she said. “I saw Victor in town yesterday. He’s looking well.”

  “Still doing security work in Sheffield with his brothers?”

  “Yes. He says it’s going great, they’re very busy.”

  “Good for him,” Karl sniffed somewhat begrudgingly. “At least I don’t have to worry about what
he gets up to with the girls anymore.”

  “He was saying how pleased he was that his boys are working for you.”

  Karl grinned.

  “What I’ll never understand is why Victor chose to name his kids Peter and Paul?”

  “I think his wife wanted them to have English names.”

  “Peter and Paul Borowicz? Yeh, very English,” Karl chuckled. “They’re like chalk and cheese, those two. Peter’s like his dad, all brawn and not a lot of brain.”

  “And Paul?”

  “Paul couldn’t be any different if he tried. He’s a clever bloke though is Paul. Nothing much gets past him.”

  He handed his empty glass to Erica.

  “Get me another whisky, will you? Not so much soda this time.”

  Erica frowned disapprovingly at her husband but poured him the drink.

  “What do you fancy for lunch?” she asked, handing him the glass. “I was thinking a chicken salad or…”

  “I hate salad,” Karl growled. “I fancy something with chips. Have you got any steaks in the fridge?”

  “You shouldn’t be eating red meat,” Erica scolded. “It’s not good for you, neither are chips. You know what the doctor said.”

  “Doctors, doctors,” Karl growled. “I’m fucking sick of hearing what the doctor said. He wants to mind his own bloody business and keep his nose out of mine, if he knows what’s good for him.”

  “Karl, they’re trying to keep you well. You should…”

  A ringing sound came from the kitchen.

  “Isn’t that your phone?” Karl said dismissively, turning to face the computer screen. “It’s probably your best mate, Shirley, wanting to gossip about my business again.”

  Erica gave a disapproving look as she hurried through into the kitchen, picking up her phone from the table.

  “Hello,” she answered, not recognising the number displayed on the screen. “Oh Charlotte, how lovely to hear from you. I was expecting you to ring…”

  FORTY-FOUR

  The private car that Erica had arranged to bring Charlotte from the ferry port, stopped outside the Westbrook Hotel in the centre of Leeds. Charlotte had declined Erica’s offer to stay with her and Karl at their home. Instead, it had been agreed that she would stay at the hotel and Erica would visit her the following day.

  Charlotte had never stayed in a hotel before and was finding the experience a little daunting. She began to unpack her suitcase when the telephone rang.

  “Hello,” she said slightly hesitantly. “Oh, Aunt Erica, it’s you… Yes, I arrived about half an hour ago. It’s a beautiful hotel you picked.” She giggled excitedly. “The room is bigger than the whole of my cottage back home.”

  “I’m glad you like it, dear. I’ll let you get settled tonight and meet you in the lobby at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, if that’s okay? We have a lot to talk about.”

  “That’s perfect, Aunt Erica. I’ll see you then.”

  It was almost six o’clock when the telephone rang again. Charlotte answered it at once.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me, darling. Is everything alright?”

  “Oh Rory,” she said excitedly. “I was just going to ring you.”

  “Maureen told me you were staying at the hotel,” Rory snapped irritably. “You told me you were staying with Erica at her house.”

  “I decided not to. I don’t know Erica and her husband that well so I thought it better to stay at a hotel. Oh Rory, you should see my room, it’s amazing, there’s…”

  “You shouldn’t be there on your own,” Rory interrupted angrily. “Anything can happen to a young girl alone in the city.”

  “For goodness sake, stop fussing. It’s perfectly safe. Actually, it’s quite exciting. My window looks down onto the street. I’ve never seen so many people.”

  “City streets are dangerous. You don’t know who you’re standing next to. I don’t want you to leave your room until Erica gets there tomorrow.”

  “For goodness sake, Rory, don’t be such a worrywart,” Charlotte teased.

  “I mean it. Promise me you won’t leave the hotel.”

  “Alright, I promise if it makes you happy. I’ll have dinner brought up to my room and have an early night, okay?”

  “Make sure you do. You can’t be too careful. I have to go now, so remember what I’ve said. Goodnight, Charlotte. I’ll call again tomorrow.”

  “Goodnight, Rory,” Charlotte replied softly.

  Grinning mischievously, Charlotte replaced the receiver and, putting on her coat, made her way down to the foyer and out into the busy street.

  FORTY-FIVE

  The following morning was warm and sunny. Charlotte rose early and on entering the dining room, was shown to a small table to the rear.

