Now Is Our Time (22 page)

“You met with an attorney?”

Claire was slightly alarmed. She’d spent years married to a lawyer and between Anthony and the divorce she’d had enough of attorneys to last a lifetime.

“Duchess,” Jonah’s voice was serious. “We’ve got two babies on the way and a lot of decisions which need to be made. Whether you like it or not, I have a feeling that we will need help from a professional. I’m not convinced your ex-husband is going to like what we’ve got planned.”

Claire knew that Jonah was right. In fact, he was more than right. And they didn’t need any old attorney. They needed the best. Anthony was no pushover.

“Is your lawyer good?”

“My lawyer has put me in touch with an expert in the field and that’s who I met today.”

“Go on,” Claire whispered, her mouth turning dry. “Tell me what he said?”

                                             --------------  

Julian is a historic mining town. After a long leisurely walk during which they chatted about their future as they circled a sparkling blue lake surrounded by foothills, Claire and Jonah passed a place where you could pan for gold.

“Want to try?” Jonah joked.

“Nah,” said Claire, “I’m more a silver kind of gal.”

He nodded and seemed pleased by her response. A few minutes later they were back at their car outside the Café and Bakery where the aroma of fresh baking engulfed them tantalisingly. Claire peered through the glass shop front at the trays of pastries.

“Shouldn’t we get some?” Claire suggested. “That apple pie smells and looks amazing.”  

“No,” said Jonah. “Save yourself for lunch. I’m taking you to the hottest place in town.”

They returned to the car and drove a few miles down the road until they arrived at a bistro called Jeremy’s On the Hill. Claire had never seen something quite so un-American in America. It was more akin to a quaint farmhouse in the French countryside. The inside was cosy and romantic. White linen tablecloths were dressed with wine glasses to accompany every course. But Jonah had a different plan. He’d reserved a table on the pretty outdoor patio. “It’s more private,” he said as they sat down and the waitress handed them menus.

“Would you like an aperitif?” the waitress asked.

“Yes,” Jonah was quick to answer. “Two glasses of champagne please.”

“And a bottle of sparkling water,” added Claire. 

Once the waitress had gone, Claire reminded Jonah that she wasn’t allowed alcohol.

“A little bit won’t hurt,” he said.   

She began perusing the menu - gourmet burgers and salads, with lots of interesting starters and sides, one of which, impressively, was crispy Brussels sprouts. Claire had long been extolling the virtues of this humble vegetable to her clients, but in England she’d never seen it on a cordon bleu menu.  

“Wow,” she spoke out loud. “Brussels sprouts?”

“It’s their signature dish. You’ve got to try them. They’re sensational. And the lobster bisque is good too.”

The waitress returned with two flutes of champagne and a pad to take their order. Jonah asked for Bison burger with garlic herb fries and Claire chose two starters instead of a main course, with Jonah promising to let her have a taste of his Bison. Once the waitress had gone, Jonah stared at her strangely, furrowing his brow. It was unsettling.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, self-consciously touching her face, wondering which part of it was bothering him.

“You’ve got a weird rash,” he said, “across your nose and cheeks.”

She ran a finger over the area in question, expecting to feel bumps or soreness, but nothing. It didn’t remotely hurt. Perhaps pregnancy was starting to do weird things to her body.

“You sure it’s not the light?”

“If you don’t trust me, go look in a mirror.”

Claire scraped back her chair and headed indoors, asking for directions to the Restrooms. Once there, she stared intensely at her reflection but, in her opinion, she looked completely normal. Perhaps a few more freckles since she’d arrived in California but nothing more sinister. She washed her hands and headed back outside.

“I can’t see anything,” she said.

He eyed her intensely.

“Wow, that’s strange. It’s completely gone. Weird.”

Something wasn’t right. Jonah wasn’t right. He was acting strangely. How could a rash just vanish? He wrapped his fingers round the long stem of his glass.

“To your new job,” he toasted, “and to our ready made mixed doubles tennis pair.”

He raised his glass.

