by Emmy Ellis
Vinny, his name was, all flabby body and a thick neck, his head shaved at a number three, a scar beside his eye where he’d sliced off a tattoo of a teardrop, one a gang member had put there in prison. He’d bragged how it hadn’t hurt, using that knife on his face, but Debbie reckoned it was bullshit.
“I’m here for Shirley,” he said, staring down at her.
She wondered if she was supposed to be scared. She would have been if she wasn’t under Cardigan’s protection. “You’re not welcome here anymore.”
He eyed the pepper spray as if contemplating whether she’d really use it.
“Oh,” she said, “you’ll get this right in your fucking face if you give me any gyp.”
He looked into her eyes. “Get Shirley.”
“No. You’re banned.”
He moved closer, as though pepper spray in his eyes was the least of his concerns. She couldn’t move back, what with the door behind her, and despite being unafraid a minute or so ago, she cursed her heart for beating too fast now.
“Step the fuck away,” she warned, “or Cardigan will hear about this.”
He took a pace backwards.
“Another one.” She glared until he obeyed. “Now, let me explain this so it’s crystal clear, right? You’re not seeing Shirley here anymore. You were a bastard to her, saying what you did about her face, so that’s it, barred.”
He ran a hand over his cheek then dropped his arm to his side. “Look, I just wanted to say sorry, all right? That’s what you do, yeah? If you say sorry, you get back on their good side again.”
What kind of sick bloke was he? “You’re a tosser. Only abusers do that.”
He shook his head. “I’m not one of those.”
“Yeah, you are. Now piss off.” She held the spray up, ready to blast him with it.
He took a step forward. “I’m telling you, woman—”
“And I’m telling you.” She pointed at the camera with her free hand. “That goes not only to my monitor but Cardigan’s laptop.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, fuck. Go on, sod off. If I see you here again, I’ll get him to send someone to pay you a visit.”
Vinny laughed. “He doesn’t even know where I live.”
“Nope, but I do.” She reeled off his address. “I make it my business to find out before anyone’s allowed past this door, so if you know what’s good for you…”
He turned and walked up the corridor. At the other door, he glanced over his shoulder. “You really should have just let me say sorry.”
Vinny walked out, and Debbie stared while the door slowly closed.
Tosser.
Chapter Nine
Jonathan finished knotting his navy-blue tie and put on his matching suit jacket. He hadn’t finished getting his stomach in knots, though, and he reckoned he’d be busy doing that until he finally came face to face with Leona Cardigan. No matter how hard he’d tried to wheedle information out about her from people in the know, all he got in reply was “Find out for yourself” followed by ribald laughter. News had obviously spread fast, and Jonathan, getting into his car to make his way to the Cardigan household, supposed he’d have to wait and see.
Driving through the rain, he left the place where he grew up and drove to the posh part of the city.
He must have made a sodding packet to live where he does.
He turned the corner into Vandelies Road and cruised past the houses until he copped sight of the number twelve on the post of a gate. He swerved into the drive and parked in front of one of the two garage doors. Took a sharp intake of breath. Cardigan’s place had carefully tended gardens at the front. The house, built with grey stone and bigger than the others, hogged the land it sat on. Huge bay windows on the ground floor flanked heavily studded double front doors. A welcoming light flooded from the windows into the darkness outside, illuminating the flowerbeds beneath them. Bushes danced in the slight wind, nodding their leafy heads each time a splatter of rain touched them.
Jonathan peered through the windscreen into a bay window. From what he could tell, the decor inside looked posh—as if he could expect anything less. Cardigan always bragged about what he had and how much it cost. Jonathan had heard a lot about him and knew that by marrying into his family he would at least be safe. He’d have Cardigan’s protection to fall back on should he ever tread on anyone’s toes.
He stepped out of the car, limbs shaking. He paused to steady his nerves. Not only was he going to meet his future wife, but he’d be in Cardigan’s house. No one outside the man’s circle would want to come here unless they absolutely had to.
