Blood Ties (23 page)

When Robert did finally manage to produce words that were connected with what was really on his mind, they were broken and incomplete and skirted hesitantly around the issue that he had reason to believe his wife was once a prostitute.

‘Basically, we’re not getting on too well. Bit of a mess, truth be told. Stuff in the past, that kind of thing.’ Robert knocked back his drink.

Den shifted uneasily and waited. Dealing regularly with difficult clients, he knew that squeezing facts, the extra gem that could secure victory in court, depended on giving them time, room to think. Leave a big gap for the truth after all the lies and confusion are done with.

But when, after several minutes had passed and Robert continued to drop further from reality with the weight of his problems, Den realised that his usual tactic wasn’t going to work. He said, ordering rather than asking, ‘Dinner at my house tonight. I’ll call Tula and let her know. If you need, you can stay overnight.’

Robert nodded and held up his glass for a refill. As he downed the next shot, his head and chest began to unravel and Erin and Baxter King and Jed Bowman and Ruby’s new boyfriend all went a little muzzy at the edges.

 

Den instructed Robert to go for a head-clearing walk while he wrapped up some work on a case due in court first thing in the morning. He said they would leave the office at six because Tula always served dinner at seven and that would give them time for a pre-dinner drink and private chat in the library before they ate.

Robert was comforted by the routine of it and did as he was told by taking a walk through Greenwich Park. He ended up beside the Roman ruins, a spot where he and Erin had taken picnics on several occasions soon after they’d met. Their stroll along Lovers’ Walk had sent pinwheels of excitement through him as he anticipated what it would be like to make love to the exquisite and mysterious woman he had recently met. Just the suggestion of anything to do with lovers while he was in Erin’s company – be it a film or book or the words of a song – aroused him insanely. But the best part, and he wanted to savour it for as long as possible, was the waiting, the not having her completely. He treated her like one of the rare flowers in the shop where he had first noticed her, arranging displays and dealing with paperwork while he watched and pretended to choose flowers. He cared for her like he wanted the exotic beauty to last forever. Even then, he knew he would love her. Even then, he knew flowers wilted.

Robert walked back towards the boating lake and took a bus, something he never did, and returned to the office. Den had been right. The still summer air and hazy sunshine had eased the pressure in his head and for half an hour at least he had been able to think of the good times he and Erin had shared. It made everything seem not so hopeless. That even if Baxter King was right, that if his wife did have a messed-up past, there was a flicker of optimism he might be able to deal with it.

Now he was standing in the Masons’ kitchen, a thirty-foot-square room with stainless-steel appliances and a black and white checked floor, while Den popped the cork on a bottle of Faustino.

Tula was like a tiny mammal, Robert thought, as she scurried about the vast room in which everything was enormous. Even the refrigerator was the size of a double wardrobe. Tula wore tight black trousers with a lacy top stretched over her new, improved breasts, and a mass of gold jewellery accented her neck which was ridiculously smooth for a woman of her age. She also had on a navy and white striped butcher’s apron which, because she was so petite, came down past her knees.

‘My poor darling,’ she’d crooned when Den and Robert had arrived. Robert thought she was talking to her husband but was quickly embraced by the spindly woman, who had to stand on her toes to kiss him. ‘Den’s told me you have woman troubles again. And so soon into your marriage.’ Tula returned to the car-sized professional cooking range and stirred a sauce. ‘You want to do what Denny does to me, sweetie, when we have a tiff. Send her off to a health farm. It’ll do her no end of good. She’s obviously stressed and probably needs a good detox.’ Tula dipped her finger in the sauce and tasted it. ‘I can give you a number.’

Robert smiled, warmed by the familiarity and inane comments that he could always rely upon from Tula. Everything about her had been reshaped or uplifted or enhanced or implanted or removed. When she wasn’t in a Harley Street clinic begging her beloved surgeon to take away just a little more of her nose or to stretch her skin a little tighter, she was either at Madeley’s, the private club where he and Den played squash, being massaged or cleansed or shrunk in some kind of wrap, or she was lunching with friends, planning their next tropical vacation. And children weren’t a possibility for the couple, even if Den had wanted a family. Her body, she’d said, would be ruined.

