Читать книгу A Father’s Revenge - Kitty Neale - Страница 15

‘I still can’t believe that Bessie Penfold has left Pearl everything, and there’s my poor Kevin having to live in one room,’ Dolly complained. ‘It doesn’t seem fair.’

‘Leave it out,’ Bernie complained. ‘It’s all you’ve been going on about and it’s getting on me wick.’

Dolly’s hands clenched into fists. She wanted nothing more than to lay into Bernie, but somehow, with gritted teeth, she managed to control herself. Bernie still had no idea that she wasn’t taking her pills and she wasn’t about to give the game away. With an even tone, she said, ‘Unlike Pearl, our son is homeless and I’m just worried about him, that’s all.’

‘There’s no need. He’s got a room and a good few bob in his pocket on top of that.’

‘How much did you give him?’

‘A hundred quid.’

‘That isn’t much towards the refuge.’

‘I only said that to get him to take it. If he runs out of money it’ll be enough to tide him over.’

‘I see. So when he comes to see us again we’ll give him a substantial donation.’

‘No, we won’t, Dolly.’

‘Yes, we will! It’s Kevin’s dream to open a refuge and I intend to help him.’

Bernie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Have you taken your pill?’

‘Yes, you saw me.’

‘In that case, I think I need to make an appointment for you to see the doctor.’

‘Whatever you say, Bernie,’ she said, climbing into bed. It was so hard to keep up the act, to pretend mildness, but she’d have to be more careful. If she could keep her temper under control, Bernie wouldn’t be so suspicious. Nonetheless, she wasn’t really worried about the doctor increasing her medication. After all, she wasn’t going to take it.

Dolly snuggled down in bed, aware of Bernie climbing into the twin one next to hers. He’d been in control for too long, in control of her pills and her purse. If he was daft enough to think he could stand in the way of her helping her son, then he had another think coming.

When the time was right she’d take over their finances again, and to do that the only one who’d be swallowing her pills would be Bernie.

While his parents slept, Kevin was in Soho. Thanks to one of the many cards displayed in a telephone box, he had found a tart, a tom, but she hadn’t been willing to indulge his fantasies. Instead, at the first sign of violence she had threatened him with her pimp and he’d been forced to do things her way. While his immediate needs had been met he’d been left dissatisfied and now drifted into one of the many clubs, finding it surprisingly busy, despite being midweek.

Though thirteen years had passed, Kevin found that nothing had changed, the bar prices astronomical, but there was a stripper gyrating on a small stage who held his attention for a while until her act came to an end.

Kevin looked at his empty glass, unwilling to pay for another drink and about to leave when there was a drum roll. Like those of every other man in the room his eyes were riveted to the stage as the next performer appeared. She was stunning, though it wasn’t her long dark hair or perfect features that held his attention: it was her haughty attitude. She stood with her legs slightly apart in a tight black skirt with a side slit, hands on hips as she looked loftily down at them.

What felt like minutes passed, yet probably was only seconds, and Kevin found he was waiting, holding his breath until at last her shoulders and upper body began to sway to the rhythm of drums. Gradually the tempo increased and tauntingly she began to strip, the skirt flung off to reveal long, shapely legs encased in black net stockings and suspenders. She paused for a moment, posing, her smile mocking as though totally aware of her extraordinary sensuality.

Tantalisingly, she took off her top and then knelt on the stage, leaning towards her audience with her breasts oozing out of a tight, black basque. Slowly she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips and then flipped over onto her back, one long leg raised as she peeled off one stocking, then the other.

Though he was longing to see more of her stunning body, Kevin found he didn’t want her act to end, but then she was on her feet, the basque flung off and all that was left was a tiny thong. With a smile she swung around, bending at the waist to wriggle her magnificent rear end before she turned back, and with a final flourish left the stage, waving like a queen to her subjects.

Kevin was hardly aware of the whistles, the shouts for more as the breath left his body in a rush, his voice a rasp as he leaned over the bar. ‘That stripper, I’d like to meet her. What’s her name?’

‘Adrianna, but forget it, mate, you haven’t got a chance.’

‘I’d like to buy her a drink.’

‘I told you to forget it. She never mixes with the punters.’

Kevin wasn’t about to give up and moving to a table, he waited, knowing that shortly a hostess would sidle up. Sure enough, he didn’t have to wait long before a brassy, scantily dressed blonde appeared to sit by his side.

‘Hello, handsome,’ she said as her hand found his thigh. ‘Would you like a bit of company?’

‘Sure, and I expect you’d like me to buy you a drink?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘What would you like?’

‘Champagne would be lovely.’

Kevin smiled wryly. It was no more than he expected and of course the price would be exorbitant, but as long as he got what he wanted it would be worth it. ‘Champagne it is.’

She introduced herself as Yvette, but Kevin guessed that the name was fake, just like her hair. Not that he cared. He wasn’t interested in her. She was just a means to an end.

‘That last stripper was good,’ he said casually. ‘It explains why this place is so busy.’

‘Yeah, Adrianna always pulls them in.’

‘If she likes champagne too, perhaps you could invite her to join us and I’ll buy another bottle.’

‘Take my advice and stay well away from Adrianna. She’s the exclusive property of someone you wouldn’t want to upset.’

Kevin scowled. He didn’t know how he was going to do it yet, but he was going to find a way to get close to Adrianna, exclusive property or not. ‘Will she be on again?’ he asked.

‘No, Adrianna only does one turn a night.’

Did that mean she’d be leaving soon, Kevin wondered. He stood up abruptly, leaving Yvette to the cheap plonk that was supposed to pass for champagne as he drawled, ‘See you,’ before heading for the door.

It was past two in the morning as Kevin stepped out of the club. There was an alley to one side and glancing down it he saw a side exit. As though the gods were smiling on him, Kevin saw that Adrianna was just coming out, her fantastic body now hidden by a fur coat, her slanted, cat-like eyes becoming wary when she saw him.

Kevin’s mind worked quickly, searching for a way to stop her from walking straight past him. ‘Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you but I’m afraid I’m lost. Can you direct me to the nearest Underground station?’ he asked appealingly, with what he hoped was a charming and unthreatening manner.

‘Go away,’ she hissed urgently, her eyes wide with fear as a large, dark car pulled into the kerb.

The door was flung open and a voice ordered, ‘Adrianna, get in.’

As she bent to get into the car, Kevin heard the menacing question from the man inside. ‘Who’s that geezer, Adrianna? Do you know him?’

‘No, it’s just a bloke asking for directions.’

Taking a chance before the car door closed, Kevin leaned in and though many, many years had passed, he instantly recognised the face that looked back at him. He quickly recovered, saying, ‘Sorry, but do you by any chance know where the nearest tube station is?’

‘Sod off!’ the voice growled.

Kevin did just that, his face sombre as he headed for Ealing. That hostess, Yvette, was right – he didn’t want to mess with Vincent Chase.

But he still wanted to mess with his bird.