Walking towards the doors, he tried to tell himself he could get out of this if he really wanted to, yet knowing in his heart Cardigan would have him taken out if he refused to marry his daughter. He hoped she’d be young and pretty with a nice slim figure.
Jonathan pressed the bell button and wasn’t surprised at a tinkling of sound emanating through the doors, out into the night air. A nervous laugh escaped him. Cardigan wouldn’t be satisfied with the normal run-of-the-mill two-tone bell.
One of the doors opened.
Cardigan’s bulk filled the space. “You came after all. Good man. Bang on time, too. I’m impressed. Come in, through to the sitting room we keep for visitors. Drink?”
Jonathan followed him into the room via a large reception hallway. He glanced at the expensive furniture. Oriental rugs strategically placed on the floor gave a rich feel. A fire raged in the grate, surrounded by a huge oak mantelpiece. He couldn’t fault Cardigan’s taste.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll have a whiskey, thanks.”
“Sit down,” Cardigan boomed. “I’ll go and call Leona once I’ve made your drink.”
Jonathan sat on a studded leather sofa with his back to the door. Cardigan poured the whiskey and turned to face him, his gaze flicking to the doorway.
“Oh, here she is now. Jonathan, meet my Leona.”
Jonathan stood. His nerves jangled. He spun round to face her.
She’s well old. She must be his fancy bit.
His guts twisted while Leona openly appraised him. She gave him the once-over and smiled as if pleased with what she saw.
She may very well look at me like I’m something she’s buying, but if it is her I’ve got to marry, that’s all she will be doing, looking.
He cleared his throat again. “Nice to meet you, Leona.”
An expression of horror passed over her face. Her grimace quickly passed, leaving a stony glare in its place. Wrinkles deepened beside her eyes and mouth. “I’m very well, thank you. It was kind of you to ask.”
Sarky cow.
Her makeup had been piled on thickly. And her accent. Where the hell did that come from? Cardigan’s crackly tones were a sharp contrast to his daughter’s. At the thought that this monstrous woman could belong to Ronald Cardigan, Jonathan hid a snort of laughter under a theatrical cough.
Cardigan grinned. “Come here and have a seat, Leona. Next to Jonathan there.”
She walked round the sofa and perched herself on the edge, clasping her hands in her lap. His leg accidentally brushed her thigh, and she jumped two inches. She glanced at him sharply, and it set Jonathan off into uncontrollable laughter.
Cardigan turned from the drinks cabinet, his features twisted. “What’s so bloody funny, Pembrooke?”
“Come on now, Cardigan. The joke’s over. You’ve kept it up for long enough.”
Cardigan stepped forward, his countenance menacing. “Joke? What bloody joke? I haven’t done anything funny. And you’re beginning to annoy me. What’s there to laugh about?”
Heat rose on Jonathan’s face.
Shit. I really am meant to be marrying this crusty old woman?
Cardigan’s shoulders straightened, and he puffed out his chest. His face reddened. Leona stared at Jonathan. Her nostrils flared, and her lips curved downwards.
The feeling in Jonathan’s gut had turned swiftly from unease to jarring splin
ters. “Nothing’s funny. I think it’s just my nerves playing me up. Sorry.”
He shifted uncomfortably, away from Leona, and crossed his legs so he didn’t touch her again. He sorted through his racing mind—he had to accept Leona as his lot or be bumped off. His heart throbbed hard, and he reached forward to get his drink from the glass-topped coffee table.
Cardigan relaxed his shoulders. “Now that you’ve controlled yourself and apologised, I’ll leave you both to it. Get acquainted.” He rested his gaze on Jonathan for scant seconds then stomped out, slamming the door.
Leona stood and walked across to sit opposite on a matching sofa. She seemed relieved to have some space between them. “You’re not what I expected.”
Jonathan swallowed. “You aren’t what I had in mind either. And that’s putting it mildly.”
Her mouth formed an ‘O’ of surprise, and her eyebrows lifted. “And just what do you mean by that?”
