The Villain’s Daughter

by Roberta Kray

  She hunched her shoulders, scowling at her own cowardice. All she could claim in her defence was that she might have made things worse if she’d joined the fray. But she knew it was a feeble excuse. What she’d been really afraid of was that he might turn on her, that in his drug-induced state he might let something slip about what had taken place in the basement. She shuddered at the thought. But still her conscience continued to nag. How could she have been so weak, so pathetic? If she had any backbone at all, she would have pushed through that door and stood beside Iris. She would have to try to find a way to make it up to her.

  Alice’s feet, following the well-travelled route, took a left and then a right. She had tried to call Toby but he hadn’t picked up. She had left a breathless, warning message about the visit. Oh God, what would she do if Danny Street caught up with him and . . . Quickly, she shook her head, too afraid to finish the thought.

  A few minutes later she arrived at Valentine Court. Why anyone had chosen to call a retirement complex by such a name was beyond her. The bland redbrick construction was four storeys high and overlooked a supermarket car park at the back. The only vaguely romantic thing about it was the layer of snow beginning to cover the scrubby patch of lawn.

  Most of the apartments were occupied by women. She had only occasionally seen a man around. A few of these widows and ‘spinsters’ (as her mother insisted on calling any female who had not been fortunate enough to marry) appeared to spend a disproportionate amount of time staring aimlessly out of the window. In fact, there were several noses pressed to the glass at this very moment. Alice was aware of being watched, of being scrutinised. It made her even more self-conscious than usual.

  Hurrying towards the glass doors, she jabbed in the security code. As Alice stepped into the entrance hall, she wrinkled her nose; a series of smells - none of them pleasant - assailed her nostrils. There was the slight odour of damp, of old cooking, and both of these were overlain by the cheap scent of an overly flowery air freshener. She walked across the lino floor and summoned the lift. While she waited, she glanced down at the large wooden table. There was a heap of leaflets sitting on it advertising Saga holidays, classes in yoga and Spanish, cheap meals at local restaurants, pizza takeaways, forthcoming theatre productions and private health insurance. There were even a few Tobias Grand & Sons flyers.

  As she rode up to the top floor, Alice found herself pondering on the fate of those faces at the windows. They reminded her of prisoners trapped in their cells. The thought that this might one day be her own destiny filled her with horror.

  Her mother was not one of the lonely watchers. Even as Alice knocked on the door she could hear a babble of voices coming from within. Her heart sank. The cronies, a vicious trio of witches, were regular visitors; their primary interest in life was the spreading of rumour and gossip, and this they did with alarming enthusiasm.

  Janet Avery opened the door with a scornful expression. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she remarked, as if her daughter’s visit was not only unexpected, but unwelcome too.

  Alice held out the dry cleaning. ‘You asked me to pick this up.’

  Mrs Avery made no attempt to take it from her. Instead, she turned her back and walked off into the living room.

  Alice had no choice but to follow. Gathered on the sofa were three women in their late sixties. Alice privately referred to them as The Coven. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see them dressed in black and dancing round a cauldron.

  ‘Hello,’ Mrs Boyd said. ‘You’re looking different, Alice. Have you had your hair done? I think you’ve lost a bit of weight, haven’t you?’

  Alice forced a smile. Mrs Boyd was a thin, sharp-faced woman who only ever threw out empty compliments. Before Alice had a chance to reply her mother jumped in.

  ‘She’s got herself a new young man, but she’s being very secretive about him.’

  ‘Oh,’ Mrs Wilkinson said.

  ‘Indeed!’ Mrs Boyd said.

  Alice knew that the term ‘young man’ was not meant literally, but still she felt a flutter of apprehension. Was it possible that her mother had found out about Toby? No, she couldn’t have. They’d been too careful. ‘I haven’t,’ she insisted quickly. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

  ‘Well, you’ve never shown much interest in your appearance before.’

  Alice glared at her mother.

  Sensing a spot of daughter-baiting, the other women sat forward, their beady eyes eagerly darting between the two protagonists.

