by Roberta Kray
‘Clever enough to get away with the murder of my mother.’
Iris remembered the lean grey-haired man with the cold eyes and the scars on his throat. She shivered, wrapping her arms around her chest.
‘You’re not on your own,’ Guy said. ‘Don’t ever think that.’
Their eyes met and some kind of understanding passed between them. He smiled. ‘So, ready to face the world?’
‘As I’ll ever be.’
They got out of the car and walked across the snowy forecourt. When they were almost at the door, Guy reached out and slipped his hand into hers.
Chapter Forty-six
By ten o’clock the bar had filled up and there was barely space to move. Iris was sitting at a table near the back, picking distractedly at a plate of tapas whilst turning over the events of the day. Every now and again she delved into her bag, took out her phone and checked to see whether there were any messages. But no one, it appeared, had anything more to say to her.
Guy was making one of his regular circuits of the room, meeting and greeting the customers, making everyone feel welcome. She raised her eyes to follow his progress. It was easy to see why the place was so popular: the bar was friendly, laid-back, but it also had a buzz to it. It was Guy, she thought, who created the atmosphere, his presence like a fizzing current of electricity.
Iris sipped carefully on a glass of wine - after her recent indulgences she was taking it easy - and forced herself to look away. She didn’t want him to catch her staring. On a screen on the far wall, a clip of an old black and white movie was playing. She concentrated on this for a while, peering through the crowd, before turning her attention to the counter. Noah was perched on a high-backed chrome stool with a slender, very beautiful black girl sitting beside him. The one who’d been giving him grief perhaps? Iris could see how she might be high maintenance.
Noah, if not exactly effusive, had been a little friendlier on her arrival than on previous occasions. He’d even managed a smile so she supposed that was progress. She wondered how much he knew about the situation. Had he been told the truth about Guy’s recent absences, about their daily slog around the streets of Kellston, or did he just think she was the latest in what was possibly a long line of conquests? She wasn’t sure why it mattered, but it did. She wanted him to like her, to accept her.
It was another ten minutes before Guy came back and slid into the seat across the table. ‘Are you sure you’re okay down here?’
‘More than okay.’ She could have gone to the flat upstairs, but preferred, for the moment, to be in the company of others. Solitude would only give her time to dwell on what had happened. Not that she could chase it from her mind even if she wanted to, but at least there were distractions in the bar. ‘You’ve got a job to do. Don’t worry about me.’
‘Well, I’m on a break now so you have my undivided attention. ’
Iris was pleased to have him to herself, even if was only for half an hour. ‘So tell me about Noah. You never said how the two of you met.’
Guy glanced over at his friend, looked back at Iris and grinned. ‘It was at that fancy school of ours. We were the two misfits, the ones who were always in trouble. He was the only black kid in the year and I was the only pleb. Those things still mattered back then.’ He raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘God, what am I talking about? I’m sure they still do. Neither of us belonged so we were natural allies.’
‘Is that his girlfriend?’ Iris said.
‘Ah, the lovely Serena. She’s a model in case you hadn’t guessed.’
‘She’s very beautiful.’
‘On the outside,’ he said.
Iris heard the note of hostility in his voice. ‘You don’t like her.’
Guy gave a shrug, that familiar closed look coming over his face. Iris was curious now about Serena: was his dislike of her down to the simple fact she was always messing Noah around or was it rooted in a more personal experience? She would have liked to find out, but sensing the bad blood between them quickly changed the subject. ‘So, back to this fancy school of yours - did you actually manage to survive without getting expelled?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘despite my finest efforts. I can only presume that they needed the fees.’ He leaned forward, put his elbows on the table and gave her one of his wry smiles. ‘Or maybe the headmaster was too terrified of my mother to even think about going there.’
Iris lifted her brows. From what she’d heard about Lizzie Street, that might not be too far off the truth. ‘So when did you get this place?’ She knew she was asking a lot of questions, but this was the first time since they’d met that Guy actually seemed prepared to talk about himself. She wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.
