‘And you think this is the best timing?’ Gary Stoker looked at his father, then between each of his three brothers. His thick eyebrows furrowed. ‘They won’t appreciate being disturbed. Not today. It’s a bit inconsiderate.’
Seb Stoker rolled his eyes. He wasn’t in the best of moods, having been disturbed from a rare evening off, but after being called in for this impromptu meeting, all they were doing was procrastinating.
If anyone could find an issue with something – anything – it was Gary. Out of all of his brothers, Gary was always the one to flap, looking for problems that most of the time weren’t there. The bloke should have been born a woman with his penchant for over-thinking.
He fixed his father with the same look the older man was giving all of his sons. ‘Personally, I don’t give a rat’s arse if it’s some bird’s birthday. If something needs doing, then it needs doing. What I’m more bothered about is why we’re giving Reynold the heads-up?’
‘It’s called mutual respect.’ Mal Stoker pursed his lips and frowned. Still attractive even in his mid-fifties, his face was an older version of his eldest son’s; hard lines, strong jaw and cheekbones. By a long shot, Sebastian was the most able of all his offspring, but then Seb had been raised to take over the reins of the business and inherit it in its entirety one day. However, if there was one thing he would change about his first-born, it was that hot temper and streak of impetuousness, which, if not kept in check, was detrimental.
‘But if it wasn’t for the Reynolds, we’d be numero uno around here rather than sharing that title, so why should we help them?’ Neil griped.
Mal sighed. ‘You’re being short-sighted, all of you. Think about it. If what I’ve heard is correct, then whoever’s running the Aurora is treading on thin ice.’
Mal didn’t know anything for definite, but he got the distinct gist that these people at the Aurora were of a completely different mentality. He’d heard bad things about their recently opened hotch-potch of a club encompassing a dubious gambling den with fixed odds, along with a strip club and brothel. And the word had it their girls were treated unfairly, too – underpaid and not looked after. No one liked gaffs that treated birds like shit. Where he came from, that sort of thing wasn’t the ticket.
Mal might, along with thousands of others, have come from a basic working-class background in a less salubrious part of the city, he might have had his fingers in several pies and lived on the other side of the law, but he had his morals and didn’t take kindly to anyone who possessed none – especially when it came to women or kids.
Seb sighed loudly. Pulling his cigarettes from his pocket, he lit one, slowly exhaling a curl of smoke. ‘The Aurora is a bag of shit and could never be a threat to any of us on the strip.’ He cracked his knuckles absentmindedly. ‘From what I’ve gathered, it’s a bunch of no-hoper Northern gypwacks trying their luck, that’s all. They’ll amount to fuck all.’
Mal smiled coldly and folded his arms across his still well-built, muscular chest. ‘Very probably, but what none of you are taking on board is that any interference, however fruitless, is still interference and interference upsets the equilibrium.’
In fact, Len Reynold was the person Mal had aspired to be, and it had been mainly down to close watching of how Len had achieved his station that had prompted him to follow suit. He’d watched from the wings as Len had risen from a mere runner in one of the city firms, to running his very own firm and owning his own gaff by the age of twenty-eight.
Len’s firm had quickly gained pace and trampled all but a handful of the other firms in the city. Mal had seen enough to know this was what he wanted too and he’d achieved it, but he’d always made sure he stayed to his own territory and didn’t encroach on Len Reynold’s patches. That way they co-existed with little hassle and no bad feeling.
Being seven years younger, he’d missed the gravy train of the flourishing black market at the end of the war, which Len had used as a means of a stepping-stone to the city firms, but by keeping in the shadows, he’d learnt a lot regardless.
Mal looked around his nicely equipped office at the back of the Royal Peacock – his casino – and nodded to himself in silent acknowledgement. Both he and Len had done all right for themselves. ‘As I’ve said, I have a mutual understanding with Reynold where the Orchid and its subsidiaries are concerned. We don’t tread on each other’s toes and we get the same respect in return.’