“Well, not being rude, but you’re older than me. I thought you’d be younger, to tell the truth.”
Purple blotches appeared on her cheekbones. Her eyes widened. “I know how old you are, and I thought you’d have spoken properly and not with that nasty accent.”
“Ditto.”
“Ditto? I do beg your pardon? You’re the one who doesn’t speak properly.”
“I speak just like your father, is that what you mean?”
Leona stood, her face twitching. Her cheeks puffed in and out, and she marched to the door on stiff legs. He turned towards her and watched her fight to regain composure.
“I’ll say good evening,” she said, her hand poised over the door handle. “We’ll have a more civilised conversation next time.”
Once the door slammed behind her and she stomped up the stairs, Jonathan let out a hoot and slapped his thigh.
The door opened again.
Cardigan walked in and smiled. “So, you’ve found my Leona can be quite funny then, have you?”
“Um. Yeah, you could say that.”
“Good. I’m glad to see you’ll be able to get along. Now then,” Cardigan ran the fingers of his left hand up and down a blue file he held in his other hand, “we’ve just got some formalities to attend to before we discuss anything to do with the wedding.”
Jonathan’s stomach muscles bunched. “Formalities? What d’you mean?”
Cardigan strolled over to the sideboard and placed the file down. He picked up a full whiskey bottle, took it to the sofa Leona had vacated, and set the booze on the table between them. After pouring two large measures into both of their glasses, he handed one to Jonathan.
Does he want to get me half-cut?
The first whiskey already raged through his blood, and he resolved to sip the next one. He wanted to stay alert. Plus, he’d driven here.
Cardigan made himself comfortable. The sofa hissed and creaked its protest at his bulk. “Your brewery. What state is it in?”
Business-like and straight to the point. What’s he playing at?
“There are a few debts hanging over my head.” Jonathan sipped his drink and swallowed. He winced at the burn.
“Well, I’ll put the money in to make the business viable again.”
An order, not a request.
Although Cardigan wasn’t a man to fuck with, Jonathan was proud of the business he’d built up from nothing more than a dilapidated brewery that had been long out of business and sold to him by an old man. His protective streak came to the fore, and he strove to keep his composure.
“I don’t want any of your money, thanks all the same. The lull in business will soon pick up, and then I’ll be able to pay all my bills.”
Cardigan glared at him with widened eyes. “No. I don’t think you quite understand. I want my Leona to be married and know she can live in the style she’s become accustomed to. Call it a wedding present, if you like. Whatever, but I’m going to give you some money to clear all the debts.”
Jonathan sighed inwardly and took a moment to think about what he was going to say. “Not wanting to get your back up, but I don’t want your money. Now, if you let me sell you my beer so you can use it in your pubs, well, that’d be different altogether.”
Cardigan’s face lit up. “You’d need my business to get your brewery back on track?”
“You could put it like that, yeah.”
The smile on Cardigan’s face unnerved Jonathan.
“That’ll be fine then. I’ll start ordering beer from you as of tomorrow. I’ll continue to buy it for as long as you keep my kid happy. I’ll let her know all about it. Get my meaning?”
Jonathan got it well enough. He could keep his business going, providing he stayed married to Leona and Cardigan bought the beer. Rubbing his forehead and calculating that he would have to get some more people to buy his stock as well, he told himself he’d be married to Leona for as long as it took to get himself back on an even keel. With the extra customers he was determined to find, he’d keep afloat after he’d divorced her.
He stared at the reflection of the chandelier on the glass-topped coffee table.
“Sign here then.” Cardigan poked at a dotted line with a pen.
Jonathan picked up the papers and read them through. No hidden clauses, so he signed with a shaking hand.
Cardigan snatched the papers up. “Good, good.” He heaved himself standing and walked to the drinks cabinet, opening a drawer and placing the file inside.
Jonathan’s mind worked quickly.
If my business can be saved by Cardigan’s money, there’d be no need to marry. I’ll make out we didn’t get on, force Leona to end our relationship, and I’ll be off the hook with Cardigan.
