THIRTY-THREE
Aubrey laughed softly, tightening his arms around Evie. “Minx,” he said quietly, mouth against her hair.
She lifted her head, shifting on his lap to sit astride him, one hand on his shoulder, the other stroking softly up and down the back of his neck. He could have closed his eyes and purred like a cat. But she was looking at him seriously.
“I do,” she said. “Love you. I mean it.”
There it was again: the joy so sharp it was pain. He looked down, unable to handle the weight of the moment, afraid, even now, of revealing how much it meant. His hands were resting on her hips where the overlarge fabric of the top she was wearing bunched. He rubbed a fold loosely between his fingertips.
She seemed to know—she always seemed to know. Changing the subject, she said more lightly. “Tell me how it happened? How did you persuade Bluedeen to sell?”
“My brother Andrew. He’s in charge of property law at the family firm. He was curious about the deal—he’s been investigating local authority property sales. He found some irregularities. And it’s the site of an old petrol station. The costs for removing the underground tanks, coupled with complaints from local residents about having a big apartment block shading out their houses—plus some annoying hippies harping on about some garden or other… It all started to make the site more of a headache than anyone at Bluedeen had anticipated. A little pressure from my brother and a suggestion that a few improper things went on when the deal was made… Well. When we made the offer to buy it, they didn’t say no.”
“I can’t believe you went to all that trouble.”
“It wasn’t much. Andrew did a lot of the boring work.”
“You signed the cheque, though.”
“Mm.” Aubrey smiled, lifting his hand to toy with a strand of her hair that was too short to stay tucked behind her ears. “Luckily Andrew worked pro bono. I couldn’t afford his fees.”
Evie laughed. “That’s not the cheque I was talking about.”
“Oh? Was there another?”
He grinned at her expression, relief sending his mood skipping like a leaf lifted on a summer breeze. It wasn’t so terrible, having her know. It was better, in fact, than keeping a secret. She was a Blackton anyway. A million here or there wasn’t really so much money to her, not having grown up in a family like hers. She’d digest it eventually, get used to the idea.
The last bit of tension faded away and warmth filled him. He’d forgotten what it was like, this perfect bliss. Loving a woman. Being loved. The hand on her hip slipped under her top, seeking the tangible warmth of her, the soft skin. His palm spanned the curve of her hip, the shallow dip up to her ribs. He remembered she was wearing no bra and unzipped her top, not saying a word, knowing she would sit there on his lap, let him look. Would enjoy it.
This, he suspected, as he reached out to touch her, palms filled with the small, perfect breasts, Evie leaning down to kiss him— this, would be one of those moments that stayed in his memory forever, an echo of perfection to remember when life was hard and work was gruelling and exhaustion gripped him. If they argued, fought. If they did, one day, have children, and the house was a mess and a baby was crying and everything seemed like hell… Then he’d remember this, the perfection of Evie being his, loving him, of making love here on this sofa, slowly now, the sex not being about release or need, but just a closer way of being together.
This was the dream made real.
Aubrey wasn’t due at Roscoe’s office the next day and was looking forward to a lazy morning in bed with Evie. But when he woke, she was already moving around the room, pulling on clothes, hair wet from the shower.
“It’s barely eight,” he protested.
“I know. I’m sorry. But I’ve got to get to the garden. I promised the others I’d be there to open up at nine.”
He groaned, muttered into his pillow, “I regret ever buying it.”
She laughed, sat down on the bed, and kissed his cheek.
“If you give me a minute,” he said. “I’ll drive you.”
“No. Have a lie in. I’m getting the tube. I’ll see you later—come down, if you like?”
The mud and the labour and the suspicious side-eye from her scruffy friends? Would he? Probably. If Evie was there.
“Bye,” she said, pausing at the door. Almost shyly: “Love you.”
He smiled. “I love you, too.”
He gave up on sleep ten minutes after she left, but the ringing of his phone stopped him on the way to the kitchen.
“Roscoe,” he said. “I swear I’m not meant to be there today.”
But Roscoe said, “Aubrey… Have you heard…?” And the deadly seriousness of his voice made Aubrey stop, suddenly cold everywhere. Evie, was his first thought. An accident. Evie hit by a car, Evie fallen onto the tracks, Evie attacked, hurt, another terrorist attack…
“What? Tell me.”
“BlacktonGold is in the news. And…so are you.”