Seb tapped his ash into the large crystal ashtray in the centre of the round table. ‘That’s as maybe, but I…’
‘It’s prudent to act on small hints rather than assume they belong to the seventy-five per cent of stuff which never amounts to anything,’ Mal interrupted.
‘But to go out of our way to pal up with the Orchid?’ Seb countered, not ecstatic that his father believed his logical processes so inept that he should need extra tuition like some backward kid.
Mal knew his boys would find speaking to Reynold about those clowns from the Aurora an issue, but they didn’t understand. The new generation was a different ilk to those of his and Len Reynold’s day. The Stokers and Len Reynold might well be rivals on the casino strip and were far from the best of friends, but they went back a long way. ‘It’s called manners,’ he said sharply.
‘Seb hasn’t got many of those,’ Andrew laughed, his mischievous green eyes, which all the Stoker men apart from Gary possessed, sparkling.
Mal placed his hands on the table. ‘Reynold must be told what I’ve heard and I want him told tonight. If it were me, I’d want to know and I’m pretty certain he would do me the same courtesy. We may be rivals in business, but we’re not fucking enemies!’ He looked at each of his sons in turn once again. ‘I’m not suggesting you drag him away from his daughter’s celebrations. Speak to John Maynard. He’ll inform Reynold, but our part will be done in a timely fashion.’
Seb sighed. ‘Okay, you’re the boss!’
Mal grinned. ‘Yes, I am, so go to the Orchid. Tell Maynard what I’ve told you and that I want a meet with Reynold.’
Seb nodded and pushed his chair away from the table. ‘I’d best go and get myself changed then.’ He was still not convinced Reynold would be happy about him turning up to his daughter’s birthday bash to say there was a bunch of saddos trapping off about muscling in on their jointly split patches, but there could be a silver lining… There would be lots of pretty women in the Violet Orchid and being as his evening off had been scuppered, he may as well see if he could make up for it.
Samantha Reynold picked up the new clip-in flower – the type she religiously wore every year on her birthday and one of many similar ones her father had bought for her over the years.
She studied the exquisite, hand-embroidered silk, its details exactly replicating the intricate pattern and form of the flower. The perfectly shaped, lighter coloured petals and sepals positioned behind the darker central lip and throat showcased the splash of yellow stigma in the centre beautifully. Green leaves surrounded the flower, framing the rich violets and purples of the orchid.
Clipping the flower into her hair, Sam smiled at her reflection in her bedroom mirror. It had been a good day so far. A lot of people would prefer to not have spent their birthday at work, but she loved her job. A graphic designer for a small but on-trend design shop in the centre of the city, she enjoyed the creative and varied work.
She’d relished the recent fact-finding trip down to London for her latest project – a store front and rebranding for an eclectic interior design company on the King’s Road in Chelsea. The meeting with the company’s creative directors had gone well and the best part was that they’d loved her ideas.
She hoped to open her own design company eventually and, the way things were going with her work portfolio, that day might not be too far off. Plus, the money she would earn from this latest commission would put her just where she needed to move forward with that.
Of course, Sam’s father would fund her business quicker than she could snap her fingers at. He’d been offering it ever since she’d first qualified, but Sam wanted to achieve it herself. And much as it would be easier to let her father bankroll the whole thing, it was important she was the one to make it happen. Her father had already done so much for her.
Like this place…
Sam gazed around the expanse of her balconied bedroom and beamed widely.
Although it had been sad moving from her small house on the outskirts of town, which in her early twenties she’d worked hard to secure a mortgage for, this place… well, in addition to being beautiful, it was perfectly located, so she’d reluctantly but gratefully accepted the offer of living in the sought after, newly developed regeneration around Gas Street Basin. Her father had purchased the gorgeous apartment in the Symphony Court shortly after its completion earlier in the year and it afforded her the luxury of city centre living, plus it was within walking distance to work. It was also on the doorstep of a plethora of restaurants, bars and entertainment venues. She even had her own balcony overlooking the canal waterway.
Yes, it was all good: her new apartment was amazing and work was getting busier and better every day, but tonight she wouldn’t think about work. She would put her all into the party waiting for her at the casino – the party that was so important to both of her parents.
