The Villain’s Daughter

by Roberta Kray

  Iris nodded.

  As if she couldn’t wait to get away, Vita jumped to her feet. ‘Thanks. I’ll give you a call, okay?’

  Iris finished her cappuccino while she pondered on what to do next. Should she try and talk to Alice? But if she did, Alice might run straight to Toby - and who would he turn to? There was no saying how Danny Street might react if he discovered that his vile little secret was about to be exposed. Maybe she could talk to William, but once those wheels were set in motion, there was no going back. But doing nothing was intolerable too. What if it all became public? She imagined the scandal that would follow and the pain of the relatives. How many women had Danny Street . . . But she couldn’t even bring herself to finish the thought.

  Ten minutes later, Iris set off along the High Street. She could feel the weight of the money in her bag, a burden of guilt that seemed to grow heavier as she approached the funeral parlour. Her palms were clammy, her lips starting to dry. What was she going to do?

  But when she got back to work the only person around was Gerald. Iris quickly removed the envelope from her bag and slipped it into the desk drawer. As he passed through reception, she opened the drawer and passed the package to him. ‘This came for Toby earlier. Could you make sure he gets it?’ She glanced at her watch. She still had half an hour left of her lunch break. ‘I have to go out again. I’ll be back by one.’

  Iris had suddenly realised that she didn’t need to deal with this alone. There was someone she could talk it over with before making any final decisions. If she grabbed a cab, she could be at Guy’s in five minutes.

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Toby took the padded envelope and ripped it open. Seeing the cash, he quickly closed the flap before his father could see. ‘When did this arrive?’

  ‘Some time this morning.’

  It hadn’t been posted. There wasn’t even an address on the outside. Just his name in bold black print. ‘So someone delivered it by hand?’

  Gerald frowned at him. ‘I’ve no idea. You’ll have to ask Iris. Why, what is it? Is there a problem?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ Toby said as casually as he could. He chucked the envelope down on the desk as if its contents were of no importance. ‘It’s just a few CDs. My mate was telling me about this new band he’s promoting and . . . well, you wouldn’t like them. They’re not your cup of tea at all. He works near here so . . .’ Toby shrugged. ‘I thought I might be able to catch up with him, say thanks, if he’d only just dropped them off.’

  ‘Or you could send him a text,’ Gerald said dryly, ‘and consider doing something truly revolutionary - like some work, for instance.’

  As soon as his father had returned to his office, Toby picked up the envelope again. There was no note inside, nothing but the cash. He flipped through the notes, fifties and twenties, already guessing how much was going to be there. Twelve hundred quid. He could feel his heart beginning to race. This was trouble, serious trouble. If it meant what he thought it meant . . . God, what was he going to do? Should he warn Danny Street? No, not yet, not until he’d thought through all the implications. He mustn’t do anything rash, anything stupid. He had to try and keep his cool. And before he made any decisions, he had to talk to Alice.

  Toby hurtled down the steps to the basement as if the Devil himself was on his heels. Alice was writing up some notes, and she turned, startled, as he crashed into the embalming room.

  ‘We’re in the shit!’ Toby said. ‘We’re in the fucking shit!’

  Alice jumped to her feet, her mouth falling open.

  Toby upended the envelope and let its contents spill out across the counter. ‘It was left for me at reception.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Alice said. Wide-eyed, she stared down at the notes. ‘Where has it come from? Who has it come from?’

  ‘That Howard bastard.’

  ‘Howard?’

  ‘Rick Howard,’ Toby said impatiently. ‘The big bastard, the one who works as a pall bearer. The one who does some driving. ’

  ‘I know who he is, but why’s he giving you money?’

  ‘He’s not giving it to me, he’s giving it back. He’s changed his fucking mind, hasn’t he?’ Toby raked his fingers through his hair. He could feel the blood pounding in his temples. ‘Christ, do you think he’s going to the cops?’

  At the mention of the police, Alice went pale. Her legs gave way and she slumped back on to the stool. ‘What . . . what do you mean?’

