Lord of London Town

“I know you’re just being a sarcastic twat, but I’m taking that compliment anyway.”

Charlie made himself a drink then sat down on the sofa beside Betsy. “So?” Charlie said to me. “How’s domestic life with my cousin?” There was a playful twinkle in his eyes.

“Good,” I said, hoping my recent worry over Arthur’s odd behaviour wasn’t obvious on my face.

“Good? Well, that’s a ringing endorsement for domestic coupledom.” Charlie smirked at me. He must have detected the worry in me after all, as he said, “There’s a lot going on at the moment. Business-wise. Attacks. All that fun stuff. Keeps old Artie busy.”

“Plus, he has no idea how to actually have a relationship that isn’t family,” Betsy added. She checked her watch as the doorbell rang. She smiled widely. “That must be Jacob.” She left the room.

“Jacob?” I asked Charlie.

He batted his hand in front of his face, then proceeded to light his pipe. “Her latest tool to make Eric jealous, no doubt.” Charlie sat back in his seat, crossing his legs. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to the most fucked-up relationship of all time soon enough. And the games they play just to piss each other off.” Just as Charlie stopped speaking, Betsy entered, arm in arm with a tall, red-haired man in a suit. She got to her tiptoes and kissed him his cheek.

“Drink, darling?” she asked him.

“Guinness,” he replied in a Scottish accent.

Vinnie came into the room, his arm suspended in the air, clearly around his hallucination of Pearl. Jacob’s eyes widened.

Vinnie looked Jacob up and down. “Oh, this’ll be fun.”

He sat on the love seat and got drinks for him and Pearl, whispering things into her “ear”. Jacob was pale as he watched him, and I wondered how Betsy had explained this, tonight, her family. If she had even bothered.

I heard the front door open and close, then the sound of heels on the hallway floor. “Sounds like Grandma,” Betsy said, and my heart flipped. Eva Adley. I had heard of the Adley matriarch from Vera and Betsy. They had told me, in no uncertain terms, that Arthur was her favourite. And that she was a battleaxe. And her word on anything regarding the family was law.

I held my breath as a slim, elegant woman appeared in the doorway. She had white-grey hair that was styled into an elegant short bob. She wore tailored black trousers, a fitted white shirt, and a pair of black Louboutins. A long black jacket rested on her shoulders.

“Grandma.” Charlie got to his feet and kissed her on the cheek. Betsy and Freddie followed suit.

Vinnie got up and kissed Eva too. Patting his cheek affectionately, she said, “How’s my baby girl?” I knew she was referring to Pearl.

“Good, Eva. She’s really fucking good.” Vinnie took his place beside Pearl again, whispering into her ear.

Eva Adley’s eyes found mine, then Jacob’s.

“Seems we have a couple of interlopers in the room,” she said. But her attention was barely on Jacob. It was firmly on me. It was clear she knew who I was, but I had no idea how she felt about it.

I got to my feet. “Mrs Adley.” I held out my hand. “I’m Cheska Harlow-Wright.”

She shook my hand, then quickly dropped it. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a cigarette in a thin black holder. Charlie held up his lighter for her. When the cigarette was lit, she inhaled. As she exhaled, she said, “You’re the one fucking my grandson?”

I reared back in shock. Her accent was just as thick as those of the rest of the family. A spark of irritation flared in my chest. “I’m more than fucking him,” I replied, a hint of steel in my tone.

Eva’s eyebrow rose. “Is that so?”

“Regardless of what you think, I love him.”

“Love?” Eva laughed, smiling at Freddie when he placed a brandy in her hand. “Love doesn’t always work out well for people in our line of work.” She walked past me and sat down in a high armchair like an ice queen. She regarded me shrewdly. “And what do you love about my grandson? The power? The money? The fact that he’s a bit of rough for you to enjoy then spit out on your fancy SW3 streets.”

Betsy winced, then subtly nodded at me in encouragement. “How dare you?” I said curtly. “Yes, I’m a Harlow-Wright.” I held my head high. “And I have both power and money of my own. I love Arthur for Arthur.”

“Last I heard, your family was in ruin,” she said, and I felt the dagger being plunged into my back. “You father and fiancé were killed for being unable to pay back a dodgy loan. Isn’t that right?”

The image of my dad and Hugo shot into my head, easily slipping past my defences, but I quickly pushed it away. “I have my own money. Money from my mum’s side that my father could never touch. Lots of it. I don’t need a penny from Arthur. Ever.” I crossed my arms—it was more for my own self-preservation than out of insolence. “And if you knew your grandson, you would know that he is worthy of love. There doesn’t have to be any condition attached to it.”