What Lies Hidden

by Fran McDonnell

“You want my opinion, and then when I ask about something that may be affecting your perception of the case, you’re closing down on me?”

  She leant on the table and stood up.

  Scrambling to his feet, Peter reached out to her, “Please,” he said. “Hold on.”

  Isobel paused, meeting his eye. Then she sat down slowly and waited.

  Peter looked down, inhaled deeply, and then met her gaze. “Yes, my mum was an alcoholic. Yes, she left me. No, I didn’t see her again.”

  She relaxed back into the chair, resting her hands on her thighs. “You know what I’m going to say.”

  “Yes.” He swallowed. “How did you know?”

  Isobel shrugged. “Experience, as you said. And instinct.”

  Seconds passed.

  Then she said, “That is why you brought me here.”

  “Not to pry into my background.”

  Isobel shook her head and stood again.

  Peter’s eyes never left hers. “I’m not imagining something because of what happened to me.”

  “Peter, we all do. Our perception of everything is coloured by our experiences, and you’re the same as the rest of us.”

  “That may be true.”

  “Is true.”

  “But, honestly, I do believe there’s a problem. Do you think I would have gone to all the trouble of bringing you over, if I wasn’t genuinely worried? Yes, I have a past but maybe that’s one of the things that has enabled me to sense that something is off here.”

  “Peter –”

  “Maybe it is my stuff, or maybe there is something going on. Please, I need to know, one way or the other. You’re here, please see this through.”

  Isobel dropped back into the chair.

  “Have you seen a therapist about your mother deserting you?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “You need to.” Leaning forward, her hand on her forehead, she said, “I’m really uncomfortable with this. Maybe I’m doing you more harm than good by going along with it.”

  He shook his head. “I need to know one way or the other. You will be helping me.”

  Isobel looked at him, her mind miles away. “How are you going to organise for this couple to meet me?”

  “That’s my problem.” For the first time his face relaxed. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”

  Isobel felt his relief and pursed her lips. “OK, here’s the deal. If you promise to go to a therapist and have six meetings with her about what happened with your mother, I will see this couple. Irrespective of what I find, you have to do this, and I want your word.”

  Peter blinked a number of times. “OK.”

  “You’ll get an appointment for this week?”

  Peter nodded and stood up. “So we have a deal then?”

  Isobel stood too. “We have a deal.”

  They shook hands.

  Peter grinned. “Now, to have you meet this couple we’re going to need some help.” He left the room.

  Alone briefly, Isobel rolled her shoulders and wondered if she was doing the right thing. It already had become more complicated than she’d expected.

  Peter reappeared with the blonde lady. “You have already met Patricia. She’s been my secretary for five years. She knows all about my concerns and is going to help us tomorrow.”

  Patricia smiled warmly at Peter and made herself comfortable in the other chair.

  While she appeared friendly, Isobel could detect a wariness towards her.

  “So what’s the plan?” she queried, sitting back to listen and absorb, her eyes moving from Peter to Patricia.

  “Basically I’ve told my client, Anne Banks, that Patricia inadvertently shredded the contract she signed with me and that I need her to come in and sign another one. The story is that Patricia has been really stressed about her child’s health – frequent asthmatic attacks – and that’s why she’s been distracted and making errors. I’ve apologised profusely and grovelled and, I think, persuaded her that a genuine mistake has ensued. They’re coming at lunchtime tomorrow to re-sign the contract. Patricia will stay out of the office and you’ll be here as an old friend of mine who’s stepped in to help me while my secretary sorts out her home life. We get the contract re-signed and while we’re doing that you can assess this couple. Patricia has typed out another document and has everything ready to go.”

  Isobel pursed her lips, feeling the anxiety in her stomach.

  Peter hurried on. “Look, Isobel. Just do what you do and give me your impressions. If everything seems OK, I can resign myself to doing my job, knowing that I did my best. Final contracts are being prepared and will be ready next week as we had arranged.”

  “So, if there is a problem, there isn’t much time to do anything?”

  “Right – if there is something going on, time will be of the essence.”

  Isobel pursed her lips. “I might say something that a legal secretary wouldn’t.”

  “That’s why I’ve described you as a friend, not a professional.”

  “You seem to have covered most bases.” She turned to Patricia. “Do you have children, Patricia?”

  Patricia, who had listened attentively, laughed musically. “No children.”

  As she spoke Isobel noticed her quickly glance at Peter.

  “What time do you want me here, Peter?” Isobel asked.

  “Anne is coming in at a quarter past one, so you need to be ready for then.”

  “So we’re good to go.”

  “I think so.”

  Isobel nodded and rose to leave. “OK. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He rose and they shook hands. “Thanks again, Isobel. I really appreciate this.”

  “Don’t forget our agreement.”

  Patricia frowned and shifted in her seat. No one enlightened her and she stood up. “Good luck.”

  “You too,” Isobel said and left.

  There was no one in reception and, glancing at her watch, she realised it was six o’clock. Time had flown.

