Private Lives

25



Matthew glanced at his watch as the lift door closed. It was two minutes to nine and he really didn’t want to be late for his first conference. He cursed himself; he never should have stopped off at his father’s Cheyne Walk place on the way to work, but he was a little concerned. Larry hadn’t replied to any of the messages he had left on his voicemail over the past few days. There was nothing unusual about that in the normal scheme of things; in the past, whole years had gone by without a whisper from his father, but now he was convalescing from his heart operation, Matthew had assumed that Larry would have a little more time to keep in touch. As it happened, there had been no reply when he had rung the bell at the house either, not even a housekeeper to answer the door. It was curious, but Matthew resolved to put it out of his mind. Loralee would have let him know if there were any problems, and knowing his father, being out of the loop meant he had probably gone to convalesce in Vegas.

The aluminium doors were just about to close when a hand shot through the gap, jamming it open.

‘Sorry,’ said a flustered Anna Kennedy, slipping inside holding a coffee cup in one hand and a huge pile of files in the other. ‘Morning,’ she said as she struggled to balance them.

‘Let me help,’ said Matthew, grabbing the files just as they were about to slip to the floor.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I need to get these to Helen or she’ll lynch me. Again.’

He smiled.

‘So how’s the Rob Beaumont thing coming on?’ she asked.

‘Actually I have a meeting with him and Kim Collier at nine. It’s the first time we’ve had them in the same room together, so it could go either way.’ He glanced at her with a smile. ‘And before you tell me off, they’re arriving separately through the back door.’

‘You’ve mastered this celebrity thing,’ she laughed as the door pinged open.

‘Speaking of which, you’ve got a fan,’ said Matthew, helping her carry the files down the corridor into her office.

‘Oh yes? Who?’

‘Wayne Nicholls.’

‘A dream come true,’ she said playfully.

‘I mean it. He sent me an email that said something like “she’s a tough bitch”, which I think is the highest level of praise in his world.’

‘Well, I can use that as a reference if Helen still wants to fire me.’

Matt laughed as he walked quickly towards the boardroom, glad that the atmosphere between them had thawed, but his fleeting good mood vanished as soon as he opened the door. Rob was sitting across the table from Kim Collier and her solicitor Chris Snell; the atmosphere in the room was icy, and Rob’s angry expression suggested that there was going to be none of the grown-up, sensible approach to the divorce he had wanted only a few weeks before.

Matt extended his hand towards Snell.

‘Matthew Donovan,’ he said. ‘I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure before.’

‘No indeed,’ said Snell, his eyebrow raising just enough to convey his disapproval.

The London family law circuit was a small world, and Matthew had gone up against the main players countless times, but Chris Snell was top of the food chain. Dark-haired and skeletal, he had been nicknamed ‘The Vulture’ by the broadsheets, as much for his client base of gold-digging trophy wives as for his reputation of being forbiddingly aggressive in his methods.

Matthew glanced at Kim Collier as he sat down next to Rob and pulled out his files. She was certainly beautiful, there was no denying that, but she was clearly furious at being here. Matthew wondered how much that was anger at her soon-to-be-ex-husband and how much was annoyance that, for once, she wasn’t getting her own way.

‘So I think we all want to keep this simple and uncomplicated,’ said Snell briskly.

Matthew nodded.

‘Hopefully we’re not completely past that. But things are definitely more complex than they once were. As I think we all know.’

Snell shrugged. He clearly wasn’t going to give an inch.

‘My client and yours have had initial conversations about the welfare of Oliver and they both agree that it’s in his best interests for him to stay with his mother. Ms Collier has no objections whatsoever to weekend visitation rights. Possibly even one evening visit on a school night.’

‘Like that’s going to be easy when he’s in Miami,’ said Rob, his voice laced with sarcasm.

‘I believe you live within fifteen miles of Heathrow airport, Mr Beaumont,’ said Snell with a wintry smile. ‘I’m sure Ms Collier would welcome you in Miami at any time.’

Kim leaned over and whispered something into Snell’s ear. He nodded.

‘With prior and convenient notice, of course,’ he added.

