by Dani Atkins
I’d closed the shop early, and given Natalie the rest of the afternoon off, which at least spared me from having to lie to her again. When the truth came out – and it would come out, I knew that – I was going to have a lot of explaining to do. Like a mole struggling in sunlight, I turned away from that glaring thought, filing it under the category of ‘Things I’ll worry about when I have to’.
The solicitors’ offices were located in an area of town I was unfamiliar with. Flanked by expensive-looking mews homes with impressive river frontage views, the Regency building looked like a town residence in a TV period drama. I’d arrived for my appointment carrying a bulging folder of documents, which William Sylvester’s attractive PA had quickly relieved me of. They were needed to run financial checks, and also to confirm my identity. If the clinic had been as diligent as the lawyers were in that respect, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place, I thought with bitter irony. The thought stung like a barb, burrowing beneath my skin, which already felt as if it was stretched too thin to offer any protection.
Behind a mahogany desk, a pretty blonde receptionist looked up and flashed a dazzling smile in my direction. Did everyone who worked here look like a model? Even the man standing in one shadowy corner of the room had an aura about him. His height and the breadth of his shoulders beneath a charcoal grey suit jacket hinted at a gym-frequenter’s physique, and his hair was thick and springy, casting its own shadow against the silk-wallpapered wall as he leafed through a magazine. There was something about the way he stood that felt familiar.
And then he turned around, and my mouth went instantly dry. Liam Thomas. Here. Our paths had crossed again, only this time it felt like one coincidence too many. As ludicrous as it sounded, could he actually be following me?
His eyes passed politely over me, and then, with an almost comical double-take, flew back to my face. His lips turned up at the corners in a ready smile as he eliminated the distance between us in three long strides.
‘Beth. What are you doing here?’
‘I was going to ask you the same thing.’ Did he hear the thread of suspicion in my voice? Perhaps so, because his warm smile suddenly looked a few degrees cooler. ‘I had an appointment here this afternoon,’ I continued. ‘And you…?’
‘Work here,’ Liam completed equably.
As if on cue, the blonde receptionist reached for a file on her desk. ‘I think this is the one you were looking for, Mr Thomas.’
He accepted the manila file without taking his eyes off me. It gave him an excellent opportunity to watch me turn from flamingo pink to puce.
‘You said you had an appointment?’ His attractive features wore a puzzled veneer. ‘It wasn’t with me, was it?’
I shook my head, wishing more than anything that the phone would ring or someone would come in with an urgent query to divert the receptionist’s open fascination away from our conversation.
‘No, it was with William Sylvester.’
Liam’s forehead concertinaed into a frown. ‘Bill?’
I nodded. It probably wasn’t the right moment to say that his colleague hadn’t seemed like a ‘Bill’ kind of a guy.
‘But Bill was meeting with Graham Simpson’s daughter Elizabeth this afternoon…’ Liam’s voice trailed away.
Worlds were shifting and colliding, and there was nothing I could do to stop them. They were going to travel on their own trajectories, whether I liked it or not. My voice was low, but I’m pretty sure the receptionist managed to hear me just fine.
‘I’m Elizabeth. Simpson was my maiden name, and Graham is my father.’
The truth unravelled across Liam’s features, one strand at a time. The names ‘Elizabeth’ and ‘Beth’ matched together like playing cards in his eyes. His head shook slowly from side to side as the truth of what I was doing there began to unfold, filling the space between us. But it was his mouth that was the most expressive. From the tightening of his lips, I realised he already knew exactly why Graham Simpson’s daughter was meeting with the firm’s medical negligence lawyer. A sound of sympathy escaped him, because of course Liam Thomas already knew my story, and had done so for far longer than anyone else.
‘Are you okay?’
Not even remotely, I thought sadly. If I was honest, I felt more overwhelmed and lost than I’d done since the night Tim had died, and perhaps he saw that on my face.
‘Come and sit down for a minute,’ he invited, taking my arm and guiding me out of the reception and into the sanctuary of an office that looked practically identical to the one I’d just left, apart from the eye-catching display of abstract art on its walls. Liam led me towards a large green chesterfield, and I folded onto the comfortable leather like a deflated crash dummy.