“I thought a summer wedding next year would be all right,” Jonathan said.
Cardigan turned to face him. “Think I’m stupid, do you? You’re getting married in two weeks’ time, mate. Summer wedding, my arse.” He huffed out a breath and returned to his seat.
The sofa almost yelped in pain.
“Oh, right.” Shit! “Hang on, that can’t be right. You have to give notice.”
“Yeah, right,” Cardigan said. “Not me. I know someone who’ll push it through or get his head caved in. It’ll be registry office, because then it can be done quick. I suggest you come and visit Leona every night to make it all look plausible. You can get to know her at the same time.”
Play along.
“Same time each night?” Jonathan asked.
“Yeah, that’ll do. Well, that’s our business attended to. See you tomorrow.”
Cardigan rose and stood with his arm extended, ready to shake hands. For the second time in twenty-four hours, Jonathan had to agree on a deal with Cardigan, and he felt just as sick as he had the first time.
“See you at eight,” he managed.
Despondency made itself at home inside him.
What a fucking mess. How the hell am I going to get out of this? It’s literally marry Leona or die.
Chapter Ten
Jonathan drove home. He walked to his local, The Eagle, which Cardigan just happened to own. Situated at the end of Jonathan’s street, spanning the corner, the pub was one of the smaller ones, managed by Jack Pleasant and his wife, Fiona. Any trouble there was soon sorted out. Jack’s reputation for having a dangerous right hook preceded him.
Jonathan walked in, glad to be on home turf.
Jack bellowed, “All right, my old son? I hear wedding bells are in the air. You’re a dark horse, getting married to none other than my boss’ daughter.”
Derisive laughter sailed out from various customers.
Jonathan wanted to give them all a beating. He clenched his fists and held them down by his sides. “Have a good laugh, why don’t you. I don’t find it bloody funny. Shall I tell my future father-in-law that you’re taking the piss?”
Jack’s face took on a downtrodden look, and he knelt behind the bar, clenching his hands in a double fist. “Ah, don’t tell my master what I said, will you?”
Ag
ain, the pub erupted, as Jack had been friends with Cardigan for as long as anyone could remember.
“Shut your face, Jack, and give me a pint of beer. I need it tonight.”
Jack stood. “I should think you do. I’m glad I’m not in your shoes. That Leona’s got a tongue that could make you bleed should you get on the sharp side of it.”
Jonathan sat on a stool. “You should be seeing a fair bit of blood and gore then, because I’ve already become acquainted with her tongue.”
The crowd set off again, jeering and whistling.
Jack slapped his palm on the bar. “Well, bugger me. Did you hear that, fellas? He’s already been acquainted with her tongue—and he only met her tonight. Bleedin’ hell, Johnny, she must have really taken a shine to you.”
Dirty-minded bastards.
The other men’s laughter changed places with normal chatter, and the door opened. A breeze bustled in along with Sonny Bates, soaked from the rain.
“There you are. Where’ve you been? I’ve been trying to find you since last night. You’re not usually so hard to get hold of.” Sonny’s black hair hung down against his face, wet and dripping. Not waiting for Jonathan to answer, he turned to Jack. “Throw us a towel, mate. My hair’s sopping.”
A clean bar towel landed on his head. The usual crowd laughed again, and Sonny stuck his middle finger up and sat on a stool next to Jonathan.
“Heard the news, have you?” Jonathan asked.
Sonny dried his hair. “I have. What the hell are you going to do? Got any way to get out of it?”
“Of course I bloody well haven’t. This is Cardigan we’re talking about here, not some two-bit ponce who just thinks he’s hard.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Tough shit basically, isn’t it?”
“You could say that.”
“Another pint?” Sonny suggested.
“Yeah, I may as well drown my sorrows. There isn’t much else I can bloody do, is there?”
“You could do a runner.” Keeping his voice low, Sonny continued, “You could hop it to another country and come back when it’s all died down.”