  “Orange juice, please,” she requested of the young waitress standing by her table.

  “Anything else, Madam?” the waitress asked in a strong east European accent. “The buffet table is over there,” she said indicating a trestle table on the back wall, “or you can order breakfast from the menu.” She held out a red leather-bound book.

  “No, thank you,” Charlotte smiled, “just orange juice, please.”

  The waitress disappeared and returned a few minutes later with the drink.

  Charlotte sipped the juice and turned her attention to her surroundings and fellow guests. The elegant dining room was only half full. Four women were breakfasting at the table in front of the large window. They’re probably attending some sort of convention, Charlotte reasoned, noting their smart suits and briefcases. Next to them, a young couple, both casually dressed, were chatting and laughing. She noticed that the man was holding the woman’s hand. They look so much in love, she thought as she watched him lean over and kiss her hand lightly.

  At the table next to her, a middle-aged man dressed in a smart suit and dark blue tie was finishing his meal. His companion, an attractive woman in her mid-twenties, was still eating her breakfast. The woman had long red hair, almost to her waist. She was wearing a tight black leather skirt and pink sweater. On her feet were red shoes with very high heels. Holy Mary, Charlotte thought, if she were to go to my town dressed like that they’d throw her into the sea. After a few minutes the man whispered something to the woman and got up from the table. Charlotte watched as he walked out into Reception and spoke to the desk clerk.

  The young woman finally pushed her plate away and joined her companion.

  “Call me next time you’re in town,” she cooed. The man turned to her and nodded, before hurrying to the exit and into the street. As the woman made her way to the exit, Charlotte noticed that she had left her handbag on the floor beneath the table.

  “Your bag,” she called, picking it up and hurrying into the foyer towards the woman. “Don’t forget your bag.”

  “Oh, my God! I don’t know where my head is this morning. Too much champagne last night, I expect,” the woman smiled, taking the bag from Charlotte. “Thank you for returning it.”

  Charlotte smiled and turned to go back into the dining room.

  “Can I buy you a coffee to say thank you?” the woman asked, following her back into the room. “I really am grateful.”

  “I don’t drink coffee, but you can buy me an orange juice, if you insist.”

  The two women returned to Charlotte’s table.

  “You’re not eating?”

  “No, I’m not hungry. I’m too excited to eat. I’ve never been to England before.”

  “Are you on holiday?”

  “No, not a holiday exactly. I’m meeting my aunt and… oh, is that your phone ringing?”

  “Bloody nuisance,” muttered the woman as she rooted around the inside of her bag, eventually retrieving her pink mobile. “Yes, Shirley? What have you got for me? The Marriott? What time? Okay, text me the details and I’ll give him a ring.” She turned to face Charlotte. “Well, it’s been very nice meeting you but I’m afraid I have to get back to work. Thanks again for returning my bag
. I’ll have to buy you that drink another time. What’s your name by the way?”

  “Charlotte. Charlotte O’Connor.”

  “Well, you take care of yourself, Charlotte O’Connor. I’m Bunny, by the way.”

  “Bunny? That’s an unusual name.”

  “Actually it’s Bonita,” she laughed as she headed towards the foyer, “but everyone calls me Bunny.”

  Charlotte finished her juice and decided to visit the shops. It would be another hour before she was due to meet Erica. She was still buzzing from the previous night when she had ventured up to Millennium Square. She had never seen so many bars and restaurants, some with tables on the street with people eating and drinking. The night air had been filled with music and laughter, a far cry from the small village where she lived. If this was what it was like to live in the city, Charlotte grinned, she liked it. She liked it very much.

  FORTY-SIX

  Carrying two shopping bags in each hand, Charlotte arrived back at the hotel just after ten o’clock. Erica was already in the foyer.

  “Aunt Erica,” she greeted, rushing towards her, “it’s lovely to see you again.” Charlotte kissed Erica lightly on the cheek. “Isn’t Leeds wonderful? I’ve never seen so many shops.”

  “It looks like you’ve visited most of them this morning,” Erica smiled. “Here, let me take some of those.” She reached out and took two of the bags.

  “Aunt Erica, I…”

  “Charlotte, can you call me Erica? Aunt Erica makes me feel very old.”

  “Alright, if you’re sure. Let’s go up to my room, the lift is over there.”

  “I’ve invited Marion, a close friend of mine to join us later. You don’t mind, do you, dear?”

  “Of course I don’t mind, I want to meet as many people as I can whilst I’m here.”