by J. L. Butler
I knew Judge Sheldon and Khan’s barrister, Neil Bradley, who was professional and competent; rumour had it he, too, was applying for silk this year. We exchanged pleasantries, took our seats and proceedings began; the judge listening to us in turn as we presented the facts of our case.
I’d expected to dislike Yusef Khan, but he was charm itself from the moment we entered judge’s chambers. As handsome as a Bollywood actor, he was sharp, convincing, and polite, in contrast to Holly, who was hesitant and glowered at her ex-husband throughout the hearing. This, I knew, was my fault. I should have run through this with her, told her he might be like this, that Neil Bradley – the competent one – would have advised this approach. Wrong-footed, I began explaining Holly’s reasons for wanting to stop Yusef taking Daniyal out of the country. I didn’t doubt Holly’s story that Khan had run into financial trouble. Tanya had told me that his string of restaurants had been subsidized by other interests including brothels and drug-dealing, which he’d pulled the plug on after he’d fallen out with some gangsters. But that sort of thing was hard, almost impossible to prove. We could hardly get statements from either the gangsters or his drug-taking customers, and Khan had recent accounts to show that the restaurants were doing fine. By the time we adjourned for lunch, I knew the other side were leading, but despite Holly’s downcast face, I also knew it wasn’t the end of the world. A strong closing statement could well be enough to make the judge err on the side of caution. After all, missing a wedding was an inconvenience, but a child being taken from his mother was a serious risk.
‘I can’t lose him,’ said Holly mournfully. ‘Yusef is smart. He’s so convincing out there. I think the judge believes everything he’s saying.’
I went and put my hand over hers.
‘I’ll be honest, it’s difficult for us to prove that Yusef won’t return to the UK. But what we have proved are the consequences of Daniyal not coming back and being kept in Pakistan by his father. His life would be turned upside down, and a child’s welfare is the top priority for any judge.’
She gave me a tight nod and I knew she was trusting me, putting all her eggs in one basket; my basket. And I was in no fit state to live up to that trust.
Tanya came back into the room with tea and drew me to one side out of earshot of Holly.
‘So, are you confident?’ she asked, looking at me sideways as she blew on her drink. Clearly, she wasn’t. I could hardly blame her.
‘We still need a fallback position,’ I replied briskly. ‘The trip to Karachi is supposed to be next week. There might not be enough time for an appeal. So we should put some safeguard provisions in place in case the judge allows them to go to the wedding.’
‘Like what?’
‘If Yusef doesn’t bring Daniyal back home, it’s abduction, no question. However, Pakistan is a non-Hague convention country and, as such, negotiating any return can be complex because there are no international agreements to help. But we could ask for Yusef to provide a security bond, or we can get Daniyal’s passport left with the British High Commission in Islamabad.’
Tanya snorted. ‘Security bond. You might as well get him to say Scout’s honour. If he goes to Pakistan, he won’t be coming back, you know that.’
‘It won’t come to that, Tanya,’ I said. ‘Trust me.’
Tanya raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, Holly doesn’t really have any other choice, does she?’
A bell rang to say that we were due back in court. I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket and checked it quickly. Nothing. No message from Martin, nothing from Phil. With quiet resolve, I puffed out my cheeks and went back into chambers.
Immediately it began to go wrong. To give him his due, Neil Bradley was quite brilliant as he summed up Yusef Khan’s case for taking his son to Pakistan, pointing out that Holly had previously been in a favour of a trip when they were married, and shooting down our flimsy accusations that his client’s business was in trouble. He painted a vivid picture of the wonderful life Yusef had in Britain, including details of a new relationship he had with a woman who lived in Bedford – a crucial piece of evidence we should have known. Everything here was rosy, Bradley argued, so why on earth would Yusef leave all that behind?
‘Your honour, I have to reiterate that the consequences of non-return would be life-changing for Daniyal. He is doing well at school, he has just won a much-coveted place at a selective state grammar, he has a wide circle of friends . . .’