“Oh,” Claire retorted, “you’re convinced it’s a boy
and
a girl now?”

“Absolutely,” he grinned, looking at her glass and motioning that she should raise it to the toast too. She picked it up and tinkled his glass with hers.

“Thank you for making me the happiest woman in the world,” she whispered.

“No,” he was adamant. “Thank
you
for making
me
the happiest man alive.”

He lifted his glass to his lips and watched her do the same.

“Ugh,” she said as she took a sip, slamming the glass straight back down on the table.

“What, you can’t take the alcohol?”

“No,” she said, staring at the glass. “There’s something in my drink.”

Her eyes grew wide as she fished her fingers into the champagne and drew out the article in question. She stared wordlessly at the object she was now holding between her fingers, a thick silver band topped with a large square diamond which was sparkling like a kaleidoscope in the sunlight.

“Will you marry me?” he whispered.

“Oh,” she gasped, clapping a hand over her chest. She burst out crying as she nodded. 

“Your signals are a little confusing,” Jonah murmured, eyes twinkling. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“Yes,” she laughed through her tears. And then, a little louder, “yes.”

They stood up, hugging and kissing and then Claire pulled away, to slide the ring onto her fourth left finger. It was the perfect fit, the perfect taste.

“Silver,” she said. “You knew I liked silver better than gold.”

“It’s actually white gold which just looks like silver.”

She kissed him hard and long and deep. It was a kiss so full of passion and intent that, had there been other diners on the patio, they might have averted their gaze. 

“I’ve always wanted to marry a Kennedy,” she whispered into his lips, a half-joke. 

“And I,” said Jonah, “have always wanted to marry a Duchess.”

ANTHONY

“Good morning sir,” welcomed Jon the clerk as Anthony entered his law chambers. “Did you have a good holiday?”

“Yes thank you, Jon,” Anthony replied before sprinting up the narrow spiral staircase which wound to his office.

“I’ve left your mail on your desk,” Jon called behind him.

Anthony wasn’t certain why he tried to sprint the stairs. It’s not as if he was infused with energy and zest. Perhaps he was just trying to convince himself that he was feeling brighter than he actually was. Half the battle against fatigue and depression lay in the mind, he was convinced of it. So, if he could think himself positive then he might actually start to feel positive. And, fond though he was of the clerk, he certainly didn’t want Jon to suspect there was anything troubling him. Jon was one of the biggest gossips he knew. No, Anthony’s private business needed to stay just that: private.  

Anthony had always looked forward to his holidays. One of the rewards for working so hard, which he did, was to play hard too. Vacationing gave him the chance to unwind and recharge, to prepare himself for the harsher months which lay ahead. It was only September 1
st
but already it felt like winter. A brief hailstorm rained down on him as he made his way from the tube station to his Chambers, the sharp hail stones pricking his skin. He prayed it wasn’t an omen of what was to come. Whilst he was pleased to be back in London and Jasper certainly appeared to be happier at home, what
would
be missed was the wall-to-wall California sunshine. That was definitely something Anthony could get used to. In all other respects, however, their holiday had been far from a hit. It hadn’t been a total whitewash. There were some high points. They had a great time in Los Angeles where they found a new hotel in a district called Korea Town, whose streets felt so authentic that Miriam kept asking if he was sure they weren’t in Asia. Then there was their road trip to the Joshua Tree National Park in the desert. On a sunrise trek they were greeted by a snake wrapping its sinewy body around a rock, flicking out its venomous tongue, daring them to approach. Thankfully nobody was hurt and it was an event whose story had grown like Chinese whispers so that now, when they spoke of it, what began as a distant sighting had morphed into a description of their scary brush with death. A few days later they hopped across the border into Tijuana, Mexico. So yes, they’d brought back with them several outstanding memories but even these highlights were somewhat fraught. Either Jasper had been fussing or Miriam was complaining. “It’s too hot.” “I don’t like the food.” “Shut up, Jasper.” Plus Anthony and Ali, who were normally solid as a team, were bickering far too much for his liking. The dynamic of the trip hadn’t been good and, now that they were home, Anthony very much hoped things would settle down.

