‘Steve Smith.’
Julia didn’t answer and pulled her hand away as quickly as she could, which wasn’t easy given the firm grip.
He took a seat and helped himself to Lia’s tea cup. ‘So, you want to find a Kevin Brown?’ He slurped noisily. ‘Common as muck, with that name.’
Your name is Steve Smith. Smith!
Julia pushed Hettie’s childish scrawls at him. ‘This is all we have on him.’
The man perused the details quickly. ‘Got his last address?’
Nodding, Julia pulled out her BlackBerry, where she’d stored her only client’s information.
‘When was he last there?’
‘A week ago, give or take a couple of days.’
‘Got his age?’
‘No, didn’t she write that down?’ Julia took the sheet back but couldn’t actually read any of it.
Steve Smith wasn’t troubled. ‘Don’t worry, if I’ve got the previous address, I’ll find him.’
Julia stood, dragging Lia with her, simultaneously throwing a stack of twenties in the PI’s lap. ‘Right, Steve. Here is the five hundred quid. How soon do you think you can find him?’
‘A coupl-a days, love. I’ll call ya.’ The last part was directed at Lia.
Struggling to release herself from Julia’s vice-like grip, Lia said, ‘No. Here, I’ll give you Julia’s details. She is your client. I don’t have anything to do with it.’
‘What are you, then? Her bitch? You do what your skinny friend here tells ya?’
Lia was offended. ‘I am helping her. You don’t know anything about it.’
Steven turned his attention back to Julia. ‘I can help you out, if you need assistance of a more personal nature.’ His tongue shot in and out of his mouth just in case Julia didn’t appreciate the extent of his offer.
‘Thank you, but I prefer my men with less brawn and more brain.’
‘So you don’t like having a good time, then?’
‘What?’
‘Brainy guys are usually poofs. You want a real man, baby.’
Looking at his tubby body, Julia laughed. ‘There’s real and then there’s whale.’
Rather than be offended, Steve patted his tummy fondly. ‘This ain’t all me, although I am sorry to disappoint. I’m on a job. Need to look like a homeless drug pusher with mental issues. Do I pass?’
‘On all counts. I don’t suppose it takes much acting.’ Julia was eager to get away before his accent rubbed off on her. ‘So, you’ll call when you’ve found Kevin?’
‘Sure will.’ He tipped Lia’s cup in agreement. ‘Don’t hesitate to call with any other requirements you two ladies might have.’
‘Trust me, Steve, if we have to call you for that, there will be a comet hurtling towards the earth and every other man on the planet will have already died from some disease.’
‘So there’s hope then, hot stuff.’ Steve’s smile was as wide as a plate, and Julia turned around so fast she smashed into a sullen looking waitress.
‘Careful love,’ Steve called to the young girl. ‘That woman just spent a fortune on them tits, don’t break ‘em.’
Torn between not wanting to cause a scene, and wanting to cause Steve Smith irrevocable brain damage, Julia stood, fists clenched, until Lia managed to manoeuvre her out of the café door.
‘The Hettie person called,’ Connie said, the moment Julia walked in. ‘Asked if you knew where Kevin was yet.’
‘I’m working on it.’ Bloody Hettie. So far she had called fourteen times since their meeting. If she were a real lawyer she’d be able to buy a bloody house in South Ken just from charging Mrs Hettie Brown for phone calls. Actually, that was rather a good idea.
‘Connie, every time she calls, write it down – date and time. If I speak to you about the case, write it down – and charge my hourly rate. If it’s just a call and she leaves a message, it’s a quarter of my rate.’
‘You have rate?’
‘Yes, it’s five hundred pounds an hour.’
‘That’s a lot for someone who has no experience and no idea what they do.’
Julia wanted to thump the brainless maid. ‘But I am paying someone who does know. It’s the same thing.’
The look of the maid’s pretty face that indicated she thought it was nothing like the same thing. Nevertheless, Connie moved on. ‘And your lawyer called. Said you need to come in and sign some papers.’