Matt glanced at Kim. Had that really been necessary? If his reading of her cuttings files were anything to go by, Kim Collier had a reputation as something of a diva and a bitch. He wasn’t sure whether show business attracted bitches, or whether clawing your way to the top made you that way. Certainly it followed that someone as ambitious as Kim would want to win whichever game she was playing, even if it meant trampling on everyone else along the way. Who knew what a nice bloke like Rob had seen in the woman; then again, he too knew the masochistic appeal of a beautiful and difficult woman, which had also ended in tears.

‘As I said, things have become a little more complicated,’ said Matthew, passing a document across to Kim, taking his time as he enjoyed the moment.

‘What’s this?’ she asked, picking it up.

‘Perhaps you should let me look at it first,’ said Snell, snatching it from her. ‘You’re cross-petitioning?’ he said, looking up startled.

Kim glared at Rob, who gave her a weak shrug. If he was enjoying this, he certainly wasn’t showing it. In fact he looked completely miserable.

‘What is it?’ Kim snapped at Snell impatiently.

‘It’s a petition,’ said Snell. ‘Your husband is divorcing you for adultery.’

‘He can’t do that!’ she gasped.

‘I’m afraid he can,’ said Matthew, sliding a ten-by-eight photograph across the table. It was a grainy long-lens shot, but it was clear that it was Kim on a balcony wearing only a bedsheet. She was being embraced by a silver-haired man in his fifties. After the tip-off via Wayne Nicholls, Matthew had handed the more intimate discovery work back to a trusted private investigation company. Kim Collier wasn’t a big star in America and, ignored by the paparazzi, she had clearly let her guard down.

‘For the record,’ said Matt as coolly as he could, ‘the man in the picture is Fabio Martelli, the international hotelier and playboy.’

‘Oh please,’ spat Kim, but she looked away from Rob. Matthew had broken the news to him the evening before and it hadn’t been one of his favourite meetings of all time. Whatever had gone on in their relationship, Rob Beaumont clearly hadn’t anticipated that his wife would cheat on him. He had been devastated.

‘Mr Martelli is based in Miami, I believe,’ continued Matthew. ‘His primary address is about a mile from the Sacred Heart School where Ms Collier has enrolled Oliver.’

Chris Snell pushed his chair back and stood up.

‘I would like a moment with my client,’ he said.

‘Certainly,’ said Matthew, showing them into an adjoining room and closing the door.

‘I hate this,’ said Rob, rubbing his temples.

‘We have to play hardball to get leverage,’ Matt said as reassuringly as he could.

Rob nodded sadly. ‘I get all that,’ he said. ‘I just wish it didn’t have to hurt so much. What did I do?’

Matthew didn’t answer. He suspected Kim was with Fabio for the same reasons Carla had gone off with David; not because they loved them more but because they could provide a better, more comfortable life. Or so he liked to think.

Kim and Snell walked back in, their previous air of confidence slightly dented as they sat down.

‘Regardless of the reasons for the breakdown of this marriage, we both know that when we are considering the arrangements for the child, his welfare must come first. Mrs Collier is his mother. She can provide a stable, loving environment for Oliver.’

‘Five thousand miles away from his father with some bloody playboy?’ snapped Rob, leaning over the table and pointing his finger. ‘I’ll fight you every step of the way. I’m not going to roll over and let that dirty old sod play daddy to Ollie.’

Matt took Rob’s arm, and as gently as he could, sat him back down.

Chris Snell was busy scribbling a note on the pad in front of him.

‘Of course any episode of volatility or aggressive behaviour will be taken into account by the judge when deciding on the remit of any residence order.’

Matt felt sick; no wonder they called Snell the Vulture. The man was genuinely enjoying picking over the bones of this relationship. It wasn’t about getting the best settlement for his client or making sure the children were well cared for; it was about power, about using anything to gain an inch of ground. It was a game. It was his career. Cases like this one were just another case victory at any cost to the people involved, another step on the ladder towards a bigger partnership, the judges’ bench or even a title. Who cared who got hurt along the way?

‘I think we should call this meeting a day, don’t you?’ said Snell, slotting the petition and photograph into his briefcase. ‘We have plenty to go on here.’

‘As you wish,’ said Matthew, his mind already wandering to the next step. He looked at Rob; at the bags under his eyes, the jittery manner. He was taking this hard. He thought back to their first meeting; what was it Rob had said? Something about how he wanted a straightforward divorce. ‘Let’s keep this simple’, wasn’t that what he’d said? No, simple was one thing divorce never was.