Joanna unslung her shoulder bag and reached in to retrieve the car key. ‘Robbie, you’ve not been flirting with disaster. You’ve been sending disaster roses and chocolates for years now. You and disaster are practically engaged!’
‘Come on, Jo. Don’t be such a pessimist. We’ll get through this somehow. I’ll think of something.’
‘Will you?’
‘I always do. Remember how Mrs Howie is standing by her man? How about you stand by yours?’
‘My man?’
‘You know what I mean. Your boss slash potential business partner who also happens to be a man. Tell you what. I’ll head through to Glasgow tomorrow morning. Your rape is on an old legal aid certificate so I’m okay to deal with it. You can zoom off to the Sheriff Court and take care of any new stuff that comes in there.’
Joanna screwed up her face. ‘That could work…’
‘But?’
‘But we might not have any custody clients tomorrow and, anyway, it’s my case. Mr Howie will be giving his evidence soon and I think I should be there when he does.’
My mobile phone buzzed. ‘Private Number’ flashed up which usually meant the police with intimation of a recently arrested client who’d be going to court in the morning. I showed Joanna the screen. ‘That’ll be the cops,’ I said, in an I-told-you-so sort of a way. But it wasn’t. Not this time.
‘Is that you, Robbie?’
It took a second or two for the voice to register with me. ‘Yes it’s me, Billy. Where are you?’
‘Never mind. We need to talk.’
‘I tried to talk to you on Saturday. You saw how that went.’
‘You took me by surprise. I’d had a bit to drink.’
‘It was ten in the morning.’
‘Aye, well, for me it was still the night before the morning after. Listen, I’m right off the drink and have got my head out my arse. I know what I need to do.’
‘I hope so because the cops are out looking for you.’
‘Good,’ he said, ‘I’m looking for them. I want you to set up a meet. Got to go, I’ll phone you tomorrow.’ And with that the line went dead.
Joanna squeezed her key fob. Orange lights blinked in the darkness. ‘Who’s been lifted this time? I suppose I’ll have to cover the Sheriff Court after all.’
‘No, you won’t,’ I said, holding the car door open for her. Visions of Sir Philip Thorn’s corpulent promissory note danced in my head. ‘This is one client I can take care of myself.’
16
‘What’s it say now?’ I asked.
The shadow of my dad fell heavily across my daughter’s face, and the rest of her body, and her bed, indeed across most of the small room. He shoved the thermometer under my nose for the umpteenth time. ‘Still a hundred and two.’
On our return from Sandy’s it had been a normal night for Tina: some TV, a game of dominoes, a bath and a bedtime story. All routine stuff, until supper time when she’d declared herself to be not hungry. Not even for milk and a biscuit. Nothing like that had ever happened before. She looked pale. Next thing she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to go to bed. I felt like the world was tumbling around me.
I took the thin glass tube from my dad and held it up to the light. Why did they make the things so difficult to read? ‘It’s a hundred. Not a hundred and two. I think it’s coming down.’
There was a series of rapid knocks followed immediately by the sound of someone marching into the cottage. Kaye Mitchell appeared, framed in the bedroom doorway, hands on hips. ‘Right, you two. Out!’ Without a word we obeyed, Kaye snatching the thermometer from my hand as we filed past.
The bedroom door closed and opened again with an order for a glass of water. Five minutes later Kaye was in the kitchen where my dad and I awaited her diagnosis, both of us standing by the big wooden table, too worried to sit down.
Kaye, editor of the Linlithgowshire Journal & Gazette, wasn’t medically trained, but she was a friend, and, as the mother of a child who age-wise had reached double figures, I figured she had to have been doing something right all this time. She’d also agreed to make a home visit, not something you could expect on the NHS.
‘She’s not well,’ Kaye said, looking around for the kettle. ‘You both having tea?’
‘What do you mean, not well?’ I asked, ‘Is it serious?’
Kaye found the kettle and began filling it at the big Belfast sink that was filled with dirty crockery. ‘I think it’s that flu bug that’s doing the rounds.’
‘I go down the pub for five minutes and this is what happens,’ my dad muttered.