Justice Sheldon nodded in agreement as he read through the notes.
Neil was speaking again now. I was trying to concentrate, but my phone was vibrating in my pocket. It wouldn’t hurt to have another quick look, I decided, slipping it out on to my lap. I clicked on to Messages to see that there was something from Dave Gilbert.
The words blew off the screen like a hand grenade.
Martin Joy has been arrested.
I re-read the message and my head started to spin. Everything else had faded away so that I could just make out a voice in the background – Neil, or perhaps Justice Sheldon, soft and muffled as if we were underwater.
‘Do you have any proposals for safeguards?’ the judge’s words floated through.
I shuffled my papers ineffectually and tried to speak, but it came out as an incomprehensible stutter. The thought of Martin, arrested, was the only fact my brain could hold, the only thing that seemed to matter. I imagined him in handcuffs being led to a cold, dark cell; imagined him trying to get in touch with me, but not being able to.
My breathing quickened, darts of fierce, frightening energy fired to my fingertips.
Tanya was tapping at my arm but it was as if I had left my body. Floating, drowning, sinking.
There was a hissing in my ear, ‘closing remarks’, but I felt as if my brain was shutting down.
‘I have to go,’ I muttered as I stood up and collected my things.
Tanya stretched out. I felt her hand connect with my gown, but I spun away from her.
‘Miss Day?’ The judge’s voice was confused rather than angry. Perhaps he’d never seen a barrister suddenly jump up and flee the court before.
‘Urgent business,’ I muttered, and pushed past the tables through the double doors and out into the corridor, my heels tapping against the marble. My white collar felt tight around my neck, the walls pressing, leaning in towards me. I burst through the revolving doors and out into the brightness of the street, gulping at the fresh air, craving oxygen. But I couldn’t pause; I had to keep moving, had to get to Martin. The ground seemed to move under my feet as I saw a taxi and dashed for it.
‘Where we going, love?’ asked the driver, giving me a toothy smile.
I gaped at him: it was only then I realized I didn’t know where to go. I was desperate to see Martin, to be close to him. But if he was in custody, I couldn’t go there – he needed a criminal lawyer and it would look extremely strange if I showed up now.
‘Mayfair,’ I said. It was the only place I could think of to go.
Chapter 27
The offices of the Gassler Partnership were only a stone’s throw from Claridges, but at least a century apart; a tall glass building rather than a redbrick townhouse that whispered of Georgian dandies, it had a floor-to-ceiling glass frontage and a huge modernist chandelier hanging over the double-height lobby. I supposed when it came to high-tech finance, sleek and shiny was the way to go. As the taxi pulled to a halt, I tried to phone Sophie Cole one last time; she wasn’t as close to Martin as her husband Alex, but at least I had her phone number. When my call went straight to voicemail, I thrust money at the driver and almost fell out on to the pavement.
‘Oi! Your wig!’ shouted the cabbie with a grin. I turned back and grabbed the silver horsehair mop from the back seat. Stuffing it into my bag, I ran through the stiff revolving doors, almost tripping as I came through, raising a questioning stare from a po-faced concierge manning the front desk.
I glanced behind him, noting that the Gassler Partnership was not the only
company in the building. Clearly I would have to get past him before I could speak to Martin’s receptionist.
‘I’m here to see Alex Cole at Gassler,’ I said, suddenly embarrassed at the realization I was still wearing my barrister’s robes.
Although I looked a pillar of the establishment at the Inns of Court, he looked at me with suspicion as if I were a drunk or a vagrant.
‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘If you could just call his office and ask if he’ll speak to me, I’d be grateful. Say it’s Francine Day. I’m his legal representative,’ I said, trying to recover my dignity.
‘I think he’s still at lunch,’ he replied with little enthusiasm.
My fingers drummed against the black marble desk as he picked up the phone and spoke to someone. He seemed to delight in stringing it out before he shook his head and told me that Alex wasn’t in the office.