  Isobel sat on the Tube, checking off the stops to Hammersmith. Her life had been like that for the past eighteen months, a route she had to follow that was laid out for her until she reached a destination, the end of treatment. She was nervous about tomorrow and felt tired. It had been a long time since she had worked and today had been a challenge. She didn’t really feel like herself, or not like her old self anyway. To borrow a line from the movie Hitch, ‘Who she was, was a fluid concept right now’.

  Back in her room, she pulled out her case and unpacked her two wigs. It was a year since she had worn them. The silver-white one which had made her feel a bit sophisticated and the brunette one that was more relaxed. Trying them both on, she decided that she would wear the silver one.

  Her mobile rang and she knew it was going to be Dave.

  “How did your first day as a consultant go?”

  “I’m not a consultant.”

  “You’re consulting with Peter on this case, giving him the benefit of your experience and expertise.”

  Isobel laughed.

  “Peter was on the phone to me earlier, telling me that you’d given him a hard time –”

  “I didn’t –”

  “He was very impressed. He said you challenged him about something related to the case and you were spot on.”

  She was relieved to hear that. “Well, that’s good.”

  “It’s certainly a good start.”

  “We’ll just have to see how tomorrow goes.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Bye.”

  No doubt Dave would be on the phone to the whole family now, letting them know that she was working. Isobel let it go – there was no point trying to dampen their delight. She collapsed into bed. It had been a long day.

  Chapter 3

  Tuesday 22nd May

  By eleven o’clock the next morning Isobel was dressed in a black skirt, white blouse and grey jacket – more consultant clothes. She carefully arranged the silver wig to cover her hair,
put on a little neutral make-up and added her glasses.

  Her journey took over an hour and she walked slowly the last bit of the way, arriving in the reception of the office at a quarter to one.

  Patricia looked up as she entered. “Hello, can I help you?”

  Isobel almost laughed out loud. “Yes, I was hoping to have a quick word with Peter Wright – I’m an old friend of his.”

  At the sound of her voice, Patricia started but quickly covered it up. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  The white-haired Mrs Brown looked up with interest. Isobel turned to the wall paintings behind her, preventing any conversation. Mrs Brown resumed typing.

  Peter came out to reception.

  When Isobel turned he looked at her blankly.

  “Hi, Peter. I hope this is an OK time to call.”

  Peter’s eyes opened wide. “Yes, yes.”

  Isobel quickly added, “Sorry to surprise you but I hoped that you would be free at lunchtime.”

  Peter, smiling now, said, “Good to see you. Come in, come in.” Turning to Patricia, he said, “Why don’t you two head on to lunch? There are no meetings now until mid-afternoon so there’s no need to rush back.”

  “Great, thanks.” Patricia turned to Mrs Brown. “We don’t often get an opportunity like this, so let’s make the most of it.”

  “Let’s,” said Mrs Brown with a smile as she got to her feet.

  Patricia quickly shepherded Mrs Brown out of the office, suggesting places for them to go to have their long lunch.

  Isobel belatedly wondered if they were doing anything illegal. Hopefully Peter, the solicitor, was keeping them on the right side of the law. She followed him into his office.

  Peter laughed and handed her the contract that Patricia had prepared to be re-signed. “God, I didn’t recognise you.”

  “I just thought this might help me carry off the role better.”

  “Where did you get the wig at such short notice?”

  Isobel shrugged her shoulders, “Oh, it was something I was doing last year.”

  “An acting job?”

  Isobel looked pointedly at the documents, turning the pages. “Something like that.”

  Familiarising herself with the contract, Isobel realised that Patricia had left small pieces of bright Post-It paper stuck to the relevant pages where signatures were needed. She was certainly efficient.

  Peter instructed her on what to say to the couple on arrival and then said, “Now you’re ready to meet Anne and Thomas Banks.”

  Isobel nodded and, taking a deep breath, went out and took her place at Patricia’s desk in reception. She checked the documents again and made sure that she had a pen ready.

  She’d not been seated long when she heard the lift door open. Coming towards her were a man and woman. The woman – Mrs Banks, she presumed – was about 5 foot 7 inches tall, slim, with long blonde hair, and she was beautiful. She appeared poised and confident but distant. The man beside her, standing about 6 foot 2 inches and broad-shouldered, was sallow-complexioned with dark-brown hair and eyes. He moved with an easy grace and seemed very self-assured. Isobel suspected that he was very aware of his impact on others. They were a very attractive couple.

  Standing up, Isobel assumed her role.

  “Mrs Banks,” she said, coming around the desk and shaking the woman’s hand, “Thank you so much for coming. I really appreciate your understanding and help in this matter. Patricia was so upset about the mistake she made and afraid of losing her job, so thank you for solving the problem at this stressful time for her. Her son is still not very well but we’re hoping that he’ll turn the corner in the next few days.”

  Anne Banks withdrew her hand and flexed her lips in what could be described as a smile.

  Mr Banks stepped forward, extending his hand. “Thomas Banks.” His hand was warm and soft. He held Isobel’s hand gently as he continued. “We hope so too. Having a son ourselves, we understand the stress involved when a child is sick. Hopefully he’ll improve soon.” He turned slightly to his wife. “Thankfully, whenever our Tommy was sick Anne was there to mind him. It makes such a difference. Of course, with the stress of a sick child, we can all make a mistake. And Peter says that coming in today will expedite things and hopefully there’ll be no further delays.” At this he smiled, flashing white teeth.