‘Five minutes?’ I said. ‘More like three hours.’
‘Oh, I see. I’m not supposed to go down my local once in a while because you can’t look after your wean? The Olympic torch goes out more than me these days, and, when I do, I come back to find this place is like Emergency Ward Ten.’
I wasn’t letting him get away with that. ‘You better not be trying to blame me for Tina not being well. Who do you think’s given her the flu?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you. Hanging about her, sniffing and sneezing, spreading germs. There’s probably a flu factory going on in that moustache of yours.’
‘Or,’ Kaye said, thinking she was charging to the old man’s rescue, ‘it might not be the flu at all. It could be the side effects of two ice cream floats on top of sausage, beans and chips.
‘That second ice cream was down to you,’ I hissed, jabbing a finger at my dad.
‘Will you two quit blaming each other and listen?’ Kaye lit the hob and put the kettle on to boil. ‘To be on the safe side we better take the worst case scenario and deal with it. Plenty of rest and sips of water. Keep a basin and a towel by the bed in case she’s sick. If things get worse, or if she’s not any better in a couple of days, you’d better take her to the doctor.’
‘Well that’s Disney out the window,’ my dad said, a trifle too enthusiastically. ‘She’s supposed to fly out on Friday. That’s not happening now. I’d better away and give her gran a call.’
‘She’ll be fine,’ Kaye assured me, after my dad had gone off to use the phone in the hall. There was a cordless one he kept leaving around the house in ever new and interesting places. Every time it rang we had to hunt for it. Tina thought it was a game. Eventually I’d wrapped a piece of string around the handset and tied it to the leg of the old telephone table. ‘Kids. One minute they’re looking sick and pathetic, the next they’re up bouncing around.’
‘What about her temperature and the hot flushes?’
‘I think we can rule out the menopause for another fifty years or so, but you will need to keep an eye on her. Give her some kids’ paracetamol, that’ll help, and, like I say, make sure she drinks plenty. Keep her fluid balance up.’
First there was my own fluid level to top up. Kaye had filled the kettle far too full and the water was only now starting to boil. She sat down at the table. I remained standing, not yet sufficiently at ease to be making myself comfortable. Not when my daughter was lying ill just a few feet away. I made myself useful by fetching the teapot and taking two mugs and my dad’s giant china cup and saucer down from a cupboard. ‘Thanks for coming round, Kaye. Tina’s had the occasional sore tummy before, but nothing like this. I think I panicked when I saw how white she was and then her temperature.’
‘No problem. Kids are a worry. She’ll be fine. Just be grateful you’ve got a daughter to look after you in your old age. Me? I had to get a son, didn’t I? Never mind Alzheimer’s. First time I forget where I’ve parked the car he’ll have me in a home for the bewildered.’ Kaye lifted a newspaper from the table and absent-mindedly studied my dad’s half-finished crossword. ‘Anyway, where’s the lovely Vikki? I thought she was the expert when it came to children?’
‘Good at the theory,’ I said, taking a carton of milk from the fridge. ‘Not so good at the practical.’
‘Still, I’ve got to hand it to you, Robbie. After that terrible business w
ith Jill jilting you for what’s-his-name.’
‘Hercule.’
‘Yeah, whatever did she see in that suave, sophisticated multi-millionaire? No, after the shock of that I thought you might take things easy on the romance front, but here you are, back on the horse, riding off into the sunset with—’
‘Vikki dumped me.’
Kaye sat up as I put a mug of tea in front of her. ‘When did this happen?’
‘Tonight at Sandy’s. You should have been there. Everyone else was.’
‘Then…’ Kaye took a quick sip of tea and made a face. ‘Sugar?’ I brought the bowl to her. She scooped in two teaspoons’ full and gave her tea a stir.
‘Then I have some very good news for you,’ she said.
17
‘Robbie? You? Really? A blind date?’ Grace-Mary looked at Joanna, Joanna looked at me.
‘It’s not exactly blind,’ I said.
‘Short-sighted?’ Joanna suggested.
‘What I mean is that she knows who I am.’ It was hard not to sound conceited so I didn’t try not to. ‘By reputation.’
