CHAPTER 24
“Yes, I’ll be there,” Matt cradled the house phone between his ear and shoulder while finishing up his report.
He raised his head in brief acknowledgement as George entered his office bearing a tray with a much needed pot of tea.
It was a new infused blend.
“Mum, I said I’ll be there.”
George poured a cup of tea, added the milk then quietly retreated from the office.
Matt stretched his legs under the large desk and tried to hurry his mother off the phone.
Her continuous concern, which Matt saw as pestering, was sweet but misplaced.
And her constant need for reassurance he’d be spending Christmas with them was now grating on his worn nerves.
Taking a moment to sip his tea, Matt made a mental note to sign the cards that would accompany the gifts purchased for his family.
Rachel had seen to that yearly chore, he would be lost without his secretary no doubt.
His mobile vibrated across the desk and Matt cast a cursory glance at the screen.
“No, I have no idea what Grumps and Dad are up to – Listen, Mum, I really must dash. Love to you all, bye.”
Matt felt a smidgen of guilt once he ended the call but it was fleeting.
He had no time for guilt.
In fact he had no time at all for anything other than work.
The state of world-wide oil affairs was downright alarming, and they had seen a decrease in their overall profits this year.
Adam was worried, so was he.
It didn’t help both his father and grandfather felt it necessary to remind them the fate of their company rested solely on their shoulders.
Failure, even if the markets were volatile, was not an option.
Falling profits was a sign of failure.
Hannah’s silent disapproval added to their mounting stress.
Although she had chosen a family life over one in their family’s corporations, her business acumen was as sharp as Matt’s and Adam’s.
How many decisions had been made in the privacy of his father’s study with her softly-spoken input challenging and changing their initial thoughts?
Of course, she too would be worried about the current state of the economy and what it meant for their amassed fortunes.
She had her daughters’ futures to think of, and while their family would never be paupers, once born into a certain level of wealth the possibility of it diminishing drastically was a terrifying one.
Matt grunted in frustration and pushed his chair back from the desk.
Again his mobile vibrated across the sleek surface, again he ignored the caller.
Did he feel bad for avoiding her calls since yesterday?
Partly, but Louisa had known exactly where things stood that night after Nathan and Bella’s dinner party a couple of weeks ago.
She had caught him at a bad time, and like a blood hound she had sensed it and exploited his wavering resolve.
It wasn’t like they had shagged.
Matt snorted and rubbed his temples.
They’d done many things, but they hadn’t shagged.
He still had his self-righteous moral high ground in comparison to his wife.
The usual ache that appeared whenever his thoughts drifted to her didn’t seem as potent this time and Matt contemplated the possibility of overcoming his feelings.
Perhaps Louisa had helped him after all.
Then he remembered sitting in the entertainment room last weekend, broodingly watching the documentary which featured her dance company.
Anyone who knew her could see the change in her over the period of filming.
From a charmingly nervous but determined woman to a reclusive shadow of herself, who hid behind the protective wall of her loyal troupe and rarely smiled for the cameras unless on stage.
If Matt recalled correctly, the final stages of filming had taken part while they were having marital problems.
It was embarrassing, humiliating in fact; having a failed marriage.
A terribly short one too.
Matt cringed every time he happened upon any little gossip about them.
Being likened unto those tactless celebrities getting married and divorced at the toss of a hat irked his pride…
yet that was exactly the circumstance he had found himself in.
They hadn’t even made a year, which wasn’t only embarrassing, it was laughable; and the media seemed to delight in his public shaming.
At least there was only speculation over the apparent demise of his marriage.
Speculation he could tolerate, what he couldn’t abide was the vicious barbs directed at his soon-to-be-ex-wife in some gossip columns.
They couldn’t get past the fortress of his privacy but Madi was still relatively accessible to them.
Catching her out and about on her daily activities was child’s play in comparison to catching him.
His twin nieces had pointed out he’d figuratively thrown her under the bus by not affording her any protection against the media since their split.
Hopefully it would all die down soon and they could put this behind them.
Returning to work, Matt spent the next hour going over the joint proposal he and Adam had drafted to address their company’s issues.
When George knocked on the office door he actually welcomed the intrusion.
“What is it, George?” Matt asked.
“You have an unexpected guest,” George advised.
“James is here.”
Matt did nothing to hide his surprised frown and George, ever in-tuned to the nuances of his employer’s personality, backed out the room with a quick nod.
“I’ll tell him you’re unavail-”
“No, no,” Matt cut him off.
“Show him in.”
George nodded and hastened out the office to retrieve Matt’s P.
I.
A short while later James sat across the desk, his hand rested over a thin file that he’d unceremoniously placed on Matt’s desk.
Matt reclined in his chair, silent and patiently awaiting an explanation for James’s unexpected presence at this time of night.