  Isobel could feel the power of his charm and his persuasiveness. He still had hold of her hand and she gently extracted it.

  Rehearsing the lines Peter had fed her, she said, “The final documents are being drawn up and should be ready next Wednesday as arranged. This seemed the easiest way to remedy the mistake and ensure that nothing holds up the final signing.”

  “Excellent.”

  Peter appeared at the door of his office and Thomas Banks, with a small nod, made his way towards him.

  Isobel moved towards Anne Banks and said with a smile, “What age is your son?”

  “Nine.”

  “Ah, getting big now!”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Was he sick much when he was younger?”

  “No, not really.”

  Isobel waited, still looking attentively at her.

  “As Thomas said, I was always there for him,” the woman said.

  “This must be a very difficult time for you.”

  Anne Banks turned away, saying brusquely, “It is. I’m finding it all upsetting and I just want to get the paperwork done.”

  Isobel was startled but quickly pulled her face into an inscrutable mask.

  Thomas Banks came back and, taking his wife by the arm, escorted her into Peter’s office.

  Isobel followed them in.

  They seated themselves across the desk from Peter.

  “Yes,” said Thomas. “It’s been a trying few months, hasn’t it, Anne?” He looked at her. “We just want to get things in order so we can move on with our lives and do our best for Tommy.”

  She nodded quickly. “Yes, as best we can.”

  Isobel opened the documents at the first page requiring a signature and handed over the pen. Anne paused and then, collecting herself, studiously scribed her name. Isobel turned to the page for the next signature. Anne took her time signing.

  Thomas stood up immediately it was done. “So everything is in order again and we can proceed?”

  “Yes,” said Peter, getting to his feet.

  “Great. Please pass our best wishes for her son on to your secretary.”

  “Of course.”

  “See you next week.” He shepherded Anne towards the door.

  Isobel hurried forward in her secretarial role, to escort them out. In the outer office they left with a brief goodbye and she returned to Peter’s office.

  It had all taken fifteen minutes.

  Peter was sitting behind his desk again. “Not much time for you to decide. What do you think?”

  Isobel looked at him and was silent, pursing her lips. What was going on?

  Like a good lawyer Peter was comfortable with the silence. So many people were not, and ended up speaking, often revealing information they regretted.

  Isobel took a deep breath and said, “I’ll let you know later. Perhaps we could meet after work. I’ll reflect on it this afternoon.” She paused, wrinkling her forehead, “Could give me their addresses?”

  Peter frowned. “What for?”

  “I want to go and have a look at where they lived before and where Anne lives now. I might get a better feel for things. It might help me clarify my thinking.”

  “Don’t let them see you in case they recognise you.”

  Isobel pulled off the wig. “I won’t.”

  Peter grinned. He wrote down the addresses. “I didn’t want to influence your assessment before you met them but now let me tell you what I wondered about, or was concerned about –”

  “After work, Peter. I haven’t made up my mind yet so don’t influence me now. Let’s meet this evening. You can tell me what you’re worried about then and
I’ll give you my impressions, my assessment. We can brainstorm.”

  Peter nodded. “I’ll get Patricia to come too. Let’s meet at about eight o’clock. Would my flat be OK with you as this is all confidential and at least there we will have some privacy?”

  “Sure. Give me your address as well.”

  “We can order a takeaway and chat.”

  “See you then.”

  Isobel took her stuff and left. She went to the toilets and folded her silver wig into a plastic bag for protection and put it in her floppy handbag. Not being comfortable in formal clothes, she’d brought a bright-pink cardigan with her to wear on the way home. She removed her jacket and shrugged her way into the cardigan, placing her jacket also in her large bag. Finally she took off her glasses and surveyed herself in the mirror. She smiled, the dimple in her left cheek flashing into existence and the fine lines around her wide-set brown eyes showing the depth of habitude. With her now short, dark, highlighted hair and more casual attire she looked different. She knew her accent might give her away if she bumped into the Banks but she wasn’t intending to do that and after all London was full of Irish people.

  Isobel had some impressions from the meeting even though it had been short. Giving her assessment of people, especially if Peter was going to use it in his work, was important and really she needed more information, so it was time for some reconnaissance.

  Chapter 4

  Isobel walked past the address given for Mrs Banks. It was a flat above a clothes shop, not far from Kensington High Street. It was a comfortable-looking building in red brick with large windows.

  Wandering down the street she saw there was a grocery shop at the corner. It seemed to be well stocked and even had a noticeboard with information about local people offering babysitting, exercise classes and AA meetings in the area.

  Buying a bottle of water, Isobel did her best to engage the shop assistant in conversation.

  “A friend of mine lives near here,” she said, as casually as she could. “A tall lady with blonde hair, a Mrs Banks. Do you know her?”

  “No,” was the monosyllabic answer.

  End of discussion.