He ran a hand through his hair as he surveyed the pile of mail on his desk. It wasn’t a pile, it was a tower. That was another downside of going away. There was all the catching up to do on the return. He set down his briefcase by the side of his desk and picked up the wedge of letters. One by one he examined their exteriors. Junk mail went straight in the bin. Boring brown envelopes were siphoned into a separate pile to be looked at later. Anything that looked interesting or important he tore open. A bank statement; an order for a new wig and gown from Ede & Ravenscroft; correspondence from the Old Bailey regarding a date change for a trial and a rich cream A3 envelope bearing an American stamp and postmark. He hesitated before opening the letter from America. Could it be a bill? Had he incurred a speeding fine without realising it? He felt uneasy. In the right hand corner in bold black italics was the name of the firm it was sent from:
Quinn, Sullivan & Pentecost
.  

The paper was expensive and excellent quality. Ridiculous though it might sound to the layman, in terms of legal stature, quality of paper means everything. This paper told Anthony that the sender was a force to be reckoned with. He tore at the envelope furiously, but the paper was so thick that it was hard to open. Or was it just that his hands were shaking?  Eventually he created a big enough tear for the letter to be extracted.

Dear Mr. Anthony Aidan de Klerk

We hereby inform you that an emergency application has been filed by Claire Ruth Sarah Jackson, formerly known as Mrs Anthony Aidan de Klerk, for leave to remove your daughter Miriam Anisia de Klerk from the British jurisdiction to reside with her in San Diego, California, USA.

An emergency hearing has become necessary due to a change in Claire Jackson’s circumstances. She has recently learned that she is with child and is engaged to be married to California resident Mr Jonah Stephan Kennedy. She also has work commitments in the USA which will commence in October.

A date for the hearing has been set for September 15
th
. Attached are forms to be filled in at your earliest convenience and filed to……………..

Blah, blah and bloody, fucking blah – Anthony tossed the letter face down on the table and buried his face in his hands, trying to process it all. Claire was pregnant? Claire was getting married?
Claire wanted to live in the US?
  Anger began bubbling dangerously in his belly, like the core of a volcano building towards eruption. He wanted to spew, to shout, to pierce the wall with his fist. He’d feared this might happen, but not quite this fast. Claire was daring to take Miriam away from him to live in America? Instead of finding the wall with his fist, he found it with his cranium. Four words came from his mouth and he accentuated each one with a head butt. “No – bloody – fucking - way.” 

                                  --------------

As he nursed his bruised brow, his first thought was to call Ali. But then he remembered that she was also returning to work today after a period of maternity leave and the only reason that they hadn’t come in together was because she was busy setting things up with the childminder to make the transition for Jasper as smooth as possible. Ali had been extremely stressed these last few days. She was jet lagged, she’d been weaning Jasper off the breast, she was nervous about coming back to work and about leaving the baby. He’d tried to be as supportive as possible, reassuring her that she was doing the right thing by going back to work but, nonetheless, cutting the cord from Jasper made her feel like she was being a bad mother. So no, Ali almost certainly wouldn’t want to hear his woes about Miriam, not right now.

Anthony paused to consider what she’d say to him if he did ask for her advice. He wasn’t even certain she was capable of being impartial. Ali liked Miriam and had always done her best to be compassionate and treat her well, but would she miss it if Miriam weren’t there, if the court granted Claire permission to take her to the States? In many ways Miriam’s absence would make Ali’s life easier. Many of the problems they’d faced in the last couple of months had been
because
of Miriam. But perhaps Anthony was being unfair. Despite these troubles, Ali would always want the best for Anthony. And the best for him was most certainly not having his daughter spirited away to the other side of the world? When would he see her? Flying back and forth across the Atlantic on a regular basis wasn’t cheap. It was also exhausting. Was this what was to become of his life?