‘Could I speak to his PA, then?’ I said, leaning forward.
‘Do you not have her direct line?’ he said with a note of challenge.
‘No, I do not have her number,’ I said, my voice beginning to crack. ‘This is an emergency and I need to speak to Alex Cole now.’
‘I can leave a message with reception . . .’
It couldn’t wait, not with Martin sitting in a cell.
‘Get someone on the phone for me now.’
I could hear myself, loud, aggressive and unconvincing. The concierge stood up and without saying a word, I knew he was about to ask me to leave.
I glanced towards the lift, hearing it ping as the doors prepared to open and began to stride towards it.
The scramble of footsteps behind me fired a thrilling current of energy through my body.
My shoes slipped on the polished concrete. I almost fell, but a pair of hands reached out to steady me.
‘Francine?’
The voice was puzzled, a touch annoyed.
I didn’t recognize Sophie Cole immediately.
‘What are you doing here?’
Her face softened. ‘I could say the same about you,’ she said.
‘Martin, I heard about Martin,’ I replied, catching my breath. ‘I had to find out what’s going on.’
The concierge was standing behind me and I could feel the heat of his disapproval without even looking at him.
‘Is everything all right, Mrs Cole?’
‘Thank you, Graham. Everything’s fine. Francine’s with me.’
She stabbed the lift button to stop the steel door from closing.
‘Let’s go to my office,’ she said briskly.
The small space of the lift seemed to contract around us and I knew I had to say something.
‘So you’ve heard about Martin?’
‘Of course,’ she said, without looking at me.
‘I’m sorry but I had to come.’
Sophie glanced at me and then looked straight ahead.
‘You could start with taking off your gown.’
Another time, another elevator, I had slipped off my blouse as Martin had pressed my spine against the cold metal door. Those days seemed a very long way away.
I didn’t bother to argue with Sophie; I was just grateful for someone else to take control, grateful for her crisp head-girl efficiency.
I bundled the black folds of fabric under my arm and followed her out of the lift. She led the way down a corridor lined with small rooms, each containing someone hunched over a computer screen.
I’d never been to Martin’s place of work before, had never really considered what a hedge-fund office would look like, beyond a vague image of red-faced alpha-males staring at Bloomberg screens and shouting ‘Buy!’ and ‘Sell!’ into their phones. But there was an unsettling stillness about this place; the only movement the flicker of eyes looking up at me as I walked past open office doors. I wondered what they knew.
I followed Sophie into a corner office that bristled with the trappings of success. A large iMac on the otherwise uncluttered desk, a designer sofa that looked out on to the Mayfair streets below.
‘I’m sorry,’ I repeated as she closed the door behind us. ‘I just had to know what’s happened and I thought Alex was the only other person he might have spoken to . . .’
‘You can’t do this, Fran,’ she said, cutting me off. ‘I’ve had to field two calls from the press in the past ten minutes. I was just heading to the lobby to check that there weren’t any photographers in the street when I saw you. You can’t come pushing your way in here, dressed like Rumpole of the Bailey. This is a business, Fran. We could have clients here – we do have clients here. How would it look if you’re splashed all over the front pages tomorrow? Think.’
I knew she was right and took a moment to tell her so.
‘I know. But when I got the call that Martin had been arrested, I needed to talk to someone.’
Sophie looked at me, then her expression softened.
‘If it was Alex, I’d be the same.’ She took a bottle of water from the console table and filled two glasses.
‘So how much do you know?’ she asked, handing me a tumbler.
‘Nothing,’ I replied feeling another rise of panic. ‘Just that he’s been arrested.’
‘The police went round to the loft shortly before lunch,’ she said. ‘Thank God he’d taken a few days off work, else they would have turned up here.’
‘But they haven’t got any evidence . . .’
‘The police just want to look as if they’re doing something. I should imagine at some point he could take legal action against them.’