  ‘He found out, didn’t he? Fuck knows how. Found out about Danny Street being here, about . . . Shit, I don’t need to spell it out for you. He wanted two grand to keep his mouth shut.’

  ‘And you paid him?’

  ‘Of course I fucking paid him - well, I gave him twelve hundred. What else was I going to do? If I’d told Danny Street, he’d have thought one of us had been blabbing. I did it for you, Alice, to keep you safe, to stop that nutter coming after you.’

  Alice continued to gaze at the money. ‘Why didn’t you say? Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘And what would you have done if I had? There wasn’t any point in two of us being stressed out of our heads. I thought I’d got it sorted. I used some of the cash you lent me to pay him off.’ Toby began pacing the room, up and down, up and down, his boots beating out a steady rhythm on the linoleum. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be. And then he suddenly stopped. ‘Perhaps I’ve got it wrong. Perhaps the greedy bastard’s only playing with us. He waits for a while, gives back the money, and then asks for the full amount - or more. He might just be making a point, trying to put the thumbscrews on. What do you think?’

  Alice raised her pale face to look at him. ‘I think it’s time to put a stop to all this. I think we should go to the police.’

  Toby stared at her, hardly believing what he was hearing. ‘What?’

  ‘If we get there first, tell our side of the story . . .’

  ‘Our side?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Don’t you see? We can explain about how you lost the money at a card game, how Danny Street threatened you, how he beat you up, how we were forced into doing what we did. There were mitigating circumstances, Toby.’

  ‘Oh, and you think that’ll make it all right?’ Toby felt a shudder run through him. The woman was a fucking liability. He might have guessed she’d cave in at the first sign of pressure. ‘I don’t think so, love. I don’t know about you, but personally I don’t fancy spending the next five years of my life banged up. And what about my father’s business? You think anyone’s going to commit their nearest and dearest into his tender loving care when they know what Danny Street’s been up to?’

  Alice got to her feet and grabbed hold of his arm. ‘But if Rick Howard’s going to tell, isn’t it better that we get there first? It has to be. It’s all going to come out, isn’t it? There’s nothing we can do to stop it.’ Her voice was steadily rising in pitch, her grip tightening on his arm. ‘Everyone’s going to know what he did, what we allowed him to do. My mother’s going to find out, and Gerald, and—’

  Toby could hear the rising panic in her voice. Scared that she was about to scream, he freed himself from her grasp, took hold of her shoulders and shook them. ‘For one, it wasn’t a card game. It was drugs, okay? I owe Danny Street for drugs. I like to do a few lines of coke every now and again and the bill - well, it got a bit out of hand. And how do you think that’s going to look to the cops? And for two, I’ve got no intention of being gangbanged by a pile of sex-starved six-foot bruisers. So if you’ve still got any ideas about going to the law you can think again. I won’t let it happen. I won’t. You understand?’

  Alice stared at him. She glanced down, looking more puzzled than threatened, as if she hadn’t quite grasped what was going on. ‘Look, we have to deal with this together. When we’re married—’

  Toby’s grip tightened around her shoulders, his fingers digging hard into her flesh. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Alice! There is no us. There isn’t going to be any blood
y marriage. It was just a bit of fun, okay? And now it’s over. And everything else is going to be over too, if you don’t keep your big mouth shut.’

  Alice shook her head. ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘I’ve never been more bloody serious.’

  ‘You don’t,’ she said again. Her brown eyes stared up at him, pleadingly. ‘You can’t.’

  Toby looked into her face. He should have felt guilt or pity, but all he felt was desperation. If the bitch went to the police, his whole life would be ruined. ‘Just keep your fucking mouth shut, right?’

  Alice shook herself free and walked away. She went to stand by the sink, her shoulders hunched. Her voice when she spoke again was little more than a whisper. ‘So you don’t love me?’

  Toby laughed. It was a question that seemed to him quite ridiculous. Had the woman no grasp on reality at all? She only had to look at him, to look at herself, to realise how deluded she was. ‘I’m a young man,’ he sneered. ‘I’ve got my whole life ahead of me. Why the hell would I want to be with someone like you?’