No, no, no. This wasn’t what was to become of his life because he wasn’t going to let it. He had an important murder trial to prepare for and conferences set up for most of the morning but all that would have to wait. This was much more important. His children meant more to him than anything and he would fight tooth and nail to keep them close by. Claire was free to live wherever she wanted but that didn’t mean she was going to be able to take Miriam with her. Over his dead body would he ever allow that to happen! He tapped his lips with an index finger, contemplating. If Claire was going to use the pompous-sounding
Quinn, Sullivan & Pentecost,
then he needed to better it. That American firm probably wasn’t even specialised in family law at all, let alone the vagaries of
British
family law, but Anthony knew someone who was. And they were the best. If anyone could make sure that Miriam would never be taken from the country then David Sherwood QC could. He picked up his handset and called down to the clerks’ office. “Hello, Jon,” he said, “Could you get me the number for David Sherwood please?”

                              ---------------------

Half an hour later, after a long conversation with David Sherwood QC, Anthony was feeling much more positive about his situation. “Well done, well done, excellent work,” David praised when Anthony talked through the evidence he’d so far managed to compile against Jonah and Claire. “That’s all looking extremely promising.” 

“Do you think I’ve got a strong case?” asked Anthony.

It was odd having the tables reversed. It was usually clients who asked
him
that question. 

“I’m sure you’re aware that the law leans very heavily in favour of keeping a child with their mother but you do have some very compelling evidence and there have been a few surprise cases more recently where judges seem to be leaning towards the father.”

Anthony could feel a weight lifting from his shoulders. This was exactly what he needed to hear. That there was still hope and that he could make this happen. David Sherwood paused for a moment and then restarted. 

“But I must warn you, there is more to consider. From what you have told me, you and your ex-wife have had an extremely amicable arrangement to date. If we do win the case there will be a lot of bitterness towards you because you will be preventing her from leading her life, or at least making it very difficult to do so. What you have to decide is whether you are ready for that kind of resentment. It could also turn your daughter against you long term. Have you considered what she might want? Do you think she would prefer to go to America and be with a happy mother or to stay at home and be with a mother who feels straight-jacketed?”

It was all so damn complicated, but surely Miriam wouldn’t want to leave her father behind if she had a choice.

“Miriam and I are very close,” Anthony insisted. “I’m sure she’d rather stay in London than live in San Diego. Her friends are all here. Her family is all here.”

He didn’t bother mentioning that actually neither of his parents lived in the UK.

“How do you feel about social services interviewing your daughter?”

David Sherwood said this like a statement, but its content felt loaded. Was it right to involve Miriam in this? Should her opinion count? Should she be put in the unenviable situation of choosing? 

“I’m sure that would be fine,” he decided.

The phone line crackled as the discussion ceased.

“Right then,” said David Sherwood, “we are pressed for time, so if you could furnish me with all the documentation and supporting evidence as soon as possible, that would help expedite matters.”

“But you do think I have a solid case?” Anthony checked again, anxious for reassurance.

“It could get a bit ugly, but I most certainly do believe that the evidence you have garnered might well turn the odds in your favour.”

Phew, that’s all Anthony needed to hear. As he put the phone down, shards of sunlight beamed through the window. From hailstones to sunshine, perhaps this was a sign of things to come. Jonah Kennedy, Anthony thought to himself, you better watch out. You have no idea what’s coming your way. By the time I’ve finished with you, your character assassination will be complete. I’ll expose you to the world for the man you really are. Even Claire won’t come out of this unscathed. But who cares? It was their fault. They asked for it. They pushed me too far, trying to take Miriam away from me. Ah yes, and before the hearing there was one more thing that Anthony needed to do. He hadn’t discussed it with David Sherwood QC, but he didn’t need to. This was a little something he planned even before he received that damned letter from
Quinn, Sullivan & Pentecost.
If Claire was going to play dirty, then so could he. He picked up the phone again and called the clerks office.

“Hello again, Jon,” he said, a smile finally returning to his voice. “Could you get me the telephone number for ABC Television’s head office in America please?”