Robert loved Tula deeply. She was everything he didn’t want in a woman and they got along flawlessly.

‘Come here,’ he said, placing his wine glass on the marble worktop. ‘I’m being rude.’ He walked up to Tula and grabbed her round the shoulders, lifting her off the floor. He pressed his face into her stiff, dazzling blonde hair and kissed her head. ‘I’m a grumpy old sod at the moment so forgive me. It’s good of you to have me over and dinner smells . . .’ he took the wooden spoon from Tula and tasted the redcurrant and rosemary sauce, ‘it smells and tastes divine. Just what I need.’

‘Summer lamb.’ She grinned up at him. ‘You can’t beat it.’

Den guided Robert into his library. Their footsteps echoed as they walked through the Travertine-lined reception hall and into the oak-panelled room that was Den’s private retreat. ‘Welcome to my botox-free zone,’ Den had said when he’d first shown Robert around their newly acquired pseudo-Georgian house. ‘Tula and her cronies aren’t allowed in here. Strictly off limits.’

The room had everything he needed – a plasma screen television concealed behind an oil painting of a hunting scene, a well-stocked bar with built-in refrigerator, a mahogany desk which masked the latest computer technology, a half-sized snooker table, a dark green leather suite positioned around the fireplace, and a wall of well-stocked bookshelves. Robert could see no reason why his partner needed the rest of the house, except when he had to eat or bathe.

But Robert wasn’t envious of Den’s fortune. His father, the late William Edmond Frederick Mason, had set up Mason & Mason nearly fifty years ago with his own father. When Den’s grandfather passed away, Den naturally filled the gap, having newly graduated from law school.

Robert had qualified at the same time but instead of having an easy passage into a family firm in the City, he fought his way through provincial firms further north. The experience he gained was invaluable and when Den’s father died of a heart attack, Robert was the man Den called upon to become his new partner and Mason & Mason became Mason & Knight.

But the old firm, in the last years of William Mason’s life, had lost the prestige it once had. Too ill to keep the important corporate clients he had nurtured for decades, Mason senior entrusted the business mostly to his son, Dennis, who spent the next few years enjoying the good life. Mason & Mason suffered as a consequence. Most of the cases they dealt with now were matrimonial, with the occasional litigation client coming their way. But it was a living, and these days a good one; Mason & Knight had earned a reputation as a specialist international family law firm.

Den had finally succumbed to routine. Perhaps more a result of age and lack of time than anything else, although once or twice a year he treated himself to an extra-marital fling. But Den was a loyal friend and an invaluable ally so Robert kept quiet.

‘Is she getting it elsewhere?’ Den eased himself into a chair.

‘Not that simple.’ Robert didn’t think he was capable of divulging everything he’d discovered about Erin’s history and he certainly didn’t want Den to know that he’d been digging through Erin’s private letters. It smacked too much of last time. ‘Suffice it to say that she’s lied to me and even when I confront her with what I know, she still won’t admit it.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘At home, with Ruby. Keeping a close eye on her, I hope. Ruby’s got a new boyfriend. A bloody gypsy, would you believe.’ Robert leaned forward, the leather squeaking beneath him, and asked his partner earnestly, ‘How do I do it, Den? My wife’s not who I thought she was and my daughter’s in love with a dope-head hippy despite sending her to one of the most expensive private schools in London.’ He managed an incredulous laugh when he heard the words out loud instead of banging about in his head.

‘Not who you thought she was?’ Den latched on to the snippet of information.

‘She hasn’t been honest about her past and I’m not sure whether to believe her denials or the source of my information.’

‘Denials? So she’s declaring her . . .’ Den paused, searched for the right word, ‘. . . her innocence?’

Den had hammered the truth home. While Erin had flatly denied knowing Baxter King or ever living in Brighton, she hadn’t actually rebuffed his accusation. She’d had the chance, a tiny window of opportunity before she had run downstairs to greet Ruby, but instead she had avoided answering.

Robert sighed. ‘No. She’s not declared anything.’

‘I see,’ Den said thoughtfully. He was stabbing in the dark to figure out what Robert was implying. He wouldn’t press his partner too hard. ‘Have you thought of getting Critchley’s bloke involved? What’s-his-name, the chap who does all his digging?’

