Private Lives

43





Dear Anna,



I just wanted to say how much I am going to miss you at Sophie’s wedding. Of course, I understand your reasons for not wanting to be there. I can’t begin to think how hurt you must have been by what she did and I’ll always regret not being there for you more after it happened. For a soldier, I didn’t handle it very well, did I? Burying my head in the sand wishing it hadn’t happened and hoping that things would just get back to normal.



For the record, your mother and I were so angry and disappointed with Sophie for doing what she did to you. Maybe you needed to hear that sooner, but the conflict between you and Sophie has been hard for us. We are Sophie’s parents too, and however much we disapprove of what she did, we still have to keep on loving her. I hope that one day you will forgive her too.



I know it will happen because you are the most bighearted woman I’ve ever met. I know it because you are the smartest, shrewdest, most compassionate daughter a man could wish for. I’ve always been so proud of you, Anna. The clever, enquiring little girl you were. The strong, capable woman you’ve become. The incredible wife and mother I know you will one day be.



You’re a wonderful sister, and I’m sure Sophie wants to tell you that herself too. If you are open to that opportunity, you should know that Mum has arranged a hen-party dinner at the Savoy next Thursday from seven o’clock, with dancing at some nightclub later on. No pressure at all, I just wanted you to know, because everybody would love to see you there. We’re a family, Anna. We miss you and it doesn’t feel right without you.



Anyway, I’ve said my piece. I completely understand how difficult this is for you, and I will respect your decision whatever you choose to do.



Love always, Dad





It was the fifth time she had read her father’s email. For the last ten minutes she had been staring at it, hoping that the more she looked at it, the easier it would be to find the words to reply.

But here she was, the media lawyer, the voracious reader, the first-class communicator – or so the Legal 500 had once described her – struggling to work out what she felt, let alone what to write.

She wished she had a glass of wine or a cigarette. Wished she did not have to deal with this right now. Wished that this whole situation had not made her so bitter and angry, because she knew that before Sophie and Andrew had betrayed her, she was a different person, a better, nicer, happier one. She hated feeling like this, and hated making her father feel like this.

Her hand hovered over the Delete key, then she changed tack and pressed Reply. ‘Thanks for the note, Dad, sorry I can’t make it, have to go to Edinburgh Festival, speak soon. Ax,’ she typed quickly, stabbing the Send key before she had time to think about it any more.

Anna knew her dad wouldn’t try and contact her again about it. He was a quiet, wise man, respectful of other people’s feelings, and he knew when to bow out. Living all those years with her mother had taught him that.

But as she turned away from her computer, she pictured him sitting in his kitchen office reading it, shaking his head with disappointment, and felt a flood of guilt and shame. Her breath quickened as hot tears collected and pricked the back of her eyes. Through the glass window of her office she could see Matt Donovan glancing over as if he wanted to speak to her. There was no way she was going to let him see her cry. She stumbled up from behind her desk and raced to the ladies’, ducking into a toilet cubicle and closing the door. She pulled the seat down and sat on it, pushing her thumbs on to her eyelids to stave off emotion.

Outside the stall, she could hear the click-clack of court shoes entering the bathroom. Someone was talking; a one-way conversation as if they were on the phone. The voice was low, but she recognised it immediately: Sid Travers, her trainee.

‘Look,’ said Sid, ‘I know they’ve fired me, but it still doesn’t make it right doing it. I feel dreadful.’

There was a long pause, whilst Sid evidently listened to her caller.

‘But I need the money.’

Anna’s ears pricked up. Money?

A pause, then Sid continued: ‘No, she doesn’t know, of course she doesn’t. She would go absolutely mad.’

The pitch of her voice rose with aggravation.

‘Because I should have come clean but I didn’t, did I?’ she hissed. ‘And now, after everything that’s happened, now they’ll never understand it and hate me for being a liar.’

Anna grimaced. The one-sided conversation made it impossible for her to know what Sid was talking about, but she had a slow, sinking feeling about what it could be. She recalled her conversation with Blake Stanhope, when he had said, ‘Have you ever considered that the leak came from your end?’

Sid had definitely known about the injunction and about Sam’s infidelity. They had openly discussed it in meetings with Helen in the boardroom. And something else too: Katie Grey’s mobile phone photograph of her and Sam in bed had been sent to Anna’s computer terminal. How hard would it have been for Sid to make a copy?

She strained her ears again. Sid seemed to be winding up her telephone call.

‘All right, I’ll come,’ she said. ‘But I don’t know what I’m going to say to get out of work.’

The heels clicked back out. Anna shook her head in disbelief. Could it really have been Sid who had leaked the Sam Charles story to the press? And if so, then who the hell was she just talking to? The person who had paid her to do it?

She left the bathroom in time to see Sid disappear into the kitchen to make a coffee. Returning quickly to her office, she busied herself behind her desk as if she had never left.

A few minutes later, Sid appeared at the door with two drinks.

‘Coffee?’ she said, holding up a mug.

