The Decision (99 page)

‘Not least what?’ she said, and there was a charge in the atmosphere that she recognised and in spite of everything was excited by and there was a silence and then, and she could feel him drawing back from something, ‘Not least the chance to conduct your case,’ he said, his voice brusque again. ‘It is, as I said, an exciting prospect.’

‘Well – I’ll think about what you said. Of course.’

‘Please, Mrs Shaw, Eliza, do more than think about it.’

‘Yes, I will, I will. Oh, God. Look, it’s late. I’d better go, I’m supposed to be at work, holding meetings, organising a fashion shoot.’

‘There you are, you see,’ he said, ‘you’re still able to think about your work in the midst of all this tumult. I’m amazed by that. As I said, you are astonishingly strong. Now – can I call you a cab? Or will you rely on your whistling skills?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, ‘thank you. But could I use your phone, call the agency—’

‘Of course.’

He escorted her to the door of his room when she was finished. It was busy now in the chambers, people rushing about, looking important; she felt half-reluctant to leave the intense, personal space they had inhabited.

‘You’ve been very kind,’ she said, ‘I don’t know why you should spare me all that time.’

‘I am not entirely inhuman,’ he said, and then, quickly as if he knew he would not say it otherwise, ‘and besides, you – you invite kindness.’

‘Oh,’ she said and then, astonished at herself, reached up and kissed his cheek.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you – Toby – very much.’

Matt had gone down to Summercourt to see Emmie. He had been afraid she would be hostile, refuse to talk to him, but when he got there, and found her sitting on the terrace with Sarah, drawing, she flew into his arms, with cries of ‘Daddy, Daddy’, and covered his face with kisses. ‘How’s my best girl?’ he said carefully.

‘Fine. This is for you.’

He looked at it, blenched. It was a picture of a little girl with long hair, standing in between a man and a woman, and in front of a big house.

‘It’s me, with you and Mummy. That’s Summercourt. Granny said it was lovely.’

‘I did,’ said Sarah, speaking for the first time. ‘Hello, Matt. Coffee?’

‘Please.’

He sat drinking it, Emmie snuggled onto his knee, occasionally reaching up to kiss him.

‘Can we go and see Mouse?’

‘Whatever you like.’

Sarah watched them going off, her hand in his, looking up at him, chattering, occasionally resting her head against his arm. Her heart ached for both of them. All three of them.

An hour later, Matt was still leading Mouse round the paddock; Sarah knew how it bored him, how the whole pony thing baffled him, but she had seen him do this so many times, just as he sat helping Emmie to polish tack for hours on end, and patiently read to her from some exceedingly tedious pony magazine. He loved her so much, she thought, so very much, he would quite literally have died for her; how dreadful it was that such love, such tender, selfless love had to be turned to an act of harsh selfishness.

They ate lunch together on the terrace. ‘I have to go soon, darling,’ he said to Emmie, as she fed him ice cream, giggling. Normally such behaviour would not have been tolerated; and that was another thing, Sarah thought, Emmie would become spoilt now, as they vied for her favours, discipline would grow lax, rules would be waived: and she was naughty enough as it was …

‘That’s a shame. Are you going home to Mummy?’

‘To our house, yes.’

‘I wish we could live here always,’ she said, her small face serious suddenly. ‘It’s lovely here. You and Mummy and Granny and Mouse and me. It would be really, really nice. Can’t we do that, Daddy?’

‘I’m afraid not, poppet. Mummy and Daddy have work to do. We have to be in London.’

‘But sometimes then? You and Mummy together.’

‘I’m afraid not, Emmie, no. We’ve explained to you, we—’

And then she jumped up, her small face working, huge tears in her blue eyes, and said, ‘I hate this. I hate you. Why not, why, why, why?’

‘Emmie – darling—’ He reached for her; she pushed him away.

‘Don’t. I’m going back to Mouse. Mouse and Granny, they’re the nicest.’