  It was only as she turned, as she began to slowly walk back towards him, that Toby recalled the idea he’d had the last time they’d spoken - that the only way to cover his back was to get rid of Alice Avery forever.

  She was only inches away when she lifted her hand. It was only then he saw the knife, the flash of silver as it sliced through the air. Toby opened his mouth to protest, but already it was too late. His very last thought as the blade slid between his ribs was that he should have made that call. He really should have.

  Chapter Sixty-two

  Iris got out of the cab, paid the driver and went into the bar. There was no sign of Guy so she hurried through to the back and took the stairs two at a time. He would know what to do, wouldn’t he? And even if he didn’t, she needed someone to share the burden with. The decisions she had to make were too great to cope with on her own. As she unlocked the door to the flat she could hear music coming from the bedroom. Leonard Cohen’s ‘Dance me to the end of love,’ was playing, and she smiled. It was one of her favourites. Guy must be getting changed before going down to work.

  She was about to call out when she suddenly heard him laugh. The sound rose above the music and she quickly closed her mouth again. She listened, her head tilted to one side, wondering if she’d imagined it. And then it came again, this time followed by the murmur of voices. More than one voice. More than one person in the bedroom. It took a moment for this to sink in and when it did a cold wave of fear swept over her. Suddenly her legs felt leaden. Forcing herself to move, she took a step inside.

  As Iris softly pushed open the door to the bedroom, her heart was pumping. Please God, she prayed silently, let there be an innocent explanation for this. But her prayer went unanswered. She froze as she saw the two of them lying naked on the bed. It was Guy she focused on first, his lean, taut body tangled in the sheets, his arms looking pale against the much darker skin of his partner. Iris couldn’t see her face, but she guessed who it was. Serena. That bitch Serena! So much for Guy’s promises to her, for all his protestations of love. Iris lifted a clenched hand to her mouth. Her head was filling with so many emotions she could barely acknowledge them: anger was quickly followed by hurt, by rejection, by despair . . .

  She must have gasped because they both abruptly turned to look at her. And it was then that she was hit by a second thunderbolt. It wasn’t Serena’s cat-like eyes that were gazing back at her, but Noah’s. The shock was like a physical pain, so sharp it took her breath away. It was as though her chest was caving in, squeezing the life from her heart, from her lungs. Turning, she dashed from the room and sprinted for the front door.

  Guy shouted, ‘Iris! Wait!’ but she didn’t stop. She stumbled down the flight of stairs, desperate to make her escape. Pushing aside anyone who got in her way, she fled through the bar. Outside, she ran straight into the street, indifferent to any thoughts of safety, and forced a black cab to stop only inches from her.

  ‘What the . . . You trying to kill yerself, lady!’

  ‘Tobias Grand,’ she yelped, falling into the back.

  Had her destination been anywhere else, the cabbie might have refused to take her or at the very least subjected her to a tirade on the dangers of blindly stepping out in front of a moving vehicle. As it was, Tobias Grand & Sons was associated with death, with funerals, and from the look on her face he must have surmised that she’d just received some pretty bad news. Accordingly, he held his tongue, contenting himself with a few exasperated mumbles as he drove along the High Street.

  Iris sat back in the seat, her arms hugging her chest, her body shivering. It was all too much to take in. She felt sick, despairing, as if she’d entered a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from. Now, finally, Noah’s antagonism made sense to her. How long had it been going on for? How long had the two of them been together? And then she remembered that strange conversation with Serena, that final ‘Good luck,’ as Guy had led her upstairs.

  The cab pulled up and Iris got out. She took her purse from her bag to pay the driver. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You all right, love?’

  Iris forced her lips into an unconvincing smile. The concern in his voice was almost too much to bear. ‘Yes, yes. Thank you.’ Before he could say anything else that might come close to kindness, anything that might cause her to burst into tears, she quickly pushed the note into his hand. ‘Keep the change.’