‘Thanks,’ said Anna, as breezily as she could.

Sid stepped into the office and placed the coffee on the desk.

‘Listen, Anna, I need a big favour.’

Anna raised her eyebrows.

‘Go on.’

‘I have to go in twenty minutes. Is that a problem?’

‘Well it’s not great, Sid,’ she said looking at her watch. ‘It’s not even three thirty. You know how busy we are with the trial. What is it?’

The trainee dropped her head. ‘It’s important.’

In normal circumstances Anna would have given her a hard time about it, perhaps even refused to let her go unless she had a very good excuse, but today wasn’t normal. If there was any chance of finding out who was behind the leak, she’d have to let her leave. Still, she had to make it convincing.

‘Fine, go if you must,’ she said. ‘You can make the hours up tomorrow night. That’s if nothing “important” is going to happen then.’ She felt a bitch, but she was angry.

‘No,’ said Sid gratefully. ‘Thanks, Anna.’

Anna watched Sid pick up her bag and quickly leave the office. Whoever had called her was obviously in a hurry. As soon as she was out of the door, Anna grabbed her own bag and followed. As she came out of the revolving doors on to the street, she could already see Sid leaving Broadwick Street, heading into Soho.

Where was she going? Anna gave chase, keeping a decent gap between them in case Sid should turn around and see her. The Friday-afternoon commuter rush was building as they crossed Shaftesbury Avenue into Chinatown, but Sid’s russet hair made her easy to spot in a crowd. Finally she disappeared into Leicester Square tube station. Anna walked cautiously down the stairs – she didn’t want to run into her in the ticket hall – but Sid was already through the barriers, heading for the Northern Line. Anna prided herself on her intuition, and she had always known there was something wrong with Sid. Her work was good, excellent at times, but she didn’t seem to have the dedication of the other trainees, lacked their willingness to work through the night on a case if necessary and never socialised or schmoozed. Which probably explained why she had been told they wouldn’t be renewing her contract. Donovan Pierce was a firm made in the image of Helen and Larry and if you weren’t prepared to match their twenty-four-hour commitment to the job, you were never going to climb the ladder there.

A train was just pulling in to the platform with a rush of air, and Anna saw Sid jump into a carriage towards the front. Anna took a seat at the end of the next carriage, just far enough to be out of sight, but close enough that she would see when Sid got off. She had to wait several stops. At Clapham South, she followed Sid up the escalator and out on to the busy crossroads. She had to trot to keep up – she couldn’t lose her now. Crossing into a maze of residential streets, Sid turned on to a quiet road made up of Victorian terraces with tiny front gardens. To Anna’s surprise, she turned and walked up to an ordinary front door and disappeared inside. Who the hell was she meeting in there?

Anna watched the house from the other side of the road. This is ridiculous, she told herself. Go and confront her.

Hesitantly she walked up to the door, but before she could knock, she heard raised voices inside. They were muffled, but she could hear the words ‘selfish’ and ‘money’: tempers were frayed. Suddenly the door flew open and a middle-aged woman came out, pulling on a cardigan. Seeing Anna, she stopped in her tracks.

‘Is Sid there?’ asked Anna quickly.

The woman looked over her shoulder.

‘Sid. Here.’ Her voice was slow, cautious.

Sid appeared in the corridor. Anna could barely see her, her eyes finding it hard to adjust from the outside light, but as she focused, she could see that her trainee was holding a small child.

‘I have to go,’ said the middle-aged woman, hurrying off.

Anna and Sid just looked at each other.

‘Want another coffee?’ said Sid finally. ‘I don’t suppose you drank much of the last one I made you.’

Anna closed the door and the child, a boy she noted, started crying. She followed Sid into the kitchen. Sid put the child down on a colourful mat strewn with toys, where he began to play happily.

‘So now you know I have a son,’ she said crisply.

‘I didn’t want to pry,’ said Anna guiltily.

Sid looked unconvinced.

‘Don’t worry. I’ve been expecting this for months. And you know what? I actually feel relieved. It’s been hard living a lie for so long. I had to keep going for Charlie,’ she said, indicating the toddler.

Anna nodded, unable to think what to say. All the time she’d been following Sid, she’d been rehearsing a speech about loyalty and commitment and how she felt let down. But now she saw just how horribly wrong she’d been about the girl.

‘Helen’s not going to like it,’ she said with a wry smile.

Sid laughed. ‘Who cares what Helen thinks? I’ve only got two weeks left at the place anyway. The problem is I haven’t found another job yet, and if this gets out . . . I might find it more difficult than I am already. Single mums aren’t exactly top of corporate recruiters’ lists, are they?’

Anna wondered if she had any sway at the firm. Maybe Matt Donovan might be receptive to finding Sid more work. After all, she’d heard he had a child of his own.

‘That was my mum who just left,’ added Sid. ‘I still live with my folks and Mum looks after Charlie while I’m at work. She’s brilliant, but sometimes she gets frustrated with it all, like today, when she’s got other stuff to do . . .’