‘Sorry. I’m not usually this much of a wuss,’ I said. I was going to have to develop a much tougher carapace if I was serious about going ahead with legal proceedings. William Sylvester had been very clear about that. This case wasn’t going to be an easy ride.
Liam shook his head. ‘No apologies necessary. Can I get you a coffee?’ He glanced at his watch, which looked just as expensive as his colleague’s, although considerably less ostentatious. ‘My assistant has left for the day, but I’m sure I can rustle us up a couple of cups.’
‘That’s really kind. Thank you.’
It felt a little weird being alone in his office, and as I waited my attention was drawn to the striking artwork hanging on his walls. Each piece was equally dramatic and compelling and they drew me to my feet, begging to be examined more closely. There was no need to read the signature in the bottom right-hand corner to know they’d all been painted by the same artist. I was leaning in closer, trying to decipher the name, when the office door opened and Liam re-entered carrying two mismatched mugs. One was plain, but the other had a slogan I’d have blushed to say out loud.
He grinned when he saw me looking at the crockery, and instantly ten years were shaved off his age. ‘I’ve no idea where they hide the posh china. I think they must lock it up at night so the partners can’t get their hands on it.’
So, he was a partner in this highly successful legal practice. That shouldn’t come as a surprise; they didn’t give you an office this size if you delivered the mail. Did Liam Thomas also work on the firm’s medical negligence cases, I wondered? Would he be involved in mine? I felt momentarily thrown, as though I was standing on a fault line while plates were shifting.
He came to stand beside me, passing me the profanity-free mug. ‘It’s only instant, not caramel latte, I’m afraid. Although I was tempted to drop a random Mars bar I found in the kitchen into it.’ His teasing humour came as a surprise and was an unexpected bonus if this man was to become my friend.
‘This is perfect,’ I said, lifting the steaming coffee to my lips and looking up at him over the rim of my mug. ‘I was just admiring your artwork. It’s very striking. I really like it.’ My words were genuine. The bold acrylic colours reminded me of a profusion of wild flowers grouped together in an ad hoc bouquet. Clashing hues jostled against each other, like angry commuters defending their personal space. It shouldn’t have worked together, and yet it absolutely did.
Liam’s expression grew softer and perhaps that’s what made me look more closely at the signature on the painting. The letters reformed into a name I finally deciphered: Anna.
‘Your wife was the artist?’
He nodded, and there was pride in his smoke-coloured eyes. It was there too in his voice. ‘She was very talented.’ His words made me feel humble, as though I was peeking through a curtain at their relationship and viewing something very private.
‘Was that her profession?’
Liam smiled, turning away from his wife’s creations to face me. ‘No, it was just a hobby, albeit one she was passionate about. She actually worked as a school teacher.’
I gasped softly, feeling something stronger than mere coincidence at work here. ‘So was Tim.’
Liam looked at me for a very long moment,
as though half a dozen questions were queued up, just waiting to be asked, and he wasn’t sure how to phrase any of them.
‘Is there somewhere you need to be right now?’
That certainly wasn’t a question I’d been expecting. ‘No.’
‘Do you fancy grabbing a bite to eat somewhere?’ It was a casual invitation, without any overtones of being a date. And yet still I hesitated. Should we be doing this? Was it unethical in some way? Did being friends with this man cross some professional boundary?
‘Look, you have to eat, and I have to eat, and it might be nice not to be doing it alone for a change.’ I could feel the ‘yes’ coming up from a place deep inside me, where the loneliness lived. ‘Okay. I’d like that.’
The building was quiet now, most of the employees having already left for the day. But as we walked along the carpeted hallway I realised one office was still occupied. From beneath a door I’d recently walked through, a sliver of light sliced into the corridor. Behind the panelled oak, I recognised the voice of the man I’d met with earlier, who appeared to be talking animatedly on the telephone. I heard the words ‘unprecedented’, ‘in vitro’ and ‘media circus’ float into the hallway like spilled secrets. I shivered, knowing the case he was discussing was probably mine. As if in confirmation, Liam’s hand was suddenly against my back, gently urging me forward and out of earshot.
