Page 205 of Private Lives

‘Arse,’ grumbled Larry. ‘Jerry Benson been on, has he? I did mean to return that before I left.’

‘What was it?’

‘Evidence in one of the trials last year; or rather, it was deemed inadmissible due to the coppers involved being on the take. Sorry about this, Matty, but I’d recommend you get that sorted PDQ. Taht’s a big-shot Chinese businessman – not the sort of man you want to get on the wrong side of.’

‘So where is it?’

‘The vault,’ said Larry.

The vault was the Donovan Pierce safe, which was in Helen’s office. Something of a mythical location in the media business, it was supposedly filled with incriminating documents, files and photographs of the great and the good – things that could destroy reputations and ruin careers if they fell into the wrong hands.

‘And it’s fine to return it to Jeremy Benson?’

‘Yes, yes. Make sure you get all the paperwork in order.’

Matt paused.

‘And what’s the combination for the vault?’

‘Helen not given it to you?’

‘No.’

Larry sighed, and then told him the confidential location in the office where he could find it written down.

‘Dad, Helen is trying to push me out of the firm.’

‘What?’

‘One of the trainees heard her conspiring with the other partners. Something about an amendment to the partnership agreement.’

Larry snorted. ‘I’m not bloody having that.’

There was a long pause; Matt could almost hear the devious thoughts going around his father’s head.

‘Bloody bitch,’ muttered Larry. ‘Come round tonight and we’ll get it sorted.’

Matt left Diane with the company credit card and went to sort out Mr Taht’s laptop. The office was empty and strangely forlorn without the usual buzz of conversation and ringing phones. He found the pass code where his father had told him it would be and went straight into Helen’s office. It was a beautiful sunny room with windows overlooking the square, but Matt’s mood was dark, fuming about what Sid had told him. How dare Helen and the others push him out? It wasn’t so much that he felt he had a right to the firm that bore his name; it was the way they were all so nice to his face, then stabbed him in the back at the first opportunity. Then again, what could he expect? Helen and Larry had chosen their workforce for their ambition and ruthlessness. Why should the internal politics be any different?

The vault wasn’t a safe behind an oil painting, but a five-by-eight-foot strongroom opened from an illuminated keypad on the wall. Matt punched in the code, smiling grimly. He was intrigued about what he would find inside. Private Eye had once run a satirical piece on the vault entitled ‘Raiders of the Lost Smut’, speculating on what incendiary stuff it contained.

At first all he could see were rows of steel shelves on both sides of the room, all loaded with brown case boxes, each one marked with a white sticker and a case reference.

Matt felt a tingle of excitement as he walked inside. These innocuous cartons contained the most sensitive material possible: videotapes, boxes of letters, documents and photographs, each file pertaining to a story that had never seen the light of day b

ecause of deals brokered or court orders granted to protect them. What dark secrets lay within them? What scandals might he find if only he had time to rummage about?

‘Concentrate, Matt,’ he said, running his finger across each row, looking for the word ‘Taht’. He couldn’t see anything under that heading, but then he didn’t know anything about the case; it could well be under another name. Sighing, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Larry back.

‘Dad? I can’t see Taht’s computer anywhere. Would it be filed under his name?’

‘Possibly,’ mused Larry. ‘Truth is, I wasn’t that hot about labelling things. Usually things went into the vault with the explicit intention of staying there for ever, so it didn’t seem that important, given that no one except Helen and I had access. Maybe Helen arranged for it to be sent back. Have you spoken to Diane?’

‘She’s in the pub and Helen’s still away,’ said Matt, losing patience. ‘What colour is it?’

‘Silver, black? I don’t know. Laptop colour.’

The phone cut out and Matt looked at the screen: no signal.