by Roberta Kray
And now?
Now he’s not sure what he feels for her. Not hate, but not love either. He might call it sadness if he was still capable of such an emotion.
The fury slowly rises in him again. To try and calm himself down, he recites what he will say to Iris when he sees her again. Her forgiveness is what he craves most. Will she ever understand? He paces from one side of the room to the other, muttering under his breath. He will plead with her. Yes, he will get down on his knees and beg if he has to. One way or another, he will make her understand.
Chapter Twenty-eight
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.
Chapter Twenty-nine
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?’
‘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—’