Aubrey’s iron grip on his phone relaxed. He could breathe again. But his heart rate was still picking up as Roscoe’s words settled properly into his mind.
“I’m in the news?”
“Turn on your laptop. FT or BBC… It’s on most of them.”
Aubrey did so, opening his laptop where it sat on top of the sideboard in the living room. Roscoe waited silently on the line.
It wasn’t headline news. It was several items down, but seeing the words in black and white made his breath snag, his gut lurch.
Leaked emails reveal scale of tax evasion at BlacktonGold
BlacktonGold, the UK’s largest wealth management firm, was today rocked by accusations of tax fraud. Emails leaked from the account of BlacktonGold’s former head of tax strategy, Aubrey Ford, reveal a complicated system of aggressive tax avoidance strategies, the legality of which is now being investigated by industry regulators. It appears that Ford himself, formerly a portfolio manager at the firm, was responsible for the leak. Insiders speculate this may be in retaliation for Ford’s recent forced departure from the company after internal disagreements—
“I see,” Aubrey said quietly, still scanning the article despite all the words blurring, unreadable.
“Do you know anything about it?” Roscoe asked.
“No. I’m not the whistleblower.”
“And the allegations? Will the regulators…?”
“Find enough to arrest anyone? Not at my hands. Perhaps after I left.”
“So you’re in the clear?”
“Not really. I’m under a gagging clause. Your father’s lawyers will come after me for supposedly breaching it, even if I manage to escape the regulator’s enquiry.”
He walked to his sofa, sat down heavily. He rubbed a hand down his face, pinched the bridge of his nose, a sudden stabbing headache beginning.
“But if it wasn’t you, they won’t find any evidence. What can they build a case on?”
“I don’t know. But you know how vicious your father’s lawyers are. He’ll hurt me if he can.”
Roscoe swore. “I won’t let him. I’ll do what I can.”
“No. Don’t get involved.”
“Aubrey—”
“Hang on. I have another call.” It might be Evie. He wanted it to be Evie.
Roscoe rang off, but the new voice on the line was one of the last Aubrey wanted to hear.
“So, this is your revenge, is it?” George Blackton asked. “Pretty stupid, when you’ve caught your own neck in the noose.”
Aubrey stood up, angry. “You know it wasn’t me.”
“It’s your name on those emails. Your signature on those plans.”
“I did nothing wrong. You’ve got more to worry about on that score.”
George laughed. “They won’t find a fingerprint of mine on anything.”
Grimly, Aubrey suspected he was right.
“But why do it?” George continued. “That’s what I don’t understand. You’ve only hurt yourself.”
“You can’t seriously believe I leaked those emails.”
“No one else had access to them.”
“There are a million ways someone could—”
“I wondered if it was my daughter’s doing.”
“Evie?” Aubrey exclaimed.
“Maybe her influence, if not the deed itself. Pillow talk on the evils of capitalism. Pricking that oversized conscience of yours.”
“She had nothing to do with it.”
“No? But she’s no fan of our work, Aubrey. Even you can’t have missed that. Bringing down BlacktonGold is exactly the sort of stupid, self-sabotaging, irresponsible thing she would do.”
“It wasn’t her.”
“Then I’ll just have to assume it was you. My lawyers will be in touch.”
George rang off, and Aubrey sat on his sofa for a long time, staring at nothing, barely noticing how stiff and cold he was getting, even when he eventually got to his feet. He went through the routines of his morning on autopilot. Shower. Shave. Coffee.
He needed to phone his father. Get lawyered up. Jesus Christ… He didn’t have the energy for this battle… It would be brutal, and sordid, George’s lawyers would make sure of that. And there would be no chance of getting a job at all while it was going on. Not for a long time after, even if he managed to prove his innocence.
He had a moment of bitter, petty, childish weakness, in which tears briefly stung his eyes and the thought I do not deserve this thundered uselessly through his mind. But that wouldn’t help. He had to get moving. Fight this battle whether he wanted to or not, and Evie… He’d thought he’d be lying in bed with Evie this morning… He’d thought some mud on his shoes and competing for her time with that bloody garden would be the worst of his troubles. That every evening would be like yesterday’s…
He threw away his undrunk coffee, then jumped at a knock on his door.
Evie? Or maybe it was the lawyers already. Maybe it was regulators. Police.
But it was Liv.