Takeover Read online

  Takeover

  Edie Baylis

  To Zach: my son, my world, my right-hand man and best friend

  I love you more than all the stars

  xx

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  More from Edie Baylis

  About the Author

  About Boldwood Books

  Prologue

  1965

  Ted Matthews stared at his wife, sitting sullenly in the floral patterned armchair. He understood Barbara’s disappointment, but what else could they do, being as their daughter had been so lax as to get herself in the family way by a good-for-nothing layabout?

  Ted smoothed his hand over his thinning Brylcreemed hair – a habit he’d always been prone to when tense or nervous. And, right now, he was both. Plus he was angry. Really angry.

  They hadn’t raised Linda to behave like this. She knew the rules, yet she’d broken them in the worst way. At fifteen, she couldn’t even marry that piece of scum to save her reputation, either – not that he’d have sanctioned that in a month of Sundays.

  Sighing, he glanced up at the ceiling of his sitting room and although the sound was muffled, he could still make out his daughter sobbing from the bedroom upstairs. Linda had been like that ever since the man had arrived to take the baby, yet she’d known it had to happen and that it was happening today. That’s why Barbara had carefully spelt out to her time and time again not to get attached to the child.

  Ted shrugged. It was the best thing all round. For everyone.

  He yanked at the ring-pull of his can of Special Brew. It might only be 4 p.m., but he’d be in the pub by now for a well-deserved clocking-off pint if he hadn’t had to take unpaid leave to sort this out. Still, at least it was done now.

  He glanced at the thick envelope on the coffee table. That would go some way towards putting this right. Shame a part of it had to go to that scumbag, but if that’s what it took to remove the fool from Linda’s life for good, then so be it.

  Ted’s eyes tracked over to the carriage clock perched on the mantlepiece. That thing would be here any minute. Or he’d better be. He made it very clear in the message he’d sent what time Bedworth should be here, and the piece of dirt best not be late.

  Grabbing the envelope, Ted counted out the amount he’d decided on and stuffed it into another envelope. He placed the smaller envelope on top of the sideboard, making sure he stuffed the larger one into a drawer.

  Barbara’s eyes burned into him the whole time and Ted bit back the urge to shout at her. She knew as well as he did there was nothing else they could have done. They weren’t in the position to bring up another young ’un. Despite him being a hard-working man, they barely had enough to keep things together as it was, but everything they did have, he’d supplied – no handouts for Ted Matthews and his family, thank you!

  Well, that bastard, Bedworth, wouldn’t screw up his daughter’s life any more and at least now Linda could carry on. There was no way she’d have been able to do that had she kept the child. It might be the 1960s, but women were still ostracised about this sort of thing and he wasn’t having that. Not to his Linda. Nor to any of his other kids by association, either.

  The sharp tap of the door jolted Ted from his thoughts and he quickly got to his feet. ‘Right, let’s get this filth out of our lives, shall we?’

  Barbara wrung her hands, her heart already sinking with the prospect. She hoped Ted wouldn’t lose his temper. She knew he was cross – they all were – but it didn’t achieve anything.

  She bristled as the figure of Thomas Bedworth sauntered into her small living room, his faded shirt looking scruffier than usual underneath his moth-eaten leather jacket.

  ‘All right, Mrs M?’ Tom drawled, a cockeyed smile plastered across his face. ‘Linda okay, is she?’

  ‘Don’t you dare ask how Linda is, you prick!’ Ted spat. ‘You know why I summoned you here this afternoon, so don’t start getting fly!’

  ‘All right, keep your hair on!’ Thomas smirked, sitting down uninvited in one of the armchairs. Who did Ted Matthews think he was? Bloody royalty?

  ‘The child has now gone, so being as this business is over, I want you out of my daughter’s life,’ Ted barked. Despite promising himself not to give away any outward signs of rage, he knew his hands were visibly shaking, which irritated him further. ‘I should have stopped this from the start, rather than give you the benefit of the doubt. I might have known you had no respect for my daughter.’

  Barbara’s hands twisted tighter in her lap. ‘Ted, don’t make a scene…’

  ‘Make a scene? This waste of space gets our daughter pregnant, buggers off and then strolls in months later thinking he’s the bee’s knees! I’ll give him the bee’s knees! He’s not fit for anything, let alone our Linda!’ Ted spat, eyeing Thomas Bedworth malevolently.

  ‘Your daughter didn’t have a problem opening her legs for me, Mr Matthews,’ Tom sneered. ‘It takes two to tango, you know?’

  Ted lurched across the room. ‘You fucking little sh…’

  ‘TED!’ Barbara screeched. ‘Stop this! This is supposed to resolve the situation, not worsen it!’

  Breathing heavily, Ted stuck his finger in his collar to loosen it and rolled his shoulders. Red-faced, he stared at the sneering mug of Thomas Bedworth. ‘I want you out of my house and out of my daughter’s life, but firstly I want assurance that you’ll never darken my door again. You will have nothing to do with this family in the future. Is that understood?’

  Tom bit down on his bottom lip in false consideration. That was perfectly fine by him. He had no intention of seeing Linda again and certainly never planned to see the brat now she’d finally popped it out. As it was, it had taken him far too long to get in her knickers, and even then the event was a major let down – like shagging a corpse. And then after that once, the stupid bitch had gone all frigid on him. That once was all it took, yet he was the one being treated like a prize twat?

  ‘Bear in mind that child is mine too and you have offered me no say about what has been arranged.’ Tom eyed Ted carefully. ‘I could take umbrage to that.’

  Ted grabbed the smaller envelope from the sideboard. ‘That’s why I said you’d get plenty of reason to stay the hell away!’ He chucked the envelope into Thomas’s lap, not trusting himself to get close enough to hand it to the man. ‘There’s three grand in there. More than enough to make you fuck the hell off away from here, I presume?’

  Tom blew through his teeth in appreciation. He knew a pay-out was on the cards. It was the only reason he’d shown up, but he hadn’t expected this kind of brass. He could do a lot with this. A hell of a lot. What an absolute bonus.

  ‘Take the money and promise me that you’ll keep clear of my daughter.’

  Tom got to his feet, grinned at Barbara and then at Ted. ‘You have my word. I won’t be going near Linda, trust me.’

  ‘Your word, like you, means nothing, but I hope for all our sakes that you honour it. Now get out of my house,’ Ted spat.

  1

  1995

  ‘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 h
e 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.