“There’s a slight problem concerning your wife.” James advised as he eased the file across the width of the desk towards Matt.
Sparing the barest of glances at the file, Matt interlaced his fingers over his chest and shrugged.
“I’m not interested.”
“Kincaid was arrested yesterday,” James gestured to the file.
“And I told you when I split from my wife months ago, to cease all ongoing actions on the Kincaid situation.” Matt leaned forward, annoyed and not in the least curious about what was in the file.
Madison was a big girl, she would have to deal with her own problems.
“You’d better not be billing me for this.”
“I’m not,” James was quick to reassure Matt.
“You know once I start something,” His voice trailed off as he gave a resigned shake of his shoulders.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on it, that’s all.”
Matt understood.
It was one of the reasons why James was exceptionally good at what he did.
Until every aspect had been unearthed, he would not be satisfied.
“Plus you’re still married to her,” James pointed out, unnecessarily mind you, as Matt was patently aware of that fact.
“And you don’t want to be associated with the fallout, do you?”
With a grimace, Matt rubbed his temples.
“No, obviously I don’t, but that’s neither here nor there. My wife is a separate business entity from myself.”
“Didn’t you make a donation to her company last year?” James reminded him succinctly.
Matt scowled at the unspoken inference.
“There are many companies that benefit from charitable donations which are made every year by the Bradley Corporation.”
“I know,” James gave him a knowing look.
“I’m just pointing out-”
“James, it’s late, get to the point.” Matt demanded.
“Look at the file,” James said, his tone soft yet heavy with solemnity.
Sighing, Matt reached for the folder and opened it, slowly flicking through the pages.
“The resemblance between them is striking, isn’t it?” the P.
I mused.
“Yes,” Matt murmured in response.
Madison did look quite a bit like her deceased mother.
“Where did you get these?”
James shifted in the chair, suddenly giving off an uncomfortable air.
“Some from Kincaid’s home computer and other sources,” A smirk crossed his face.
“Do I want to know how?” Matt fingered one of the copied pictures, frowning slightly.
It was one of Madison as a little girl with her mum.
James shook his head and Matt left it at that.
“There were a lot more pictures of her mother,” James said.
“I only copied what was needed to confirm my suspicions.”
Matt laid the file down, still open though.
“Yes?”
“It appears he was fixated with her,” James scratched his bearded chin.
“Considering he was a friend of the husband.”
“Indeed.” Matt confirmed, glancing at the pictures and starting to feel a sliver of unease.
“Kincaid seems quite fixated on your wife too.” James advised blandly but the warning glint in his eyes increased Matt’s unease.
“Like I said, she strongly resembles her mother.”
Matt flicked through the file again.
“And?”
“He had all these old pictures of her, of Elizabeth DuMont, a lot of them without her husband.” James stretched over the desk to pull out a photo.
It was one of Madison and Kincaid.
“She looks just like her mother in this one.”
Matt levelled James with a hard stare.
“What is your bloody point?”
“My point?” James returned Matt’s glare with emotionless eyes.
“I found an encrypted file filled with some more pictures on his personal computer. Pictures of your wife, pictures which she’s clearly unaware are being taken. It’s worrying. If she was a member of my family, I would be worried. Especially given the fact she trusts him. I’ve been monitoring their interaction since you initially asked me to find out about him. It’s less and less likely he has a fatherly interest in her. I believe it’s a long con, and forgive me for saying this, but between you and me, your wife’s way too trusting.”
Matt needed a second to process James’s announcement.
“She can be a tad na?ve, gullible for sure.”
James tilted his head sideways and frowned.
“No, I think she just believes deep down everyone’s truly kind-hearted. That sort of innocent outlook is great in theory but not in real life. Listen, I’m not here to tell you what to do, I’m making sure you have all the relevant info. My sources at the Met say Kincaid should be going down for money laundering,” James’s frown deepened.
“He mightn’t be able to take her down with him but there is a possibility he could implicate her. I’ve assessed the documents you sent me last year and they are within the legal framework but Kincaid’s a crafty fucker. Depending on how he plays this, he might get away with it but that’s up to how heavy the Crown Prosecution Services go in on him. Serious funds were laundered, but you know how it goes. If you know the right people,”
Matt’s unease had turn into full-blown alarm yet his features remained impassive as James continued.
“Did I show you the original paperwork linked to the year on year investments of her inheritance after her parents died? It’s murky as fuck. He was probably fiddling with those funds too from the get-go, I’m surprised he even handed them over when she turned eighteen. The detective from CID working this case is eager for a conviction and my sources confirmed that they’ll be interviewing under caution a number of Kincaid’s associates, your wife is one of them. A team will be visiting her business premises sometime tomorrow morning with a search warrant. Look I know things didn’t work out between you two, hell, I verified those pictures of her cheating, but,” James stood up.