And she was gone, running, her long hair flying, a small victim of their war; Matt sat watching her and dashed his hand across his eyes. Sarah noticed, reached out and patted his hand.

‘Leave her,’ she said, ‘leave her to me. She’ll be all right.’

Driving back to London, filled with a new and savage remorse, Matt felt suddenly very afraid. Suppose he lost, now; suppose Eliza did get custody? How could he stand it, a life without Emmie there, every day? It would be unbearable, he would go mad. He felt half-mad now; he was driving dangerously, well above the speed limit, weaving in and out of traffic. He pulled over, sat trying to calm himself, running over the case, his case. He was doing well, Ivor Lewis was very confident, he said; they had superb witnesses, an excellent case. But there were things … things he had never told Lewis. Knowing it was crazy, but too afraid to confront them. About Gina. About hitting Eliza. That more than anything haunted him now: not just that it might come out, but that he had done it at all, that he was the sort of man who could hit a woman, and therefore a child. A man who should never, ever be left alone with a child, let alone be allowed to take it away from its mother.

But – Eliza had never told anyone; he knew that. She bore her own shame about it. And Gina was the only other person on earth who knew. And had sworn she never would tell. But – she did know; she could change her mind.

Matt pulled out his cigarettes, lit one with hands that shook. How had he done that, hit his own wife? How? How had he done any of it, made Emmie so unhappy? But it wasn’t just him – was it?

‘Would it be asking too much to spend an evening with you?’

‘Oh, don’t know – very busy—’

‘Matt, I’ve been propping you up for months, it feels, trying to help you through this thing, and all I get is the bum’s rush every time I ask for a morsel of acknowledgement. I mean, clearly there’s no future in looking for gratitude, but—’

Matt felt suddenly remorseful. Gina had been bloody good, incredibly patient, accepting his explanation that he couldn’t go to bed with her until the case was over because he would be compromised if anyone found out, which, while true, was a wonderfully useful cover for the real reason. This was that he just didn’t fancy her any more; her sexual self-confidence, her overt sensuality, her greed in bed, all the things that had first attracted him to her had cloyed into something heavy and enervating, that induced the opposite of desire. He had an uneasy feeling that if he tried to have sex with her he would fail; and that was frightening for more reasons than one. She just knew too much; he dared not alienate her. Afterwards – well, she could do him no harm afterwards.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Yes, let’s have dinner. I’ll come to you; d’you mind cooking?’

‘I’d rather go out.’

This was a tricky one; if they went out, she was liable to behave in her usual way, touching him up under the table, nuzzling his neck as the evening went on; on the other hand, being in her flat meant he was vulnerable to a sexual proposal. He decided that was less of a risk.

He arrived quite late; as he had feared, she had gone in for the full works. She was wearing a very low-cut black top and some very flared trousers that clung to her flat stomach and, more alarmingly, fitted her so closely round the crotch it was very obvious she was wearing no pants. Her hair swung loosely onto her shoulders: her make-up was light except for her mouth which she had painted a dark plum colour and then piled on the gloss. She smelt very heady; he kissed her, and then drew back.

‘Hey,’ she said, smiling up at him, ‘did I do something wrong?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Champagne?’

‘Oh – yes, thanks.’

She took his hand, led him into her sitting room; it was, as always, slightly untidy, magazines on the floor, hairbrush on the coffee table next to an empty coffee cup, a half-eaten bar of chocolate. When they had been together it had charmed him, her messiness, even while it annoyed him, it was all part of her sexy, chaotic lifestyle, now it seemed to approach squalor. He thought, without being in the least sure why, of Louise’s immaculate, stylish flat, all white and chrome, and how much he liked it.

‘Right. I’ve bought steak, fillet, hope that’s OK.’

‘Of course.’

‘And some other stuff. Oh, and some wine.’

‘I’ve brought some wine.’

‘OK, we can drink them both. Mine’s a Merlot. I know you’ll like it. I told the man in the off-licence it was for a man who didn’t like wine and he said there wasn’t a man alive who wouldn’t like this one. He said it was a very sexy wine, actually, and wished me a good evening.’