‘Wrongful arrest,’ I said firmly, wanting to believe that he could one day have a claim.
‘But right now, we don’t want to make things any more complicated than they have to be.’
I looked at her and waited for her to expand. I liked Sophie Cole. Liked her no-nonsense capability, even though it reminded me of the person I used to be. She certainly had more about her than the average wife I met on the high-networth marriage-and-divorce circuit. They were generally attractive but all of them had a touch of steel, a single-mindedness about them. I suppose they needed it. Yet there was a smaller group whose beauty was not the defining quality; the smart wives, the accomplished wives, the women who were as Alpha as their husbands and Sophie Cole certainly fell into this category.
‘People want a bad guy, Fran. The press because it sells papers, the police, because they’ve got a job to do and they want it done. I don’t believe that Martin is involved in Donna’s disappearance, but if people want a villan, don’t give them ammunition. Don’t give them the story of his affair with his lawyer. Don’t turn up here frantic and panicking and expect people not to ask questions, because they will.’
I felt a wave of shame. She was right, of course – and I was supposed to be good at this stuff, thinking four moves ahead, anticipating what the opposition was going to say or do. Today I seemed to be frozen, a seized-up machine.
I sat down on the sleek sofa and Sophie joined me.
‘They can’t charge him,’ she said in a quiet, more reassuring voice. ‘They’ve got nothing on him.’
I closed my eyes and nodded. I wasn’t just the lover, I was the lawyer. I should have been the one reassuring Sophie that Martin would be released without charge, that his arrest was little more than in a bump in the road until we found Donna. But I wanted to hear someone tell me that everything was going to be all right.
I felt Sophie put a reassuring hand on my forearm and I snapped back into the present.
‘Alex is down there with his lawyer. He just texted me. Martin’s fine. He’s made of pretty strong stuff. If the police think they can spook him into making a confession, they’ve picked the wrong man.’
‘Confession?’ I said, flashing her a look.
‘False confession.’ She replied more deliberately.
‘Alex is going to bring him back to our house and we’ll put him up there. Martin’s been photographed coming in and out of the Spitalfields hous
e for the past few days and I’m worried he’ll snap if he’s constantly on his own. And we can look after him of course.’
It made perfect sense to hide Martin away from the long lenses and the insinuations, but at the same time I bristled that it was necessary when he was innocent. Most of all, I knew that it would mean there would be a barrier between us. To protect him – to protect us – I had to keep away.
‘It won’t be forever,’ she said. ‘Just for now. And you know it’s best for Martin.’
Best for the business, I thought.
‘Best for you,’ she added as if she had read my uncharitable thoughts.
‘I won’t come to the office again,’ I said, not looking at her.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’
I nodded quickly. ‘I was just rattled. Thank you for being the voice of reason.’
Sophie paused before she opened the door.
‘I know you love him, but don’t let any man ruin your life,’ she said with quiet steel. ‘You met Martin because he wanted you as his lawyer. And if Martin chose you as his lawyer, that means you’re the best. No man is worth risking that reputation.’
I knew she was right before the words had even left her mouth.
Chapter 28
I wanted to stay in Sophie’s ordered, efficient orbit, but that offer wasn’t on the table. I was dispatched after another call came through from a journalist, and I could tell that my presence made her jumpy.
The concierge flashed me a suspicious glance as I returned to the lobby, but I ignored him and pushed my way through the revolving doors back on to the street.
I felt naked, floundering, when they deposited me back on the pavement. Gripping the fabric of my gown, I wondered what to do next, inhaling deeply, trying to use the fresh air to clear my thoughts. I knew that I should return to court. My briefcase would still be in chambers, that’s if it hadn’t suffered the humiliation of being taken to security. But as it was almost four, when most lawyers had left, or were about to leave court for the day, I figured if I could get to the Strand before the courts closed, I could retrieve my possessions without being seen by anyone I knew.