The Family Firm

Chapter 21

Stella Collins was a hundred percent woman and English of the highest calibre; at least, by Freddie Evans' standards. She was tall and lean, but filled out in all the right places, with olive-toned skin, long, dark brown hair, and eyes the colour of honey. Her voice was deep and alluring, in a mature way, and she had a way of talking about things that made you question your own certainty if you were to oppose her. Even more, she was cold, cruel, and independent.

In other words, completely out of his league. But that didn't stop him from trying.

He had been working closely with her for the past several years. Her father, Jack Collins, was a big Face in the South where the two of them hailed from. He was a contact with Freddie that had only come about after Fred had bumped off Archy; Jack had always thought Arch was a greedy old cunt and considered Fred to have done them all a favour. "Fitting" was the way he'd described the geezer's death, and Freddie couldn't have agreed more.

Fred had come to Stella's place in Herne Hill to deliver paperwork. It wasn't out of the ordinary for Fred to make personal deliveries; he liked to get to know the people he worked with, to seem more amiable and friendly. Friendliness and generosity went a lot farther in their world than violence at times, he believed, though you needed a healthy dose of both to get what you needed done, done. And everyone and their brother knew Fred's bouts of violence were extreme, which made his kindness even more startling. Regardless, it had earned him respect over the years. But it wasn't to put on a nice face that he turned up outside Stella's modern-style terraced house that night, envelope in hand.

Now he was waiting for her to talk. She hadn't said a word in over ten minutes; the only sounds were the crackling fire in the sleek fire place at the centre of the lounge and Foreigner's 'I Wanna Know What Love Is' playing on the expensive stereo. She liked the slow jams and love ballads; certainly not much of Fred's taste. He was more into the Sex Pistols or Pink Floyd, but he didn't voice this. He would have listened to someone grinding their teeth on an emery board for an hour if it meant he was able to spend that time with Stella fucking Collins. She was the kind of bird you waited for, and Freddie wasn't accustomed to waiting for much of anything.

She took her time pouring herself a glass of vino before finally addressing him directly. 'Get off your feet, Evans. You're making me nervous.'

She didn't look nervous. She never looked anything but perfectly cool and calm. She didn't offer him a drink, and she didn't look at him; she didn't want him to over-stay his welcome, which in her opinion, he already had.

Freddie Evans was scum, and not just in her opinion. Not any more scum than any other man on the planet, but scum nevertheless. At his age, a man should have been settled with a wife and children, but they never were in their profession, and if they were they had several birds on the side because apparently one woman wasn't satisfactory enough. It was despicable. Of course, she was unmarried and childless, but she preferred it that way. She also wasn't shagging every man she came across. It was a boorish way to live and she had more pride in herself than that.

'Thought I'd deliver these meself,' he explained himself as he sat down on the end of the sofa she was draped across elegantly, near her feet. His eyes took a moment to travel up them and along the length of her legs before attempting to meet her gaze, which she still hadn't allowed him to do. 'No offence to your father's judgement, but I wouldn't trust that commie Fyodor you've got deliverin' for ya as far as I could throw him.'

'Actually, I was the one who hired him,' she corrected carelessly before taking a long pull from her wine glass, and Fred suddenly felt like a bit of a cunt. He didn't often feel that way, but if he did, it was usually because of Stella. She had a real way of emasculating a man and yet not in a way that wanted to make you clip the bitch around the ears. It sneaked up on you like everything else she did, the deceitful little mare she was.

'Well,' he began, clearing his throat. 'Same rule applies. Better not to trust someone else with summink so sensitive, eh?'

He laughed in a forced way, but Stella didn't. She was looking at him then, for the first time, and he almost wished she wasn't. He felt the cold sting of judgement from her gaze and he quieted down before procuring the envelope he'd brought with him from underneath his arm, extending it to her. She cocked her head to the side to imply she wanted him to set it down on the glass table ahead of the sofa, and he obliged.

'Thank you,' she said, though it was only a formality. 'You can leave now.'

Fred blinked. 'That's it? Ain't even gonna offer me a drink?'

She took a long moment to sip her wine, as if to tantalise him with it, fully aware the rest of her was tantalising him too. Only after she swallowed did she say, 'If I were to offer you a drink, you'd be here until half eleven, at least, and by then I'm afraid the stains you're certainly leaving on my sofa would set in. Ta.'

Freddie's eyebrows knitted in offence. He'd certainly hit women over lesser insults, but at that point he was so shocked by her all he could really do was stand, sort himself out, and leave. And for some fucking stupid reason, he was even more infatuated with her. The stupid fucking cow.

Stella watched him leave over the rim of her glass before depleting what was left in it. There were plenty of Freddie Evanses in the world, and if you let them have an inch they'd take a mile. She dealt with people like him in the same way you fished; you lured them in with bait, dangled it ahead of their face until capture was certain, and then stabbed them with a hook, dragged them into the air where they couldn't breathe, and watched as they helplessly flopped around, hopelessly flapping their gills in vain until they slowly, but inevitably, succumbed to you.

And there were plenty of fish in Stella Collins' pond.