“Kincaid is slimy, a real piece of work, and the thing about people like him is that they’re the best actors and they cover their own arses. No one knows anything until the shit hits the fan. He’s bad news and I don’t know what his exact plans are for your wife, but,”
Matt looked over at the pictures and finished James sentence.
“It’s not good.”
James shook his head, the deliberately slow ominous movement translated the seriousness of this situation.
“He had a serious hard on for her mother and she looks just like her.”
“Right then.” Matt shuffled the loose pictures into the open folder before closing it.
“Seeing as you’ve gone over and beyond what was asked, I’ll settle up the usual way.”
“There’s no need, Mr Bradley.” James turned towards the office door.
“I had to see this through, and your wife appears to be a nice person.”
Matt scoffed as he rose to his feet, his reply was very dry.
“Aren’t we all?”
James abruptly spun around, halting his journey to leave.
“Those pictures, the ones of her that I verified,”
“What about them?” Matt asked coldly, instinctively tensing at the memory of those images.
“They seemed off.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean, James?” Matt walked around the corner of his desk towards his P.
I.
“They seemed off? Were they authentic or not?”
“Of course they were, I stand by my work and the work of my techs,” he assured Matt.
“The photos seemed off, that’s all I’m saying.”
“You keep saying off ,” Matt took a few steps towards him.
“But you’re not really saying anything. What does that mean? Are you doubting the validity of the photos?”
“No, Mr Bradley.” James shrugged.
“It’s just my mind working overtime. Forget I mentioned it.”
Matt searched the man’s expression with hawk-like intensity.
After a charged moment he nodded once and gestured to the door.
James headed out the office with Matt close behind him.
“It all boils down to whether Kincaid gets sent down,” James warned.
“If he goes down he might take everyone with him.”
“Madison is innocent of any wrong doing.” Matt said.
“And there’s no physical proof she had any knowledge or inkling Kincaid was caught up in this malarkey. She’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure it’ll work out.” James agreed, then added, “Unless he thinks the CPS will go easier on him by naming his accomplices. Kincaid could drop her right in it, even if she didn’t know the funds were illegal, they were cycled through her company.”
Matt grunted his response and herded James down the hallways to the front door.
“You’ve ensured no traces of your work on this can lead back to you.”
James made no effort to hide his affront as Matt opened the door then stood aside to permit his exit.
“How long have I worked for you and your brother?”
“Thank you for the update and good night.” Matt managed a tight smile accompanied with a terse nod before shutting the door.
Wasting no time he returned to his home office and grabbed the telephone.
Even though it was technically out of business hours, his personal solicitor’s retainer fees meant they were always on call.
If Matt had a legal problem in dire need of a resolution, they would handle it.
This was a problem.
We were all attentively listening to the Artistic Director, Francois, as he unequivocally called us shit.
At barely past 6am no one wanted to hear that crap, but we hung our heads and averted our gazes from his fiery eyes.
“Piss poor.” His native French accent was more apparent the angrier he became, twisting the sound of those two words.
“Embarrassed. I am ashamed to have anything to do with this – this debacle.”
Fidgeting on her feet, Lisa sent me a pleading look when Francois zoned in on her.
We all knew what was coming.
“You dare fall on my stage? In front the audience? Not even with grace but like a sack of potatoes! You are a potato.” He raged.
Lisa had taken a tumble during last night performance.
Francois’s reminder made her cheeks flush with shame.
“And you,” Francois stalked in Gerrard’s direction.
“You idiot. You are not a dancer! You are a pretender, your jeté entrelace looked like beginner’s work. How long have you danced? You are not a dancer.”
Gerrard looked over at me, eyes bulging as he silently allowed the insult.
He wasn’t happy though.
“And you,” Francois sneered at one of our temporary dancers.
“You will not be on the stage tonight,” He crooked a finger at one of the understudies at the back.
“You will take her place.”
Normally I would rein Francois in, clear my throat and arch an eyebrow to remind him my troupe were part of my family; no one messes with my family.
But he was right and last night performance had a few issues we needed to address before we claimed the stage tonight, hence the 6am session.
“Mistakes,” Francois continued while my corp held their tongues and exchanged eye rolls with each other in the mirrors.
“Too many mistakes. Tonight there will be no mistakes.”
The dancer who’d been cut from tonight’s performance valiantly fought her tears.
I could see her mouth quivering in the mirrors.
I said nothing.
“No more. It is easy to replace those who do not have the hunger. There are many young, eager dancers always willing to take your place. I expect better,” Francois stalked across the space.
“I demand it. If I do not see it from you, you will be replaced.” He gave us all his back and added.
“Permanently.”
The heads of my dance corp swivelled in my direction.