Ah. The dishy David. ‘Now?’ she asked the maid, eagerly.
‘Tomorrow, four p.m. Said to tell you he might not be there, but another lawyer can witness your signature.’
Bugger that David wouldn’t be there, and bugger it would take until four o’clock to discover the contents of the letter.
Thinking quickly, Julia told Connie to call David’s firm. ‘Ask for a copy by email, just for me to check before I sign. That way, I can just change the names and use it for Hettie’s case immediately. The woman is sure to start demanding something for her twenty grand soon.’
‘Good thinking,’ Connie told her. Julia couldn’t quite work out if the maid was impressed or simply being a bitch. She decided it was the former.
‘I know,’ Julia replied immodestly.
The phone rang again. Connie glanced at the caller ID and then picked up. ‘Hettie?’ Connie mouthed.
Julia turned to her room for a bath, shaking her head. ‘Tell her I’m out,’ she mouthed back.
‘She say she fart.’
Christ. Who can’t read lips? Snapping her head about, Julia looked for something to throw at the bloody servant. Connie gazed at Julia with complete sincerity. Hmm. Still untrustworthy, Julia decided. Right now, the stupid woman was a requirement, but once she got her cash from Rover, all bets were off, and Connie could go collecting for the Large Issue, or whatever that homeless newspaper was.
Finally, Connie got rid of Hettie, and dutifully wrote down the details on a pad they used for phone messages. Hettie want you call back. Have you found Ken? She hummed a little tune as she worked, and Julia’s latest decision – to chuck Connie out – seemed all the more sensible. The maid was sly. And strange. And quite probably nuts.
Sure, Connie might sue for the money that Julia agreed to pay, but she’d have to prove there was an agreement first.
Let her try to find a lawyer.
Let her go fry.
Connie picked up the phone. First the client, then the lawyer, now the husband. ‘Ello?’
‘Connie, it’s Rover. What the hell is happening there?’
‘She suing you.’
‘I know that.’
‘We had a deal, remember? You tell me what’s going on, and I use it against her so I don’t have to pay her money. You must know how she can afford Inner City LLP.’
‘She just went to lawyer, that’s all. I don’t know more than that.’
‘Look, I want you to write down everything that happens. Got that? Who comes, who goes. Where she is getting the cash to pay for the lawyer.’ He paused. ‘She’s not bonking the bloody lawyer, is she? Legal friends of mine always had a thing for skinny girls like Julia.’
‘No, she only see that friend Lia. No man.’
It was definite. Mr Rover was no better than Mrs Palmie. At least Mrs Palmie openly hated her. Mr Rover pretended, for all those years, to appreciate Connie, but now, he couldn’t care less about her. And that hurt the thirty-three year old maid. A lot.
‘Remember, write everything down and I’ll continue to pay your wages. Got that?’
‘Okay Mr Rover.’ Connie’s reply was cheery but her heart was black. Mr Rover would get his notes. Pages of them. But none of them would actually tell him what was going on. She was pretty sure that if she told Mrs Palmie of Mr Rover’s plan to make her penniless, that slick lawyer with the posh voice who had called earlier would be able to use it to help Mrs Palmie. But the maid was still on the fence as to who she would support in this battle of money and power.
Mrs Palmie was brutally rude but she was a
woman, like Connie. And if the Hettie Brown plan came off, there would be far more money than the paltry salary offered by Mr Rover.
On the other hand, Mr Rover currently had the cash, and might well up keeping it, at the end of the affair. Which could mean a permanent job.
So, when it came down to it, the person who offered the most cash would win the maid’s affections.
And given what Connie knew about the other, one would have to win. Period.
Two hours later, Connie reappeared, Julia’s mobile phone in hand. Julia was out of the bath and dousing herself in some expensive crème from Harrods that was supposed to take years off your life. Took bloody years to blend the stuff in, and so far, the results were no way near as effective as Botox.
‘A man. Say he your boyfriend.’ The maid looked Julia up and down, the judgement evident in her huge brown eyes.
