Private Lives

67



The house was dark when Helen pulled up outside. She pushed her key into the lock, expecting to hear the sound of Graham’s opera records, but there was silence as she walked into the hallway and threw her keys on to the table. She was glad: the grey stillness of the house suited her mood. She wanted to hide, to stay safe in a cloak of darkness where no one could see her or touch her. The bullish ‘let’s conquer this thing together’ resolve she had tried to show Peter earlier in the day had crumbled the moment she had left the Bloomsbury gardens, and she had driven up to Hampstead, walking across the heath, lost in her turbulent thoughts, trying to see a way out of the fog.

She cursed herself for leaving the laptop in the office. It was true that no one other than herself and Larry had access to the vault. But with the pressure of the Balon trial, she had been uncharacteristically careless. She should have known, of course, that Anna Kennedy would not have taken Sam’s overturned injunction lying down. That was why she had hired the girl in the first place: drive, ambition, a nimble mind. But who would have thought she’d have got wind of Amy Hart? Expect the unexpected was the maxim Helen had always drilled into her lawyers, but this time she was the one who had failed to see all the angles.

Walking into the living room, she went straight to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a large brandy, closing her eyes as the liquid slipped down her throat. She almost dropped the glass in fright as a desk lamp flicked on, and she whirled around to see Larry Donovan sitting in her favourite armchair.

‘Jesus, Larry,’ she gasped. ‘You scared me.’

Larry’s face remained impassive, increasing Helen’s unease. She glanced towards the door.

‘Who let you in?’

‘Graham,’ said Larry. ‘He’s gone out. I asked him for a few minutes alone with you.’

‘Oh really? Why?’ she asked, turning back to pour herself another brandy, the decanter rattling against the glass.

She was playing for time, desperately looking for some hole in the net she felt closing in on her, but she knew that Larry knew. Larry always knew. For years he had been her mentor and protector. They had first met when she was a law student scouting around for a job and he was a young, dynamic solicitor about to set up his own practice. In Helen Pierce he had seen something, a kindred spirit. He had recognised her steeliness and taken time to nurture it, encouraging and advising her, favouring her with the best cases, making introductions to all the right people. Unusually for Larry, there had never been any sexual motivation for his help. Not once in their twenty-five-year acquaintance had he tried it on. Instead their relationship was one of mutual respect, and whilst Larry’s profligacy and unreliability had annoyed her in recent years, deep down she had nothing but admiration for him. Fitting, then, that it should be Larry who had come to her at the end.

‘You know why I’m here, Helen,’ he said now. ‘Amy Hart. Anna told me everything.’

Helen snorted.

‘Anna Kennedy has lost the plot,’ she said tartly, throwing the brandy back. ‘She’s been looking for some excuse to shift the blame for her failure in the Sam Charles case. She should not be taken seriously, Larry. In fact, I was going to suggest she take a holiday to sort herself out.’

Larry’s face remained hard.

‘It’s too late for bullshit, Helen. The Chronicle have got hold of the story, and everything Anna has said has checked out.’

‘What has checked out? A load of circumstantial evidence and—’

‘Peter Rees is talking,’ said Larry, stopping her in her tracks. ‘Apparently he’s happy to swear an affidavit about the faulty rig, Amy’s blackmail, his conversation with James Swann to cover it up . . . everything.’

Helen pressed a hand to her chest. Suddenly she couldn’t seem to draw breath.

‘Why, Helen?’ said Larry softly. ‘Why did you get involved? You’re too smart for all this. I taught you better.’

He taught her? she thought, suddenly furious. How dare he? She had held Donovan Pierce together when he was too hung-over to get off his office couch; she had built up its reputation and brought in the biggest accounts while he was off playing golf and chasing secretaries – and now he had the nerve to suggest it was all him?

‘It was just business, Larry,’ she said defiantly. ‘Isn’t that what you taught me? “Business comes first”? Simon Cooper promised us millions of pounds’ worth of work if we’d bury the Amy Hart story. It was a simple transaction.’

She couldn’t tell him the truth. She couldn’t admit to the weakness that had made her say yes to Simon’s proposal. She couldn’t admit she’d done it for love. As if Larry Donovan would understand that.

‘A simple transaction?’ said Larry. ‘A girl was killed, Helen. Is that the kind of bargain you’re prepared to make?’

‘I didn’t know about that,’ she snapped.

‘Of course not,’ he replied.

She looked at him fiercely.

‘Don’t get all pious on me, Larry, for turning a blind eye. Don’t say that you’ve never done it. I know you have. You don’t get to the top without sometimes dealing with the devil.’

‘Maybe, but I never covered for a murderer,’ he growled. Helen thought about pouring herself another drink, but instead banged the glass down on the cabinet. She needed a clear head, needed to think. She could find a way out – why not? She always had before.

‘Are The Chronicle running the story tomorrow?’ she asked. Larry shook his head. ‘I don’t know. But now they have Peter’s testimony, I can’t see why they’d hold back.’

Helen looked at her wristwatch. It was almost eight o’clock. If the paper was going with the story for its first edition, she was sunk. But if they were holding off until their second edition, she could still find a judge to grant a temporary injunction. That would give her breathing space at least.

Larry was reading her mind.

‘You’re not named in this, Helen. I’ve spoken to the editor, asked him to keep you out of it. For now.’

‘I’d say thank you, except I’m not convinced you’re doing this for my benefit.’

‘You’re right. This isn’t about you, Helen. It’s about the firm. I’m not going to let Donovan Pierce suffer because of your idiotic behaviour. Fortunately Media Incorporated want to keep us on side, so far as that’s possible. I’ve also offered them certain other incentives.’

He was a canny bastard, she thought, looking at him with a mixture of loathing and admiration. What had he done to keep the dogs off? It went without saying that he’d have done a deal with Charles Porter. Keep Helen Pierce’s name out of the story and he’d feed them a story about one of his other clients. Just the same as she had done with Sam Charles, but somehow this was worse, more grubby. At least with the Sam Charles case, the media had been an unwitting accomplice. This time Charles Porter was entirely complicit – a deal with the devil indeed.

But Helen wasn’t naive; she knew the bargaining didn’t end there. Larry would want his pound of flesh from her.

‘So what’s the deal, Larry? What do I have to do for this?’

‘I want you to resign from Donovan Pierce,’ said Larry.

‘Resign?’ cried Helen, aghast. ‘I am Donovan Pierce!’

Larry just looked at her.

‘And I want you to sell your equity to me. We may have to do a bit of jiggery-pokery with the partnership agreement to make that happen, but then you’re not against that sort of thing, are you, Helen?’ he added with a knowing smile.

Helen felt faint, but she was still prepared to fight.

‘I know where the bodies are buried too, Larry,’ she said in a more threatening tone. ‘I could ruin your reputation in the blink of an eye, just as you’re trying to destroy me now. Remember that.’

Larry looked unmoved.

‘This offer is more than generous.’ He shrugged. ‘Considering you have broken the law and considering you’re trying to screw my son out of his partnership.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘This is your Get Out of Jail Free card, Helen – literally. You leaked the details of Sam’s case to the media. You did it acting for individuals implicated in the death of a twenty-one-year-old girl. The best-case scenario is that you should be struck off the roll of solicitors permanently. I don’t need to tell you the worst-case scenario, do I? A multi-million-dollar damages claim waiting for you the moment you get out of jail.’

‘You wouldn’t dare do this,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

Larry laughed.

‘Don’t worry, Helen. I already have.’