It was a bit of a long-standing family joke. Every year since she could remember – from a toddler, right up to now at thirty years old – she had been ‘surprised’ by a party in her honour. When Liam had phoned, suggesting drinks before dinner, she’d had a good inkling they wouldn’t be going to dinner or drinks at all, but to her father’s casino like she did every single year.
Sam clearly remembered all the parties her father had thrown for her – like the one for her thirteenth birthday. All her friends from school were invited and they’d all been allowed a proper drink from the bar for the first time. It might have only been a purposefully watered-down half-filled flute of champagne, but how grown-up had she felt, dolled up in her best clothes, sipping from the crystal-clear glass?
That party was the talk of the school for months afterwards. How lucky she was to have a father who owned a casino and how cool her family was.
But the party she remembered most was her eighteenth. That was the night her uncle was killed. Not that she was aware of that until the next day.
As well as the sadness of Uncle Jimmy’s death, it had broken her heart to think her parents had managed to go the whole night of her party hiding their pain – her mother from losing her brother and her father from losing his best friend – purely not to spoil her evening. Her parents were the best and she felt blessed to have been so lucky, but she wasn’t stupid. She had a good idea what her father did behind the scenes of his shiny casino. Not everything, but a lot more than her mother did. There was more going on there than a bunch of shiny roulette tables and immaculately dressed croupiers. But did it bother her? Of course not. Her father was her father and always had been. He’d been the one to give her piggy backs; the one to dry her eyes and make her feel like the most special person in the world. He’d been the one to cheer her up when she’d been sad, given her something to aim for, and he’d also given her the greatest gift of all – the ability to believe in herself. Sam hoped now she’d reached the big milestone of being thirty that she’d achieved that well and once she’d fulfilled her dream of owning her very own design business, her life would be perfect.
Hearing the intercom buzz, Sam glanced up. That must be Liam. Taking one last glimpse in the mirror, she grabbed her clutch bag and rushed through the door.
Getting into Liam’s Audi, Sam smiled. ‘It would be quicker to walk, you know? The Orchid’s only round the corner.’
Liam grinned, his eyes sparkling. ‘Yeah, but your father insisted. You haven’t forgotten this is supposed to be a surprise?’
Sam laughed with delight. ‘Of course I haven’t!’ It was so silly. Everyone knew that she knew, but who cared? It never stopped it being any less special.
It was less than a minute before Liam pulled up outside the Violet Orchid. He reached across and squeezed Sam’s hand. ‘You look stunning.’
‘Thank you,’ Sam said, hastily moving to open the passenger door.
Liam was another story. She knew her father was hoping they’d become more than good friends because he liked the man. She liked Liam too, but there was something missing. Okay, so they’d shared the odd night together in the past and Liam had made no secret that he’d like their relationship to move that way on a permanent basis, but Sam was happy enough on her own and wanted it to stay like that.
Throwing his keys to the parking attendant, Liam placed Sam’s arm through his as they walked up the steps to the entrance.
‘Evening, Miss Reynold, Mr Taylor,’ the doorman nodded as he held open the large doors to the reception area.
Smiling, Sam walked across the plush carpet to deposit her jacket with the cloakroom attendant and glanced at her reflection in the mirrored panels of the casino reception.
Not bad for thirty, she thought with an impish smile.
The slinky cream satin dress she’d chosen for the evening accentuated the shape of her slender figure and set off the dark waves of her hair perfectly, the long glossy tresses cascading halfway down the criss-cross strap detail of her backless gown. She gently touched the large three-carat centrepiece diamond of the necklace resting perfectly against the hollow of her neck – another of the presents her parents had handed her this morning.
‘Ready?’ Liam grinned, his hazel eyes twinkling as he nodded towards the double doors, the usual hustle and bustle of the casino unusually quiet. ‘Remember to look suitably surprised.’
Sam arched one eyebrow. ‘As if I wouldn’t…’ She readied herself as Liam pushed the heavy double doors open.