  But Alice was determined not to rise to it. After placing the dry cleaning over the back of a chair, she looked at her watch. ‘I can’t stay. I have to get back to work.’

  ‘You’ve embarrassed the poor girl,’ Mrs Boyd said slyly.

  Alice knew that people only said such things when they wanted to embarrass you even more. ‘Of course not.’ But the words sounded curt and defensive. She swallowed hard, wishing she was somewhere else. Why couldn’t she think of some witty retort?

  ‘I’ve already told her,’ Janet Avery said, ‘if it’s that Gerald Grand she’s seeing, she wants to stay well away. There’s no good ever comes from playing around with married men.’

  ‘Gerald Grand?’ Mrs Boyd repeated, almost licking her lips.

  Oh Christ, Alice thought. By this time tomorrow it would be all over Kellston. She was mortified. ‘I am not seeing Gerald Grand,’ she almost shouted. ‘I wouldn’t. For heaven’s sake, he’s old enough to be my father! We just . . . we just work together, nothing else. I am not the slightest bit interested in him.’

  There was a brief pregnant silence.

  Alice immediately regretted having spoken. What was that saying about protesting too much? Now they were all going to think that she was seeing him. She could feel her face burning up and knew, without consulting the mirror, that her cheeks were two bright red tomatoes. She glared again at her mother. How could she do this to her? How could she be so despicable?

  Mrs Tippett, who until now had been quiet, decided to chip in. ‘Of course not, love. As if we’d believe anything like that.’

  Mrs Boyd sniggered.

  Alice shoved her hands down deep into her pockets, clenching them into two tight fists. She wasn’t going to be the butt of their jokes forever. They’d treat her differently when they found out who she was really seeing. Abruptly, she came to a decision. There was a way out of all this and she was going to take it. The thought of their surprise, especially of her mother’s, gave her a nice warm feeling inside. In a month or two, when things were sorted out, she could be engaged to Toby Grand - and then no one would be smirking.

  Alice smiled down at the floor. She would do whatever Toby wanted in order to save him . . . and to save herself too.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  It was the second time in the space of a few days that Iris had found herself in William’s car. The silver Volvo was warm inside and smelled of new leather. When he’d offered her a lift home at five o’clock, she hadn’t thought twice. It was doubtful that Danny Street was still hanging around, but it wasn’t a chance she wanted to take.

  As they made their way slowly down the High Street - the traffic was jammed up as usual - Iris glanced at William. ‘Thanks for this. I didn’t fancy walking home in the snow.’ She knew that wasn’t why he’d offered. He was trying to make amends for what had happened that morning. Or perhaps he was just worried that she might decide to quit.

  ‘It’s no trouble. I always come this way.’

  Iris gazed out through the windscreen. The wipers made a soft swishing sound as they travelled back and forth. The motion, along with the warmth of the car, made her feel almost sleepy. She yawned as a red light brought them to a halt.

  ‘So how are you finding it, working at Tobias Grand & Sons?’ William frowned at his own question and then gave a short laugh. ‘Sorry, after what . . . This probably isn’t the best time to ask, is it?’

  Iris smiled. ‘That’s okay. It’s not as though the likes of Danny Street walk throug
h the door every day. And actually, on the whole, I rather enjoy the job.’ She paused. ‘Well, most of it. Some things are still a little unsettling.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘It’s not to everyone’s taste.’

  ‘But you don’t mind? I suppose you’ve had more time to get used it.’

  ‘Only a couple of years.’

  Iris looked at him, surprised. ‘But I thought—’

  ‘That I’ve always worked there?’ He shook his head. ‘No, I couldn’t stand the place when I was a kid; it gave me the creeps. Didn’t care for it much when I grew up either. In all honesty, I couldn’t wait to get away. Fortunately, Gerald was more than happy to carry on the family tradition.’ As the lights turned to green, he edged the car forward. ‘I was a broker in the City for twenty years. Perhaps I got out at the right time. Everyone hates brokers and bankers these days, don’t they? All flash cars, too much cash and no morals. Public enemy number one.’

  ‘I didn’t realise,’ she said.