‘It came on the market about three years ago. To be honest it was a bit of a dump, but we could see it had potential. Noah’s the one with the nous - he’s got a business degree - and he reckoned we could make it work, but we didn’t have enough cash so . . .’
‘So?’ Iris urged.
‘I knew someone who had.’ He bowed his head for a second as if the memory pained him. ‘I went cap in hand to my mother and begged for a loan. It wasn’t my proudest moment, but there was no bank in the world that was going to touch me.’
Iris, knowing how he felt about Lizzie, could imagine how much that had cost him. ‘But you made a success of it,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter where the money came from. Look at this place, it’s heaving.’
Guy frowned as if all the success in the world couldn’t make up for the way it had been bankrolled. ‘You wouldn’t say that if you truly understood the nature of Terry’s business. We’re talking prostitution, extortion, drugs - and that’s just for starters. Would you really want all that on your conscience?’
‘But you didn’t get the cash from Terry,’ she said. Even as she spoke she knew how disingenuous the argument was. ‘Well, even if it did have dodgy origins, you created something good out of it. You can’t hate yourself for doing that.’
Guy shook his head. ‘You have no idea how vile that man is.’
Iris, aware that she was probably near the top of Terry Street’s list of ‘Things to Do’ when he got out of jail, suppressed a shudder. ‘I’m hardly his number one fan myself.’
‘You don’t know the half of it. Even when I was a kid . . .’ He stopped suddenly, as if he’d said too much. Picking up the bottle of wine, he added a splash to her almost full glass and poured himself a large one. He sighed. ‘Sorry. You don’t want to hear all this. You’ve been through enough already.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘Don’t stop. I want to know about him.’ Even as she said it, she wondered if it was true. Was it better to know what he was capable of or not? Sometimes ignorance was bliss.
Guy hesitated. He lifted the glass to his mouth and as if he needed some Dutch courage, drained half the wine in a single gulp. ‘What can I say? After my mother hitched up with Terry I went to live with them for a while. It only lasted for about six months. He couldn’t stand the sight of me and never bothered to pretend otherwise. I was the cuckoo in the nest, the little prissy blond in his tribe of dark-haired boys.’ He took another drink, laughed softly and said, ‘Oh Christ, this is old history. Let’s talk about something else.’
But Iris wanted to hear. And it wasn’t just Terry she was interested in. If she was ever to understand Guy Wilder she needed to know about his past. ‘No, go on. Please.’
‘Well, you’ve got some idea of what he’s like. You can probably guess the rest.’
‘I don’t want to guess.’
Guy’s mouth twisted at the corners and Iris almost regretted her persistence. Perhaps it was just too painful for him to talk about. But after a few seconds he took a quick breath and continued. ‘Terry never had much patience. It started with an angry word here or there, but then he started talking with his fists. Everything I did was wrong - the way I ate, the way I ran, even the bloody way I breathed. By the time he’d broken my arm, even my mother had to fa
ce the fact that it wasn’t really working out.’
Iris gasped in outrage, a wave of disgust rolling over her. That anyone could deliberately hurt a child was beyond her. Instinctively, she reached out and wrapped her hands around his. ‘Why the hell did she stay with him? Why didn’t she protect you?’
He shrugged. ‘I guess her maternal instincts came a poor second to a lifestyle she’d always dreamed about. If it ever came into her head to leave, it would have been a thought so fleeting that it barely registered.’
Iris stared at him, saddened and amazed. Recalling what he’d told her that first time they’d met at Tobias Grand & Sons, she said, ‘And so she farmed you out to live with your grand-mother. ’
‘There are worse fates,’ he said with artificial brightness. ‘Gran was a feisty old dear, I’ll give her that. No one ever got the better of her. We didn’t make a bad team, the two of us. It wasn’t perfect, but hey, what is? We rubbed along okay.’ He focused on the wall behind her before slowly lowering his eyes to look at her again. He tried a smile that didn’t quite come off. ‘She died when I was twelve and that’s when I was shipped off to school. I was a boarder for the next four years, left when I was sixteen, got a job and . . .’ He lifted his shoulders again. ‘And there you have it. The life and times of the infamous Guy Wilder.’