‘My what? I don’t have a boyfriend.’
Yet.
Grabbing the BlackBerry enthusiastically, in the hope it was David Henry-Jones, Julia’s heart sank as she realised who it was.
Steve Smith.
Ugh.
‘What do you want? Can’t you just get on and do the job I paid you for?’
‘I’ve done it, hot stuff. Don’t wet your pants.’
‘Don’t be disgusting,’ Julia retorted. ‘And how could you have possibly found Kevin Brown already? There must be thousands of Kevin Browns in the UK.’
‘Easy. He has a credit card still registered to his old address. He used it to pay for council tax in Manchester two days ago. I got the details of exactly which borough he paid, and now, after calling said borough, I’ve got the address.’
Bloody hell. Who said British efficiency was dead?
‘And how, exactly, did you get this information? Isn’t there something called data protection?’
‘You don’t strike me as the legal type, love.’ He laughed.
‘I’m employing you in my capacity as a lawyer, you idiot. Get on with it, Steve.’
‘A mate of mine works in the data centre of Kev’s bank. Cost me, but it was worth it, ‘cause I get to speak to you again so soon, hot stuff.’
‘Don’t call me that. Do I get a discount, because it was so quick?’
‘No. But I’ll give you a little something extra if you like.’
‘I’d rather pay you another five hundred quid than take up that offer, and believe me, I can’t afford it.’
‘Doesn’t look like that.’
‘What!’
‘My mate looked up your account too. You got twenty ‘K’ in credit, babe. And a South Ken address. I like my women rich.’
How dare he!
She had a good mind to complain to her bank – if the balding bastard hadn’t sneaked a peak at Kevin Smith’s records too, she might well have done it. But the minute she complained about Steve, he’d no doubt reveal all about his ‘client’ and her remarkably similar request.
And the whole lawyer business would come out – and no doubt be splattered over the pages of The Daily. ‘Socialite Fools Law and Loses’.
‘Isn’t that illegal?’ Julia said instead.
‘Yeah, so? You weren’t complaining before, when I looked up Kevin.’
Wanting to scream, but figuring he’d make some rude comment about her getting off on the conversation, she replied, ‘So, let’s have the address then.’
Kevin said he’d text it to make sure she didn’t write it down wrong.
‘Plus, that way we can begin a dialogue. You on Messenger?’
‘No.’
‘Shame. I like horny flirting on Messenger.’
‘Steve, I think you might have psychological issues. Maybe spend some of that money I gave you on a shrink.’
‘Oh, hot stuff. I can think of far better ways to spend it.’
Julia gave up and ended the call. A moment later the text came through as promised, with about forty five kisses under Kevin Brown’s address.
Disgusting.
Where did Lia find these people?
Connie stood far too close and breathed down her neck as Julia put the finishing touches to the letter.
‘Does Hettie have to sign it?’ the maid asked.
Julia looked over the letters sent on her behalf by Suzanne Knight and David. ‘No, just the lawyer. So I’ll do it.’
‘Did you put in about wanting the coal mine?’
Fool.
‘Copper, and yes. See, half the entire value of Kevin’s estate. That should cover it.’
Sealing the envelope, Julia instructed Connie to head to the post office. ‘Get there before it closes. The sooner Kevin sees sad sack Hettie is not going to take his wicked actions lying down, the sooner we get paid.’ Well, I get paid, at least.
Scooping up her task, the maid set off with the enthusiasm of a religious zealot.
Leaving Julia to yet another bubble bath, and a lengthy daydream about David Henry-Jones.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHE SIGNED WITH HER customary flourish. Julia Evangeline Parmier.
‘How will you make sure he responds?’ She threw her head back and tried to appear seductive.
‘He has to. Otherwise the court will just give us what we want.’ David Henry-Jones glanced at her. ‘Is there something wrong with your neck?’
Julia was thinking of the letter she’d sent to Kevin in Manchester. Two weeks and no answer. Hettie kept asking her what they should do, and Julia had no idea. ‘Can’t he just say he didn’t get it?’