  ‘You thought I’d spent my whole life arranging funerals.’

  Iris nodded. ‘More or less.’ She was curious as to what had brought him back. ‘So why the change of career?’

  He hesitated for a second, pretending to concentrate on his driving. She heard him draw a breath. ‘Bad divorce,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  William shrugged. ‘It happens. And what do they say - any port in a storm? I wasn’t . . . well, I wasn’t dealing too well with things and Gerald suggested I came back here for a while. That was two years ago and I’m still trying to figure out what to do next.’

  Iris gave a sigh. She understood how he felt. Perhaps Tobias Grand & Sons was a sanctuary for all the wounded souls of Kellston. Alice Avery never struck her as being overjoyed with the cards life had dealt her either.

  William gave her a sideways glance. ‘I suppose you’ll be moving on before too long.’

  ‘Are you trying to get rid of me?’

  ‘No, of course not! I’d be . . . we’d be glad if you stayed. You wouldn’t believe some of the temps we had in after Maggie went on leave. A nightmare. But I just presumed you’d be looking for something more challenging. You used to work in advertising, didn’t you?’

  ‘For my sins.’

  ‘You don’t want to get back into it?’

  Iris shook her head. ‘I’m not sure what I want, but I know it isn’t that.’ She remembered the conversation she’d had with Luke a week ago. He’d be none too pleased if she took the post at Tobias Grand & Sons on a more permanent basis. But so what? The decision had to be hers, not his.

  ‘Well, you’re welcome to stay for as long as you like. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Maggie isn’t coming back.’

  ‘Yes, Toby mentioned something.’

  ‘So the job’s yours if you want it.’

  She grinned at him. ‘Despite my rubbish typing?’

  William laughed. ‘I’ve seen worse.’ He took a left into Silverstone Rd and pulled up outside the apartments. ‘Have a think about it. Let me know.’

  ‘I will.’ Iris undid her seatbelt and got out of the car. She leaned down and said, ‘Thanks again for the lift.’

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  It was only as he was driving off that Iris wondered whether she should have asked him in. Her social skills had gone to pot over the past six months. Still, he probably had plans for the evening. She, on the other hand, had a long empty night stretching ahead.

  After checking her card through the security gates, Iris crossed the forecourt, punched in the code on the door and headed up the polished wooden steps. There was a lift but she rarely used it. It seemed too lazy when she was only going to the third floor. Really she ought to consider going to the gym again; she’d got out of condition recently. Trouble was she hated all that public exercising, all those sweaty bodies gathered together. Perhaps she’d invest in an exercise bike instead.

  Iris reached the landing and pushed through the heavy fire doors. She walked along the corridor and stopped outside the flat. As she got out her key, she heard a slight scuffling sound coming from behind the door of the flat opposite. There would have been nothing unusual about it if it wasn’t for the fact that the place was empty; it had been on the market for months and the ‘For Sale’ sign was still in the window. As Iris turned her head, her eyes focused on the tiny spyhole and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She was being watched. She was sure of it.

  For a second she stood absolutely still, rooted to the spot. She felt like a rabbit caught in the glare of oncoming headlamps. Something was wrong, very wrong. She could feel it in her bones, in every quivering nerve end. Danny Street flashed into her mind and she had a vision of his dark accusing eyes as he’d approached her desk this morning. And then suddenly her fight or flight instinct kicked in. Her body made a decision. There wasn’t time to think. There wasn’t time to hang around. She had to get the hell out!

  Iris turned and ran back along the corridor. As she hurtled down the stairs she heard the ominous click as the fire doors closed again and then the sound of footsteps following close behind. They were heavy steps, a man’s steps. She had a head start, but how long before he caught up with her? Her clammy palm grabbed the rail as she swung around the corners. She could stop at any floor, start screaming, start banging on doors - but what if no one was in? No, it was better to play safe, to keep on running, to keep on heading for the exit.