Iris was about to pursue the missing years - he was in his early thirties now - when Noah appeared by their table. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ he said, leaning down to address Guy, ‘but Tommy Holland’s just arrived.’
Guy looked at Iris and gave a groan. ‘Sorry. So much for being off duty. Do you mind? He’s a local businessman who brings a lot of clients here. I’d better go over and say hello.’ He gently withdrew his hands from her grasp. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’
‘You go,’ she said, waving him away. ‘Take as long as you like. I’ll be fine.’
Guy stood up and within a few seconds the two of them had been swallowed up by the crowd. Iris sipped on her wine and did some people-watching. Eventually her gaze slid back to the bar where Noah’s girlfriend was also sitting on her own. Serena was one of the most striking women she had ever seen: her dark hair, cropped close to her skull, accentuated her razor-sharp cheekbones and wide almond eyes. She had a long graceful neck, the type that was usually described as swan-like, and her lips were full and sensuous. Iris wondered what it was like to be so perfectly formed, to have one of those faces that could never be forgotten.
Their eyes met and Serena smiled. Iris, embarrassed at having been caught out staring (although she was probably used to it), returned the smile and then glanced down briefly at the table. When she looked up again, Serena was already heading towards her. She was wearing a short red dress that clung to every slender curve of her body. She was a lot taller than Iris had realised, over six foot, although a few inches of that was down to her high heels. Her walk was the model’s walk, a fluid swaying motion that drew attention to her impossibly long legs. As she made her way across the room, the crowd - as if instinctively obeying some fundamental if unspoken law - moved apart to let her through. No pushing or squeezing past for her. No bruised toes or elbows in her ribs. Her beauty gave her rights that were not bestowed on lesser mortals.
When she reached the table she held out a hand. ‘Hi, I’m Serena,’ she said. Her voice was low, slightly husky. ‘Seeing as we’ve both been so rudely abandoned, I thought we could keep each other company.’
Iris took the hand and lightly shook it. The fingers were dry and cool.
‘So you’re the mysterious Iris,’ Serena said. She didn’t wait for an invitation, but sat down in the seat recently vacated by Guy. She took a sip of the drink she had carried over, something transparent with ice and a slice in a long glass. It might have been water. Perhaps she never drank anything but water - it would account for that smooth, unblemished skin. Models probably couldn’t afford the luxury of hangovers.
‘Mysterious?’ Iris said.
‘Well, you have been seeing Guy, haven’t you?’ She didn’t wait for a reply. ‘And as he hasn’t bothered to introduce us, I’m presuming you’re more than just a passing fancy. He tends to become rather secretive when he’s getting involved.’
Iris stared steadily back at her, unsure as to how to respond. Yes, she felt a tiny thrill at that word ‘involved’ - it was true that she and Guy had grown closer, there was no denying it - but she was also alert to the slight edge in the other woman’s voice. There was something almost proprietorial about it. Or was her imagination running riot again? The evening had been an emotional one, and her judgement, as Vita could easily testify, had flown out of the window hours ago.
‘You’re not his usual type,’ Serena said, looking her up and down.
Iris bristled. ‘Really.’
‘Sorry,’ Serena said. ‘I didn’t mean that to come out sounding like it did. You’re just . . .’ She stopped and smiled again. ‘Am I being disgustingly nosy? Only Noah never asks Guy anything. It’s that weird male thing. I don’t think they have a curious bone in their bodies.’
Iris relaxed a little. Serena was Noah’s girlfriend and was probably, in her own individual way, just trying to be friendly. She would have liked to have asked what Guy’s type usually was, but didn’t want to seem too concerned. Instead she gave a small casual shrug of her shoulders. ‘Well, it’s early days . . .’
‘So how did you two meet?’
‘Through work,’ Iris said. She paused, thinking back to that fateful afternoon at Tobias Grand & Sons. Lizzie Street, through her death, had been the catalyst for almost everything that had happened since. If it hadn’t been for her, she and Guy would never have met. It was a disconcerting thought. She could see that Serena was waiting for her to go on and wondered how much more to tell her. She didn’t want to seem evasive, but wasn’t prepared to be too forthcoming either. Guy might not appreciate her revelations. ‘It was just one of those chance encounters.’