‘And that’s not put her off?’ Grace-Mary asked.
If Joanna had an opinion on the matter she kept it to herself for about two seconds. ‘Grace-Mary’s right, Robbie. Do you really want to meet a girl who knows your reputation and still wants to go out on a date?’
My secretary gave her a fist-bump and then held Joanna’s satchel out to her. My glamorous assistant was bound for Glasgow High Court for what was shaping up to be the penultimate day of HMA -v- Keith Howie.
‘It’s only a date,’ I said. ‘Kaye seems to think we’re well suited.’
‘Kaye?’ Assistant and secretary groaned in unison.
‘Yes, Kaye. She’s a good friend. When I told her about Vikki, she said that my blind-date-to-be has just come out of a relationship too. She thinks we should both get back up on the horse without further delay.’
Joanna took the satchel and slung her bag over a shoulder. ‘Robbie, you fell off your horse less than twenty-four hours ago. Don’t you think you should look around the stable before you jump on the first old nag that comes along?’
‘We’re only meeting for a drink,’ I said, ‘but I will give her teeth a check, first chance I get.’
Joanna hadn’t dropped into the office first thing just to make derisory comments on my love life. She could do that anytime. She’d forgotten to take her satchel with her the night before, otherwise she would have gone straight to court. I took the opportunity of catching a lift with her. I had my own business to attend to in Glasgow that morning. We made the forty-minute drive in under thirty thanks to Joanna’s Mercedes SLK AMG, spoils of the infamous Lawrence Kirkslap case. What I wouldn’t have given for a few more private patients like Larry.
We travelled mostly in silence. Whenever I tried to start up a conversation I only received the briefest of responses from Joanna, which was not like her. What was the matter? She’d been fine last night. Either she was not happy about the legal aid situation or she was deep in thought about her High Court case. It definitely couldn’t be concern over Tina’s health, because, to avoid accusations along the lines of why wasn’t I with her?, I’d not raised the subject. It had been hard enough to justify my absence to myself without involving Joanna. I really didn’t want the flu. It wasn’t going to help anyone if I was laid up for a week. Surely Tina would be safe enough with my dad? He’d brought me and Malky up himself, hadn’t he? We must have been ill sometimes and we were still hanging together.
‘You’ll be glad when this case is over and done with,’ I said, as Joanna pulled into the carpark not far from the Saltmarket. The trial would have been over by now if not for jurors dropping like flies from the flu. Their illness had resulted in a number of lost days. So far they’d only had three days of evidence, and three High Court days was not a long period of time, although sometimes it felt like it. Ten o’clock start, a break for elevenses, lunch from one till two and the judge looking at her watch from around the half past three mark.
At the last calling they’d managed to assemble thirteen able bodies out of a possible fifteen. It had been seen as an improvement so the judge told the lawyers to crack on with what they had or the trial would never finish.
‘Make the most of it,’ I said in reply to Joanna’s latest non-committal grunt. ‘After this you’ll be back to the Sheriff Court. You’re going to be one busy girl dealing with all those legal aid cases.’
But even that most controversial of topics didn’t spark a response. It was for the best. Although I needed to talk to her about the future of the business, I had neither the time nor inclination to do so right at that moment.
I clambered out of the sports car and looked in at my assistant who was collecting her baggage for the day ahead while, it seemed, trying to avoid eye contact with me. ‘Joanna...?’
‘Yes?’ she said absently, rummaging around in her bag for goodness knows what. ‘Oh, is that you away? Okay, g’bye then. If I don’t see you, have a good blind-date.’ Joanna alighted. Even laden down by shoulder-bag and satchel, she still extricated herself from the tight confines of the sports car interior with a deal more grace than I’d managed.
‘If you’re done for police assault I’ll be happy to defend you,’ I said, trying and failing to inject some humour. ‘And remember what I said about partnership. Me and you. My offer stands.’
As Joanna stood up straight, her eyes met mine over the roof of the car. She held my gaze like she was holding me by the throat. ‘Yeah, but maybe it’s the wrong one.’
18
‘I can’t really spare the time, Robbie.’