‘Great!’ He was beginning to feel a bit sick. ‘But you know—’

‘I know,’ she said, pulling him down onto the sofa, ‘and it’s not long now. And we can at least have a bit of an aperitif tonight, don’t you think? What you might call a snog?’

Matt did his best; even that, he could tell, was rather unsatisfactory. She pulled away with an irritable sigh.

‘Matt! This is so tedious.’

‘I’m sorry. I’ve just – got a lot on my mind.’

‘And don’t I know it. Oh well – let’s go and cook, that’s supposed to be an aphrodisiac, isn’t it, cooking together?’

‘I – hadn’t heard it, no.’

‘I really don’t know what’s happened to you, Matt. There isn’t anyone else, is there?’

‘Of course not,’ he said and his voice was so full of genuine horror, he could even hear it himself. She smiled and visibly relaxed.

‘That’s all right then. OK, one more for the road and then we’ll carry on in the kitchen … I wish. Do you remember how we used to try doing it on all the floors, see which one was sexiest? And you decided the kitchen?’

‘Yes, of course I do,’ said Matt.

‘So,’ said Gina, as they sat down at the table, ‘how are things? How’s the witness tally? I cannot get over your sister doing that, taking the stand for Eliza. It’s just – just gross.’

‘I did think that,’ he said, in between chews, reflecting that the fillet was tougher than it should have been. He should have done the shopping himself.

‘Well – don’t you still?’

‘Yes. But – it’s got a bit better since then.’

‘Really? How’s that?’

‘Well – you know Louise?’

‘What, the girl in your office?’

‘She was the girl in my office,’ said Matt, discovering he felt a certain proprietary pride in Louise’s progress, ‘she’s now Contemporary Hotels.’

‘Really? I didn’t know that. They’re very good. Brilliant facilities, I went to a trade show in the one near Covent Garden last week. She must be clever. Anyway, what’s she got to do with the case?’

‘She’s going to be a witness for me.’

‘She’s what?’

Gina’s eyes had become very sharp, lost their sexy languor.

‘She’s going to appear as a witness for me.’

‘Saying what?’

‘What a good dad I am. Would be. All that stuff.’

‘But – how? I don’t see how she can. She’s not a friend, is she? Just a work colleague.’

‘Yes, of course, I mean of course she’s just a work colleague. But – she offered and I took her up on it.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Gina had put down her knife and fork. ‘I don’t see how someone who worked with you, in the office, could possibly carry any weight as a witness to your skills as a father. I can’t think why your solicitor’s even entertaining the idea.’

‘Well, you’re wrong about that,’ said Matt. In fact Ivor Lewis had been slightly sceptical, but having talked to Louise, and heard what she had to say, had conceded she would be a ‘useful backup’. Matt wasn’t going to tell Gina that.

‘We go back a long way,’ he said now, ‘she came to work for me when we were just two men and a dog. Me and Jimbo.’

‘And Louise was the dog, I suppose?’

Matt felt a rush of anger. ‘Don’t talk like that, Gina, please. She’s a very good friend, she’s done a lot for me over the past few months.’

‘And I haven’t, I suppose?’

‘Oh God,’ said Matt wearily, ‘of course you have. But she’s listened to me moaning, tried to cheer me up, taken me out, bought me drinks—’

‘How very kind.’

‘It was actually,’ said Matt quietly.

‘Sounds to me as if she’s after you, Matt. Trying to get to you the best way she can see at the moment. I’d be careful if I were you.’ She smiled at him, twisted a strand of hair round her finger. ‘You’re very vulnerable and women can sense that.’

‘Gina, for Christ’s sake, do stop this. Louise is an old friend, we spent most of the time we worked together fighting, she walked out on me when I appointed a new partner and it wasn’t her—’

‘Good for Louise. Suddenly I like her more. Anyway, I still don’t see how she possibly can be a witness to your fitness to look after Emmie. It’s going to sound pretty hollow.’