The Exciting Life Read Online Free PDF Page A

part of it and keep the rest for herself. Annie wasn’t sure,
but an instinct told her that maybe this dilapidated old building
could be her way of proving herself once and for all.

Chapter Three
     
    Late
February 1959
     
    Cream always rises to the top Iris
Lindholm thought to herself as the taxi made its way along Bedford
Hill, past the clapped-out prostitutes plying their wares along the
edge of Tooting Bec. Once, a long long time ago, she’d been like
them. Trying her luck, not knowing what sort of low-life was going
to pull up alongside her and ask for some disgusting act in the
back of his smelly car. Then there would be the ones who’d appear
from the bushes, as if out of nowhere, and practically drag her
back in there before negotiating a price. The thought of it made
Iris shudder, but she quickly composed herself. She didn’t have to
bother herself with men like that any more. She was high-class now.
She couldn’t even really call herself a tart these days. She saw
three men and that was it; and it wasn’t all about sex now. It was
about being seen out and about and treated like a lady. It was
Arthur, the alcoholic writer tonight. He’d been pissed when she
asked him if they could go to Bruno’s on Saturday night, and he’d
agreed. Arthur just liked going to places where there was alcohol
served and plenty of pretty girls to look at.
    Soon the
car was out of South London and heading over Lambeth Bridge towards
Westminster. Iris looked at the Houses of Parliament and thought
about the MP she used to see who liked her to spank him in his
private chambers. He’d get a thrill because he could hear his
fellow ministers walking around outside, their feet clack clack
clacking on the shiny floor. Iris thought back to the two shilling
hookers on Bedford Hill and felt proud of the fact she’d come so
far. She put it down to it being in her blood. People from her
family always seemed to do well for themselves. Look at that
long-lost great aunt of hers. Starting off as a tuppeny ‘apenny
music hall performer from Battersea, and ending up as one of the
greatest actresses of all time. Of course, no one would ever
believe her if she told them she was related to Alicia Bloom. They
hardly looked alike. In her day Alicia had been a beautiful,
willowy brunette; whereas Iris was a buxom, natural blonde. That
was why she’d taken the name Lindholm - her mother always reckoned
her father was a Swedish sailor. But that steely determination to
succeed came from her mother’s side; and tonight was Iris’s chance
to start her quest.
    The taxi
pulled up outside Bruno’s, and Iris found Arthur leaning against
the railings, trying to light a cigarette. He was drunk already,
which pleased her; she could prop him in a corner somewhere, and
get to work on her mission. She got out of the cab, smoothed down
her long, silver, figure-hugging dress, and wrapped her fur stole
around her shoulders. Arthur was just sober enough to spot her, and
stood up; staggering a little.
    ‘ Iris,’ he gasped, holding out his arms. ‘My
darling.’
    ‘ Let’s just get inside shall we?’ she said. ‘You’re
embarrassing me.’
    Iris
wished she had a more chivalrous companion, when Arthur
part-walked, part-threw himself down the steps to the club, leaving
her to teeter down in her stilettos. By the door stood two men in
crombie coats. One of them had a long scar running down the left
side of his face and it brought to mind memories of the sort of men
she used to mix with, and suddenly Arthur seemed like a good
catch.
    ‘ Hello,’ said the un-scarred one - a rather attractive looking
man with dark hair and twinkling blue eyes - to Arthur. ‘Who are
you then?’
    ‘ Arthur Hatfield,’ he replied. ‘And this is my beautiful
companion Miss Iris Lindholm.’
    ‘ And what do you do Arthur?’ the heavy continued.
    ‘ Arthur’s a famous writer,’ Iris interjected, fluttering her
eyelashes, and making her voice sound just a little dumber.