  Her breath was coming in short, fast bursts as she got to the entrance hall, sped across it and flung open the doors. A blast of cold snowy air swept into her lungs. She raced across the courtyard, sprinting for the main gate. Her fingers fumbled with the lock. ‘Come on!’ she spluttered. Her hands slid along the icy metal. She shook the huge wrought-iron gates and glanced over her shoulder. He couldn’t be far behind. ‘Shit!’ She tried the lock again and this time, thankfully, it gave way.

  As she slammed the gate behind her, she looked back and saw the main door to the apartments open. A tall figure stepped out. Although there were lights in the courtyard, she couldn’t see him clearly. He was hidden by the shadows of the porch. Danny Street? Or maybe the bruiser who’d accosted her in Columbia Market? She wasn’t going to hang around to find out.

  Taking to her heels again, she dashed up Silverstone Rd. Her lungs were pumping air, her heart thumping in her chest. At any moment she expected to hear footsteps behind and to feel the strong grip of fingers on her arms. As she hit the High Street, she looked around wildly. What next? She’d had a faint hope that she might see William’s silver Volvo snarled up in the traffic, but he was well gone. However, there were lots of other people around. Should she tell someone there was a man following her, ask for their help? But that would mean stopping and she might not have time to explain before he caught up with her. Seeing an empty black cab idling by the lights on the corner, she ran over and leapt into the back.

  ‘Where to, love?’

  She hadn’t thought that far. Michael’s flat? But he’d probably be in the pub. And Vita would still be at work. There was only one other person she could think of. ‘Wilder’s,’ she said quickly. ‘The wine bar. Do you know it?’

  The cabbie, a thickset silver-haired man in his fifties, turned his head and pulled a face. ‘That’s only down the road,’ he said, as if the fare was hardly worth his while.

  Iris glared at him. Of all the times to come across some bloody awkward bastard. ‘I know that, but I’m in a hurry. Please. As fast as you can.’ Then, worried that he might refuse to take her, she said one of those things that she’d only ever heard before in movies. ‘I’ll make it worth your while.’

  He thought about it for a second, gave a shrug, reset the meter and drove off.

  Iris stared out of the back window. Was the man still chasing her? She couldn’t see him, but the pavements were crowded with workers streaming off the trains. Fearfully, she scanned their faces, but didn’t see anyone she recognised. She didn’t see a
nyone who looked like a vicious thug either.

  The cab took a left, escaping the High Street traffic, and twisted round the back streets. Iris still couldn’t relax. What if her pursuer had a car? What if he was close behind? Scrabbling in her bag, she pulled out her phone and tried to call Guy. It went to voicemail again. Damn. She hoped that meant he was busy working and not that he’d gone out.

  The driver pulled up outside the bar in less than two minutes. Iris shoved a ten-pound note into his hand. ‘Here,’ she said. And a second later she was out of the cab and running for the door.

  ‘Hey, love,’ he yelled out of the window, ‘what about your change?’

  ‘Keep it!’ she shouted back.

  As Iris rushed inside, she prayed that Guy would be there. But as she gazed around, there was no sign of him. It was still early and only one of the tables was occupied. The couple raised their heads to stare as she stumbled past. Catching sight of her reflection in the mirror behind the bar, Iris could see why. She looked like something the cat had dragged in: her eyes were too wide and bright, her cheeks flushed, and her hair was all over the place. But there was no time to worry about that now.

  A slim, dark-haired girl was standing behind the counter, cleaning glasses.

  ‘Is Guy here?’ Iris said. Her voice was strained and croaky.

  The girl looked her up and down. She shook her head. ‘He’s not working tonight.’

  Iris felt her chest tighten. ‘Do you know where he is? It’s important, really important. I have to talk to him.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve no idea. Have you tried his phone?’

  ‘Yes, he’s not answering.’

  The girl gave a shrug. From the bored and somewhat contemptuous expression on her face, Iris got the impression that she was used to deflecting enquiries from desperate females. Perhaps Iris was only one in a long line of women who had come here searching for her boss. She was starting to despair when a door at the back of the bar marked ‘Staff only’ opened and Noah walked through it. He stopped and frowned, looking about as pleased to see her as on the last occasion they’d met.