Robert wasn’t sure if he should say, but he did anyway. ‘I looked up Louisa when you told me she was back in England. We met at a country hotel and I saw her in London earlier today, got her a place to stay—’

‘Hang on, Rob mate.’ Den wasn’t sure he was keeping up. ‘You had a dirty weekend with Louisa, saw her again in a hotel today, and you’re angry at Erin?’ Den was laughing, approving almost.

‘It’s not like that.’ Whatever he said, he knew Den would read it as he pleased. ‘I’ve hired her. She’s going to investigate this mess for me. It’s best that I don’t go steaming in any more than I have to. After last time,’ he added. ‘But keep it quiet. If Erin finds out I’ve hired Louisa, that’ll be it between us.’

It made Robert realise that he didn’t want it to be over. It also made him realise that because he’d been wrestling with guilt and dealing with grief after Jenna’s death, he’d completely overlooked the signs, glaring and obvious to most, that Erin wasn’t all she claimed to be. He’d not even been on the rebound; he was
ricocheting
through the post-Jenna days. Erin had been the light, him the moth.

Tula called them for dinner. The conversation reverted to the ghastly garden design team who had made a botch with the Japanese maples – they were in quite the wrong place, Tula moaned – and the Bowman case, which Robert again asked Den to take over. Den refused.

‘Got too much on, I’m afraid. You’re on your own on that one.’

‘Oh well, I’ll just have to represent him then. With any luck, we can wrap it up in one hearing. It’s those kids I feel sorry for, living with the man they’ve seen beat up their mother countless times.’ Robert instantly realised what he’d said.

‘Your client’s admitted that?’ Den said through a mouthful of lamb.

Robert sighed and laid down his knife and fork. ‘His wife, Mary Bowman, came to see me the other day. She said she was going to let her husband have the children. She looked like she’d been in a car accident.’

While Den remained silent, chewing and pondering, Robert thought about what he had just said. Mary Bowman was going to let her husband
have
the children. What right did she have to give them away? And what right did Jed Bowman have to claim possession in the first place? It seemed clear to Robert now: the children should be allowed to speak for themselves. At their age, one was eleven and the other thirteen, they were capable of deciding where they wanted to live. He considered the same situation with Ruby in mind and knew without doubt that he was right. Both he and Erin, if they should split, would respect their daughter’s wishes about where she would reside, although in this particular instance Robert had no claim over his stepdaughter. But it proved to him that no one had the right to ownership, least of all parents like Jed and Mary Bowman.

‘I’m not sure that colluding with the opposition is entirely—’

‘Leave it, Den. I’ll handle it.’ Robert raised his hands to halt the conversation.

 

Robert paid the cab driver and walked carefully up the steps to his front door. He was well fed and after the wine and cognacs his thoughts were pleasantly numbed and ready to deal with Erin in a mellow way.

Following the lamb, Tula had served baked fruit with crème fraîche and then Den had led Robert back into his library where they sat and talked and drank brandy for another couple of hours. With Den’s help, although Den still wasn’t aware of the entire truth, Robert decided that he needed to adopt the ‘innocent until proven guilty’ tack and lay off Erin. He was a lawyer, after all, and slamming his wife on the say-so of Baxter King, a complete stranger, was a pretty low act. Den convinced Robert to go home and apologise, whatever their problem was, and talk things over calmly in the morning.

The house, as Robert expected, was dark and quiet. The neon-green digital display on the oven clock blinked eleven thirty. Robert drank some water and collected his thoughts before going up to his bedroom. He knew he would feel rough tomorrow, having consumed more alcohol in one day than he usually did in a week.

Erin had forgotten to close the bedroom curtains and an orange glow from the street light flooded the room in a dangerous shade of amber. Robert stopped when he saw that their bed was empty. Stupidly, he pulled back the undisturbed quilt to make sure Erin hadn’t slipped out of sight. She must be sleeping in the guest room or tucked up beside Ruby. He crept across the landing, only to find that the spare bed was also unoccupied, and as he pushed Ruby’s bedroom door open a few inches, his breathing halted completely when, again illuminated by amber light, he saw her bed was empty, too.