‘No, we served it on him. Paid a court official to do it, so we know it’s been done. That way he can’t deny it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Julia, I’m due in court.’ He patted her hand condescendingly. ‘Let’s think positive thoughts, shall we? Perhaps Rover will agree to a large settlement quickly, and all will be well.’
As Julia mumbled her agreement, her mind was on the stupid letter sent to Kevin Brown. Sure, it read verbatim from the one David had sent to Rover, so it looked official enough, but she couldn’t be sure it had been delivered. It hadn’t seemed necessary to send it recorded mail. What were the odds of Royal Mail not delivering a letter?
As Julia walked from the steel and glass City building and looked about for a black cab, she pondered her next move.
Perhaps Kevin was used to dealing with the law? His sort had all sorts of ASBOs and things out on them, didn’t they? If David Henry-Jones wasn’t risking it with Rover, it was crazy to think Kevin Brown would simply roll over and reply without being officially served.
But how to get the papers properly served when you were pretending to be a lawyer?
Not wanting to get anywhere near a court, Julia wondered who could pretend to be official and serve papers on Hettie’s husband. Not that ridiculous Connie, that’s for sure. Kevin would probably fall for her, and then Connie would get the copper mine and both Julia and Hettie would be out of pocket. To say nothing of the fact that Julia would have the clean that four storey house in South Kensington herself.
Then a person came to mind. Well, almost a person. Steve Smith! The semi-obese Mile End private investigator.
No!
No.
He was repellent and she’d vowed only to contact him on pain of death.
Still, who else was there? And he would probably do it for a fiver and a kiss – he was that sort.
A cab roared up and after barking her address and instructing the cabbie to close the glass privacy panel, Julia dialled the investigator’s number.
‘Steve Smith, at your service.’
‘I need you.’
‘Thought you’d never ask, hot stuff. How are things in Sowf Ken?’
‘A lot nicer than where you are, I’m sure. Now, be serious. I have more work. Can you pretend to be a court server?’
‘If I can be a fat unemployed druggie, trust me I can serve some papers.’
‘Oh, I figured you were just reverting to type with the drug thing.’
‘Ouch. You know how to wound a guy, love.
I think you need to see what’s underneath my shellsuit. You might be surprised.’
‘I’ve seen cellulite and small willies before, thanks.’
‘And she cuts to the bone, again. You are one snotty bitch, Julia Parmier with twenty grand in the bank.’
‘Isn’t it snooty? And I am also your client, so show some respect. Ignoring the twenty grand, which is accounted for, how much to drive up to Manchester and serve some papers on Kevin Brown?’
His answer came back quick as a flash. ‘Twenty grand.’
‘Ha-di-ha. Seriously.’
‘Couple of hundred, plus petrol and M6 toll.’ Julia would soon learn that everything cost a couple of hundred, plus petrol. Except for the first job, where he’d managed to comprehensively rip her off.
‘Oh, and a shag.’
‘Never going to happen.’
‘Fine, two notes, then.’
‘Done, but only if you come to me to get what you need. I’m not driving out to the wilds of the East End again.’
‘Of course. As long as I get everything I need.’ He was about as subtle as an elephant trying to escape a locked cupboard.
‘Steve, let me say this once and for all. You and me, never going to happen.’
‘Come on, hot stuff. Never say never.’
‘Never,’ Julia spat predictably, and hung up over the raucous laughter on the other end of the line.
The next day, Hettie arrived unexpectedly. Luckily, Connie saw her approaching and warned Julia in time for a quick change from swimming costume to tailored designer suit.
Julia gave Hettie a cup of tea and the good news. The podgy woman seemed impressed. ‘A court server?’
‘Yes, as Kevin is refusing to reply, we can’t be sure he has actually received the papers. I am paying a court server to drive up to Manchester and serve him the papers. That way, we can begin to move things along. It will cost about, um, a thousand pounds, including tolls and so on.’
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