I followed him through the darkened reception and out onto the street. I blinked in the glare of the early evening sun, which was still strong enough to dazzle, and took extra care as I descended the steep marble steps in my unaccustomed high heels. I’d dressed formally for my meeting that day, hiding behind the armour of a business suit, but it was such a contrast to my everyday wear I felt as if I was wearing a costume in a play.
‘There’s a restaurant in the square nearby that should have a table this early in the evening. Or we could go further afield if you’d prefer?’
I shook my head, already unsure whether I’d made the right call by agreeing to have dinner with him. But I could see no polite way of backtracking, so the sooner we ate, the sooner the evening would be over. The thought was supposed to leave me comforted, but for some reason it had the opposite effect.
‘Are you okay to walk there?’ he asked politely, holding out one arm with an almost old-fashioned display of good manners. My cheeks felt warm as I pretended not to see the gesture. There was a tug of war going on inside me: one side was pulling for me to make this man my friend, while the other was tugging just as hard to maintain nothing more than a cool and professional relationship. It would be interesting to see which side won out.
‘I’m more of a Converse than a stiletto girl,’ I admitted, as I fell into step beside him. ‘They’re much more practical for work.’
Liam kept up a steady stream of interested questions about Crazy Daisy, which took us all the way to the square he had mentioned. There was an almost continental atmosphere to the lively plaza, home to several restaurants and bars, all of which appeared to be doing a roaring trade. Although it was only just after six o’clock, many outdoor tables were already occupied by people winding down after a week at work. All around us, men were tugging off jackets and unknotting ties and there was a relaxed buzz in the air, interspersed with laughter and the sound of clinking beer bottles and wine glasses.
‘Inside or out?’ asked Liam, coming to a halt beside an Italian restaurant with white-clothed tables set up on the pavement beneath a brightly coloured awning.
‘Would you mind if we went inside,’ I replied, feeling the need to put greater distance between us and the noisy revellers.
The interior of the restaurant was charming and brought an instant smile to my face. It was decorated to make diners feel as if they were in a garden, with indoor trees, enormous planters of flowers and twisting overhead vines. Had Liam chosen this place to appeal to the florist in me, or was I overanalysing his motives? We certainly had our choice of tables and I was particularly pleased when we were shown to one near a small sparkling fountain, which gurgled pleasantly beside us.
‘It’s lovely here,’ I said, thanking the waiter who’d unfurled my napkin with the flourish of a magician. It was almost a disappointment when he draped it across my lap without producing a white dove from its folds.
‘We come here quite a lot,’ said Liam, and for a moment I thought he was referring to his late wife and had used the wrong tense. It was a habit that had taken me years to get out of after Tim had died. Even now, I still slipped up occasionally. ‘Clients really seem to like it,’ he added.
I felt as if a pitcher of ice cold water had been tipped over my head. Clients. The restaurant was just around the corner from the firm, so naturally this is where they took their clients. This was why Liam had invited me here. He was a senior partner in the firm I’d engaged to take on a high-profile and probably very lucrative case. I wasn’t dining with a potential friend; I was being ‘entertained’. The realisation made me uncomfortable.
I gave myself a mental shake and rearranged my thoughts back where they belonged. This was a good thing to know, because if this was a business dinner there was nothing to stop me from doing some further probing. But before I could decide where to begin, Liam torpedoed my idea clean out of the water.
‘Before we go any further, I should let you know that I’m not going to be able to discuss your case with you, or anything Bill has spoken about.’
My face must have taken on the look of a child who’s just been told Christmas has been cancelled that year. Liam drew in his lower lip, his teeth leaving a small white bite mark on the pink skin, which was really hard not to stare at. ‘Is that what you were hoping for?’ he asked softly. ‘Was that why you said “yes” when I asked you to come out this evening?’
