Page 159 of Private Lives

He could see he had Kim’s attention.

‘Don’t get me wrong, I loved my mum and she was a brilliant woman. But when my dad hurt her, she took the decision never to see him again. Which meant she took that decision for me too. The other week, he nearly died. You know what I was thinking about as I sat in that hospital waiting room? All the things we never did together.’

Kim turned away from him.

‘I’m divorced too,’ continued Matt, determined to finish his piece. ‘I have a son, Jonas. Me and his mother hated each other for a long time, but without fail, I see him every weekend, every holiday, every Christmas. I’ve never missed the big stuff, but it’s the little stuff, the everyday things, that binds people together.’

She blinked hard and drew herself up in her red high heels.

‘I knew you’d come to work on me.’

‘And I make no apologies for it.’ He paused. ‘Kim, I have no idea what went on inside your marriage, but I know that even if two people can’t live together, a child still deserves to have his dad.’

A tear trickled down her cheek, leaving a white rivulet of foundation.

‘You’ve got a bloody nerve, harassing me like this. Using emotional blackmail to get what you want.’

‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t be talking to you about the case. And if you choose to, you can indeed use this against me. But I’m not talking about the divorce right now. I’m talking about your son.’ He touched her arm and was surprised when she didn’t pull away. ‘Do the right thing, Kim, please. Not because there’s a lawyer breathing down your neck or you’re scared what the press might say about you. Moving to Miami, you might as well be moving to the moon for the amount of time Oliver is going to see Rob. Every child wants his dad. I know, because I’ve been that child.’

Off on the main stage, Chantal was winding up her final song, a big band number complete with horns and gospel choir.

‘She’s finished,’ said Matt. ‘I’d better go.’

As he turned and walked away from Kim, he heard a sound that at first he thought was just the music, until he realised it was a soft and spluttering sob.

49

Once a month, Donovan Pierce’s weekly partners’ meeting was held off the premises in one of the many restaurants that dotted Soho. Usually it took the form of a long lunch, but with the Balon trial taking up so much of her time, Helen had arranged an early supper at Nobu. There were only five partners at the firm: Helen, Matthew and the three junior partners, Alex Bard, Will Proctor and Edward French, all of whom had been elevated to salaried partners by Larry three years before and consequently worshipped the ground Donovan senior walked upon. In fact, Helen had to suppress a smile when Edward, a balding, rather owlish chap, ordered sake for the table. It was exactly the sort of thing that would have got him a slap of approval from Larry.

‘So where’s Matt this evening?’ asked Edward as they all ordered from the vast menu.

‘At some festival in Richmond,’ said Helen.

‘What’s he doing there?’

‘Trailing Anna Kennedy around with his tongue out,’ smirked Alex. He was the youngest of the partners, but he was smart. Helen could see he had potential; none of the others would have dared make fun of Larry’s son, especially with Helen there.

Will Proctor sat forward, perhaps showing himself a little too eager, thought Helen. She had noted with interest how Will always seemed to be leaving the building whenever Anna was, just so they could share the lift down or perhaps a taxi to court, although somehow she doubted that someone as attractive – and as clever – as Anna would go for an overweight vintage car enthusiast still suffering from acne in his mid thirties.

‘So what’s

the gossip?’ Will asked. ‘Is there something going on between Matt and Anna?’

Helen simply raised an eyebrow.

‘One would hope not. But like father, like son,’ she said with a thin, knowing smile.

She was pleased when the three men laughed. Predictably, the young partners had been very much Larry’s boys; even before their promotion, he had often taken them out on his more risqué outings with clients to lap-dancing clubs and late-night drinking dens. Consequently, whenever the partners had had to vote on internal issues, the three younger men had always followed Larry’s lead – and so had Helen, knowing she was outgunned from the start.

But that’s all in the past, thought Helen. Things are about to change around here. She waved the waiter over and ordered a bottle of excellent wine without looking at the menu, knowing that that would impress the others. It was all part of her bigger plan; ever since Larry’s departure, she had been wooing the impressionable younger partners with glimpses of the high life, tastes of what could be theirs if only they played ball. Alex had been given the use of her Devon house for a long weekend with the new girlfriend he was trying to impress, while Edward had been invited to her South Kensington townhouse for an intimate dinner with his fiancée. Helen had been certain they would be blown away by both the size and the gorgeous interior of her home. Will had been even easier; she had arranged for a client to sell him, at a knock-down price secretly subsidised by herself, a pristine 1967 AC Cobra in British racing green. She knew her favour was paying off every time she heard its thrumming engine pulling into the staff car park.

It had been slow, careful work getting them on side, but now it was time for Helen to call in her markers. Her conversation with Timothy Hartnell at her birthday party had only hammered home how badly she had been left exposed when Larry had retired from the firm. She would not be outmanoeuvred again.

‘Actually, I’m glad Matthew’s not here,’ she said, as they sipped the wine. ‘I wanted to raise an issue about the partnership agreement.’

She watched them exchange alarmed glances – that was only to be expected.

‘Donovan Pierce is having a bumper year,’ she began. ‘Every one of us around this table looks set for record fees and I think you’ll all agree that that success is only a reflection of our collective dedication and hard work.’