‘I heard you on the phone at work. That’s why I followed you. I wondered what was going on.’

‘Why, what did you think it was?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Anna quickly.

‘Come on, you followed me for some reason,’ Sid chided.

Anna felt on the spot.

‘I heard you talking about needing money . . .’

Sid laughed. ‘Thought I was selling secrets to the Sun, did you?

‘Something like that.’

‘Still pissed off about the Sam Charles injunction?’

‘It’s not a question of being pissed off, Sid, it’s about finding out what went wrong.’

‘Let it go, Anna,’ said Sid passionately. ‘People have stopped talking about it, the work is piling in for you, and I know you’re speaking to Sam because he phoned the office for you the other day. Oh shit, I forgot to pass the message on . . .’

Anna laughed off her embarrassment. Sam had been ringing her every couple of days; checking in, he called it, but there was something about their contact that felt illicit.

She looked over at Charlie.

‘He’s beautiful, Sid,’ she said, feeling a warm glow that surprised her.

‘I know.’ Sid grinned.

‘Is his dad in the picture?’ she asked as diplomatically as she could.

Sid shook her head.

‘I got pregnant at law school. Max, Charlie’s father, was a student at LSE. American, rich. Not sure what he saw in me.’ She smiled. ‘We decided to keep it, we were going to get married, set up home, all that romantic crap. He was going to live off his trust fund and look after the baby while I did my training contract.’

‘So what happened?’

She gave a cold laugh.

‘Have a guess. That bohemian romantic ideal lasted for about a nanosecond, until his parents heard about it and went bananas. He left me a note and buggered off back to America the second he graduated.’ She shrugged. ‘It was too late for an abortion. His family offered me a thousand dollars a month maintenance, but I told them to stuff it. They’ve never even met their grandson.’

‘But I don’t understand how you’ve kept it hidden all this time.’

‘My closest friends at law college knew,’ said Sid, ‘but I didn’t tell anyone else. I only started showing at six and a half months, and by then everyone was too wrapped up in their final exams to notice I’d got a bit porky.’

‘Didn’t you think people would find out?’

Sid raised an eyebrow.

‘I’d landed the Donovan Pierce job before I got pregnant, and when Charlie was born at thirty-four weeks I realised that I could start work in the September after law school finished as planned. I wanted to qualify as quickly as possible and start earning some decent money so I could make a life for us. On the first day I joined the firm, I went to see Helen Pierce, ready to tell her I had a four-week-old baby, but I just couldn’t. And the longer I left it, the more impossible it became to say anything.’

‘But Sid, you should have. Instead, people think you’re not committed to the job, when you’ve just got other commitments.’

‘Wouldn’t have washed though, would it, Anna? You must know how hard it is. How few women make partner. Are you telling me it’s because men are better at their jobs than women? I don’t think so.’

Anna felt both sad and relieved. Thankful that Sid had not been the source of the leaked Sam Charles story; yet depressed that this smart young woman had been booted from the firm for being twice as strong and resourceful as the other trainees.

Her phone was ringing. Helen Pierce would be back from court, wondering where her associate was. How was she going to explain that she was in the depths of south London?

‘Can I just take this?’ she whispered to Sid, walking into the next room. She was surprised to hear not Helen’s voice but Phil Berry’s.

‘It looks like Ruby Hart was right,’ he said without preamble. ‘Louise Allerton left her job at Class magazine for no apparent reason three days after Amy died. As far as her old boss knew, she didn’t have another job to go to, and actually he was very surprised she resigned because she’d just got a promotion to beauty editor. She seemed to be loving her job.’

‘Any reason why she went?’

‘I tracked down her mother, but she wasn’t exactly forthcoming. Claimed she didn’t have a clue where her daughter was.’

‘So she could be anywhere?’ said Anna disappointedly.

‘Not quite. Turns out Mum was lying through her teeth. She wired money to a bank in Alappuzha, Kerala, a month ago.’

Anna knew better than to ask him how he found this stuff out.

‘Kerala? Is that India?’

‘The southern tip. I phoned round all the hotels, hostels, backpacker places. A place called the Sea View Hotel says she checked in late January.’

‘And is she still at the Sea View?’

‘No,’ said Phil. ‘She stayed a month, then left.’

‘And we’ve got no mobile phone number for her, no Facebook page, even?’

‘No, she’s lying low, this one.’

I wonder why, thought Anna. She was already convinced that this girl knew something about Amy Hart’s death.

‘So what now?’ This couldn’t be the end of the line. It just couldn’t be.

‘To be honest, Anna, it’s difficult to do much more without going to India, but I don’t know how much your client wants to find this out. How much he’s willing to pay.’

‘The client’s got money,’ said Anna slowly. ‘I just need to find out if he’s prepared to spend it.’

Sam had invited her to see him in Edinburgh. She would feel too much like a groupie if she just turned up, but now there was a reason.

She would go to him. She had to go to him.