‘So what do you think of him?’
‘What do you mean?’ Iris said, although she knew exactly what she meant. She was starting to feel uncomfortable again. Serena and subtlety were clearly strangers to each other. And she sensed something sharp and brittle underpinning her questions, something more than mere curiosity.
‘He’s complicated, isn’t he? You never know what’s going on in that head of his. Is it serious between the two of you?’
‘Maybe you should ask him that,’ Iris retorted, wanting to put an end to what was beginning to feel like her second interrogation of the night. She glanced around but couldn’t see him. ‘I don’t think he’ll be too long.’
Serena parted her lips and expelled a noise that was partway between a sigh and a snort. ‘I wouldn’t count on it. The number of times I’ve heard that I’ll only be five minutes line. Once Tommy Holland digs in his claws, it’s damn near impossible to get away. He likes to click his fingers and have everyone come running.’ She smiled. ‘Although personally I don’t jump through hoops for any man.’
Iris could well believe it. When you looked like she did, hoop-jumping would never be one of life’s requirements. ‘I guess its part of the job. If you run a place like this, you have to cater for all the egos, inflated or otherwise, that come walking through the door.’
Serena’s smile wavered. Perhaps she was trying to decide if Iris was having a dig. She lifted her glass again and stared at Iris over its rim, one of those close assessing looks that females tend to practise when they’re weighing up the opposition. Except they weren’t in competition, were they? Iris was with Guy, and Serena was with Noah.
‘So what about you?’ Iris said, deciding to remind her of this fact. ‘How long have you and Noah been an item?’
Serena threw back her head and burst out laughing. ‘What?’ She had tiny diamonds in her ears and they sparkled as they caught the light. ‘Whatever made you think that? God, no. He’s not my other half - he’s my brother!’
‘Oh,’ Iris said, feeling like an idiot.
She frowned, thinking back to her earlier conversation with Guy. It was true, come to think of it, that he hadn’t actually said that Serena was Noah’s girlfriend. She was the one who had made the presumption. But he hadn’t put her right either. ‘Sorry, I just saw you together and . . .’
Iris was saved from any further explanations by Guy’s timely reappearance. Despite Serena’s pessimistic prediction, he’d only been gone for ten minutes. His blue eyes narrowed on seeing who she was sitting with.
‘Serena,’ he said, giving her a small nod.
‘Guy,’ she replied with the same level of coolness. ‘I thought I’d keep your poor friend company while you were sucking up to Tommy Holland.’
‘How very . . . considerate of you. Still, don’t let us keep you. I believe Noah’s back at the bar now.’
But Serena made no attempt to move. Indeed, she even settled back a little in the seat. The message was clear: she would leave if and when she wanted to.
Iris looked from one to the other. She was trying to work out if their animosity was down to genuine dislike or if they shared one of those odd, sparky attractions that was only ever expressed through a constant pretence of mutual loathing. The former she hoped, not relishing the thought of having Serena as a rival.
‘Come on,’ Guy said, holding out a hand to Iris. ‘I’ve had enough of this place for one night. Let’s go upstairs.’
Iris didn’t need to be asked twice. Taking his hand, she got up and stood beside him. Aware of his closeness, she felt a sudden quickening of her heart. ‘Bye then,’ she said to Serena, not wanting to appear too hostile. She had enough enemies already without adding to the list.
‘Bye, hun,’ Serena said, arching her perfectly plucked brows. ‘Have a nice evening and . . . good luck.’
Iris was still thinking about that ‘good luck’ as they climbed the stairs. They were almost at the top when Guy asked, ‘So what did the delightful Serena have to say for herself?’
Iris could hear the barely disguised irritation in his voice. ‘Nothing much. You know, just small talk.’ Was he worried that Serena might have been badmouthing him? Or warning her off? ‘Why didn’t you tell me she was Noah’s sister?’