Maggie Sinclair quickened her stride, extending her lead over me down the corridor to her room at the far end. I knew she never darkened the door of her office until around ten and so I’d taken up position just inside the front door of Caldwell & Craig well in advance.
‘I just need a quick word.’
‘Sorry, I don’t want any discussion about it. Just tell me when you’ve found him.’
‘I’ve found him.’
Maggie skidded to a halt on the polished wood floor and about-faced. ‘Where is he?’
‘I don’t know. Not exactly. Not right now at this precise moment.’ Maggie turned on a heel and set off again with me following. I caught her up at the door to her office. ‘But I do know where he will be at eleven o’clock this morning.’
‘And where is that?’
‘That’s the thing,’ I shimmied past her into the room. ‘I’d really like to firm up on the finder’s fee, and—’
‘There’s an “and”?’ Maggie stood with her back to me. I wondered why and then realised she was waiting for me to help her off with her coat. I did. She took it from me, put it on a wooden hanger and hung it on a coat stand in the corner. The only other thing on it was an ancient black gown, which was there to impress the clients. Maggie did court about as often as Santa did Easter.
‘Okay,’ she leaned against the edge of her desk to indicate this wasn’t to be a sit-down meeting. ‘The finder’s fee is five thousand. I’m happy to split it down the middle.’
Not bad. But why would Maggie be happy with an even division? Okay, so she had simply sub-contracted the job to me, still there was no way Maggie Sinclair was doing any kind of job for a knight of the realm and taking twenty-five hundred for the trouble.
‘I think maybe I’ll tell Sir Philip the news myself,’ I said. ‘See if I can’t get him to up the price a bit.’
Maggie put a finger to her temple and looked at the ornate coving. ‘It could have been six thousand.’
It wasn’t enough. Not now that I had an inkling as to why Sir Philip would want to speak to Billy. I thought I could do better.
Maggie pushed herself from the desk. ‘You’re in a hole...’ She’d either heard about my Legal Aid Board striking-off or just assumed I was always in one hole or another. ‘And when I try to pull you out, this is the thanks I get?’
>
‘You’ll need to reach down into this particular hole a little deeper,’ I said, making as if to leave, just a drop of the shoulder, the faintest turn of my head, nothing I couldn’t recover from if the bluff didn’t work. Three grand sounded not too bad right at that moment.
‘It could have been ten. Yes, I think it was ten. I was getting myself confused it’s five thousand each, not between us.’
Five thousand? Much more like it, except even yet I didn’t believe her. Still, the week before Christmas, it would do me fine if I could get my hands on the money quickly enough.
‘I’d like cash. Or a bank draft.’
‘That can be arranged. First of all I need to know where the man is and be able to confirm it for myself.’
I hesitated.
‘Oh, yes, I forgot,’ Maggie rolled her eyes. ‘You had an “and”.’
‘Why is Thorn so keen on finding my client?’
Maggie shrugged.
‘Is it to do with the death of his son?’
‘Who cares?’
I did. Sort of. Though the thought of five thousand in readies had helped alleviate my concerns. ‘What kind of man is Philip Thorn?’
‘A very rich one. I thought we’d covered that.’
‘I mean what kind of person is he?’
‘The Internet has reached Linlithgow, hasn’t it, Robbie? I realise you may have to go down to the village well and collect it in buckets, but you do have access?’
‘What I want to know isn’t on Google,’ I said, though there was plenty of information on Philip Thorn available online. He was a self-acclaimed entrepreneur and risk-taker. Starting out in business life as a lad with only a second-hand Rolls Royce, modest office premises on Sauchiehall Street and the financial safety net of an immensely rich industrialist father, Philip had tried and failed with any number of ventures; moving in and out of various sectors just as the clever people were moving out and in.
With the new millennium came success at last. Thorn’s entertainment company, Blunt Instrument, famed for a series of crash-landed TV pilots and washed-out soap operas, turned to music. Sir Philip’s company found the talent, hired the songwriters, supplied the session musicians and paid the critics for glowing reviews. Over the next decade it pumped out a succession of girl and boy bands like an over-active intestinal tract after a dodgy curry.
Present Tense Page 9