  She must have looked like a ghost as she walked in through the door to Tobias Grand & Sons. The initial shock had abated and now she felt like she was sleepwalking, as if everything was taking place in slow motion. Even her thoughts were starting to fragment, splitting off in a hundred different directions.

  It was William who was standing in reception. He took one look at her and asked, ‘What’s happened?’

  Chapter Sixty-three

  Iris, with the help of a large glass of brandy, finally came to the end of her story. It had been a disjointed tale with frequent pauses and hesitations, interspersed with a series of perhaps unanswerable questions. Even while she’d been reciting the horrors, she’d still been trying to put all the pieces of the jigsaw together. There hadn’t been any tears. She felt incapable of crying. It was as if she’d been wrung out and drained of all emotion.

  William hadn’t interrupted. He’d kept quiet while she told him everything about Sean, the robbery, her mother’s affair, the fact that Terry Street was actually her father . . . and finally, the humiliating truth of what she’d just discovered about Guy. The lyrics of Leonard Cohen were still revolving in her head. Dance me through the panic ’til I’m safely gathered in. Taunting her, they refused to go away, adding to her agony. She leaned forward, burying her head in her hands. If anyone had been danced to the end of love, it was her.

  Eventually, she looked up at William. ‘Did you know? Did you know about Guy Wilder?’

  He gave a small embarrassed shrug. ‘I’d heard a few rumours but . . .’

  Iris nodded. William wasn’t the type to repeat gossip - and would she have believed him even if he had? ‘I’ve been so blind, so bloody stupid!’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’ve been used.’

  They were in the room at the back, the room where relatives were usually taken to discuss funeral arrangements. The walls were a pale wishy-washy green and the paintwork was chipped. Even the furniture was past its best; the arm of the chair Iris was sitting on was frayed and she picked distractedly at the threads. ‘No wonder Noah couldn’t bear the sight of me.’ She barked out a short, slightly hysterical laugh. ‘And there was me thinking it was Serena I had to worry about. Maybe she was trying to warn me that night at the bar. Guy certainly wasn’t happy about her talking to me.’

  ‘Or maybe it was her brother she was trying to protect.’

  Iris thought about that for a second before she nodded. ‘I never could figure out why Noah disliked me so much. I thought it was to do with Terry but—’

  She wa
s interrupted by the phone ringing in reception.

  ‘Sorry,’ William said. ‘I’d better get that.’

  Iris heard the murmur of his voice and then the sound of one of the office doors opening and closing.

  A short while later he came back. ‘I’m afraid I have to go out for a while. Will you be all right here or would you like me to give you a lift home?’

  Iris couldn’t think of anywhere she currently thought of as home. She shook her head. ‘If it’s okay, I’d rather stay here for a while.’

  ‘Of course it is. I shouldn’t be too long, an hour or so.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry about me. I just need a little time to . . . you know, think things through.’

  ‘I’ll ask Gerald to keep an eye on reception.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  As soon as he’d gone, Iris got to her feet. She walked up and down the room for a few minutes trying to figure out what to do next. The paralysing shock she had felt on finding Guy with Noah was gradually being replaced by anger. It was clear to her now that she’d just been a pawn in a game he’d been playing, a game that had little to do with sexual conquests and everything to do with power and revenge. It was connected to the past, with old simmering resentments, with betrayals that could never be forgiven.

  Iris knew she had a choice. She could wallow in self-pity, accept the role of victim for the rest of her life or she could try to take back some control. Grabbing her mobile from her bag, the first call she made was to Guy.

  ‘Iris,’ he said as he picked up. ‘Christ, I’ve been trying to ring you. I’m so sorry. What you saw, it wasn’t . . . Look, I’ve got to talk to you. I need to explain. It’s not—’

  Iris cut him short. ‘I’m at work. Be here in fifteen minutes if you’ve got anything to say.’ She hung up before he could make a response. Then she took a few deep breaths. Hearing his voice again had revived the pain and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to blot out the image of him and Noah on the bed. Why was she so bloody gullible! Of all the men she could have fallen in love with . . .