Maybe. Possibly, I admitted silently. ‘Of course not,’ I denied on a rush. Liam’s eyebrows rose, and his forehead found every one of his frown lines and settled into them comfortably. ‘Although it’s only natural to have questions about how this kind of case usually progresses. How long it normally takes, and what kind of success rates people in my situation can hope for. That sort of thing.’
Liam’s head was shaking regretfully even before I’d begun my list. It told me everything I already knew. I reached for the glass of wine I’d ordered, and took a long sip before answering. My laugh didn’t sound natural, but that’s probably because it wasn’t.
‘I guess the reason you can’t say anything is that there aren’t any legal precedents like mine, are there?’
For the first time, Liam looked uncomfortable in my company. I imagine I wasn’t the only one who was suddenly thinking this whole dinner suggestion had been a really bad idea. Fortunately, our waiter chose that moment to materialise beside the table as if he’d been magically conjured up. In his arms were two large leather-bound menus. As we browsed through the selection of dishes, the sun began to dip in the sky, its early-evening rays still powerful as they passed through the restaurant window and found our table, irradiating the silverware in a dazzling glow. Rainbow prisms bounced off the drinking glasses, making me feel like a sepia impostor in a world of colour.
‘So, how are you feeling now after your meeting with Bill this afternoon?’
‘I thought we weren’t allowed to talk about that?’
Liam shifted a little uncomfortably on his chair. ‘Not in specific terms, perhaps. I was just hoping you feel you’ve got the right people working with you to get the outcome you want.’
‘Does that outcome include getting my child back?’
Liam’s eyes widened and he looked genuinely shocked. That’s what happens when the unspoken elephant in the room suddenly charges at you, head on. ‘Is that what you’re hoping for, Beth?’ His voice was neutral; there was no hint of whether he approved or disapproved of that plan.
‘Absolutely,’ I said, which would have been so much more convincing if my hand hadn’t suddenly begun to shake so badly my wine glass collided with the bread plate and
the water jug before I finally set it back down on the table. ‘Will you be working with William on the case?’
There was no imagining the look of relief in Liam’s eyes as he answered me. ‘No. It’s not my area of specialism. I handle the firm’s corporate cases. William’s our medical negligence expert. He’s the best in his field.’ Quite unexpectedly, Liam’s hand moved across the crisp white tablecloth. For a moment I thought it was reaching for mine, I still think that was his intention, but at the last moment he diverted it, and plucked up a breadstick instead.
I waited until a passing waiter was safely out of earshot before asking the man opposite me: ‘I suppose you know the full story about what happened with the clinic?’
Liam nodded, and my relief at not having to explain it again was tangible. Liam’s face wore an appropriately sober expression. ‘It’s one hell of mess. A total fuck-up.’
I almost snorted into my drinking glass, surprised that anything about this awful situation had the power to make me laugh. ‘Is that a legal assessment, or just your personal one?’
‘Both.’ Liam’s smile was a fleeting ghost as the waiter placed plates of steaming pasta before us. ‘Bill discussed your case with all the partners before agreeing to meet with you.’ Liam looked down, as though the design circling his dinner plate suddenly warranted closer inspection. ‘It’s not one any firm would undertake lightly,’ he said by way of explanation.
‘Because it’s so unusual, or because it’s unwinnable?’
Liam gave a small start. ‘You’re not afraid of asking the hard questions, are you?’ There was a glimmer of admiration in his eyes, yet still he sighed before answering me. ‘Nothing’s unwinnable, Beth,’ he said quietly. ‘You just have to decide at what cost.’
*
I watched the DVD when I got back home that night, even though it wasn’t our anniversary, Tim’s birthday, or any other date when I gave myself ‘permission’ to relive the best day of my life. The need to see his face again burnt like a flame within me. The panic that I could no longer remember his voice or the sound of his laughter faded away, as it always did the second his face filled the screen. He raised his glass of champagne to the camera, and winked broadly at whoever had been recording the footage of his last morning as a single man. ‘Welcome to our wedding,’ he said, and through the lens and the lost years his eyes found and held mine, and I could breathe again.