The Villain’s Daughter by Roberta Kray

by her side all night - these occasions were as much about networking with the clients as rewarding the efforts of the workforce - but he’d disappeared twenty minutes ago and she hadn’t seen him since. She glanced surreptitiously at her watch; it was ten past ten. The do would go on for ages yet, probably not breaking up until the early hours of the morning.
    A brunette in her mid-forties, dressed in a long green skirt and low-cut top, wandered past, stopped, retreated and then slumped down on the chair beside Iris. She kicked off her high heels. ‘Shit, I hate these parties.’
    Iris smiled. ‘Join the club.’
    The woman took the bottle from the ice bucket on the table, checked how much was left inside and filled up her glass. She drank half of it down in one and then topped up. Turning, she looked Iris up and down and said, ‘You don’t work for these jerks, do you?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘And you’re not a client?’
    ‘No,’ Iris said again.
    ‘Well, that’s something.’
    Iris took a moment to study her new companion. The deep-set eyes were a cool shade of grey and the mouth, victim perhaps of a little too much cosmetic filler, had a rather bee-stung appearance. ‘So do you work for the company or . . .?’
    ‘God, no. I’m only here to embarrass my husband.’ Reaching for her glass, she took another hearty swig. ‘Sadly, I’m not pissed enough yet.’ She emitted a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a groan. ‘As if I haven’t got anything better to do than waste my time on these big-mouthed, lecherous, groping losers . . . no offence to whoever you’re here with, love.’
    ‘None taken,’ Iris said.
    The woman laughed, flinging a generously ringed hand into the air. ‘I’m Sandra by the way. Don’t mind me; I’m always bitching about something or other.’
    ‘Iris,’ she replied.
    ‘So what line are you in?’
    ‘I work for an undertaker.’
    Sandra laughed again. ‘Poor you! You spend all day working with the dead and then have to come out at night and play with the zombies.’
    Iris grinned. ‘I hadn’t quite thought of it like that before.’
    ‘So which one is yours? I take it you’re here to support your other half. It’s a gruesome duty, but one we’re obliged to perform. Thankfully, it only comes round once a year.’
    ‘Luke Hamilton.’ Iris scanned the room again and eventually spotted him near the bar. He was talking to a slim, rather striking girl with honey-coloured skin and sleek fair hair. ‘Over there,’ she said, ‘the guy in the grey suit.’ And then, realising that this description applied to half the men in the room, she added: ‘The tall one talking to the blonde in the red dress.’
    Sandra’s brows shot up. ‘He’s a looker,’ she said. ‘Do you think it’s safe to leave him alone with her?’
    ‘Oh, I’m sure he can take care of himself.’
    ‘My dear,’ she said, leaning forward to place her hand firmly on Iris’s arm, ‘I hate to mention this but in my experience, it’s usually the taking care of themselves that ends with some poor woman’s heart being broken. If I was you, I’d get over there right now and claim what was rightfully mine.’
    But Iris had never been the jealous type - and certainly not the type to act like some crazy possessive girlfriend. However, she did find herself staring rather hard at the girl. She was pretty, there was no denying that. ‘Do you know who she is?’
    Sandra shook her head. ‘Jen, Jody, Jade? I don’t know; they all look the same to me. Some bitch in the sales department. They come and go. They’re all young and ambitious and don’t care what they have to do to get to the top.’
    Iris had the feeling she was speaking from bitter experience. ‘So where’s your other half?’
    Sandra lifted her shoulders in a small indifferent shrug. ‘So long as he’s not within twenty yards of me, I’m happy.’
    And then Iris, for some reason she wasn’t quite sure of - perhaps just because of