I did not return their incredulous looks, instead I rolled my neck around my shoulders before stretching my arms upwards.
“He’s joking.” Dante was quick to assure our people.
“Let’s go over our moves from the second act.”
The uneasiness running between our dancers didn’t abate and I knew Liam’s beady eyes were searing holes into the back of my head, his reflection in the mirror was crystal clear.
The fragile blend of ballet and contemporary dance we’d created for Sinners and Saints had been problematic from the start.
It lacked fluidity in some places, Dante and I knew this.
Francois had whittled away at our initial choreography, his artistic imprint was much more visible in this production than the previous.
Of course, he wasn’t under my employment when The Ice Queen and Princess had first been created, and his input had been blessedly light then.
This production was different.
I was different.
Dante glided over to have a quick word with Francois while I continued to ignore the disquiet amongst the others.
It wasn’t me being mean, which I’m certain a few believed me to be; there was simply no more space in my head for any further problems.
I had neither the energy nor the urge to soothe their worries.
Bri and Lisa sashayed to my side, impish grins in place even though their eyes told a different story.
“I know we’re finishing around noon,” Bri began.
“But do you want to head to that new Thai place for something light to eat before we come back here for tonight’s show?”
“No.” My one word reply had Lisa slinging an arm around my waist.
“What’s up with you?” she asked quietly.
I stepped away from her hold and called to Francois.
“Shall we start our warm up now? Time’s getting on.”
Bri touched my elbow.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I shrugged.
“We were shit last night.”
“We weren’t that bad,” Bri argued.
“Let’s start our warm up.” They finally accepted the coolness of my tone and edged away to take up their positions.
After the warm up we went over the 2 nd and 3 rd act until Francois was satisfied, grudgingly satisfied going off the still present furrow between his eyebrows.
I stood at the back of the large space, eyeing my dancers as they exchanged sweaty high fives and hid their grimaces of pain.
Lifting up the t-shirt I wore over my leotard, my own grimace formed.
Bloated, my stomach definitely looked bloated.
Or was my body beginning to show the inevitable evidence of my mistake?
There was time yet, time before the UK’s 24 weeks limit passed and took all choice away.
Was I trying to fool myself?
How idiotic.
The choice had already been made.
I dropped the material and caught Dante’s eye.
Someone needed to head over to where Francois and Gerrard stood.
They couldn’t be heard from this distance but I knew whatever was being said neither man was happy.
Then we both noticed the bustle of Gloria’s form outside the fishbowl.
She opened the glass door and gave a quick scan of the room, I tried to make myself disappear behind shoulders and backs of lean bodies as people started gathering up their discarded stuff before leaving.
“Madi,” She had spotted my ineffective ducking attempts and beckoned me over with a vigorous wave.
“Oi. I can see you. You’ve got a visitor in reception, a Mr Collins.”
“Ok,” I figured dealing with a visitor could be no worse than dealing with Francois and Gerrard, plus that name sounded familiar and not in a good way.
“I’ll be there shortly.”
Ten minutes later with a necessary change of clothes, I walked into reception.
Collins.
Shit.
It was Matt’s lawyer.
Although we had never met face-to-face, the moment he spoke I recognized his voice from the few conversations we’d had.
Oh no.
What had I done now to deserve his presence?
Mr Collins was the big gun, loaded and deadly.
“Mr Collins, this is a surprise. Is something wrong?” My wary question followed our brief handshake.
He looked around the reception, gaze lingering for a moment on Gloria’s bent head.
The click clack of her keyboard was sharp and fast.
“Is there somewhere we can speak in private?” he asked.
I tried not to grimace.
“Yes. Just follow me, we can talk in my office.”
The suited lawyer followed me in silence to the office while I worried about the reason for his visit.
Had Matt decided to renege on our agreement concerning my building?
I hadn’t broken any terms of the non-disclosure contract either.
Shit.
I needed to get my own divorce lawyer.
Why had I left it this late in the day?
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
In less than a month we could legally apply for a divorce.
I opened the door to my office and ushered Mr Collins in.
Regarding him with blatant suspicion, I took a seat behind my cluttered desk as he also sat down.
“Is Matt suing me or something?” It was best to jump right in with lawyers.
“I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Mr Collins placed his briefcase on the edge of my desk.
“We had an agreement,” I added coolly, then the nervous babble commenced.
“Has he told you I plan to waive all rights to any form of settlement? This building is legally mine. I don’t want any financial restitution. Matt knows this, we, uh, talked about it not too long ago. Did he tell you that? I just want this over with as quickly as possible.”
He opened the briefcase.
“I’m not signing anything now ,” I hastened to clarify.
“Do you have legal representation for your upcoming divorce, Mrs Bradley?” Mr Collins queried in that monotone voice of his.
“I will be filing on behalf of my client by the 13 th of January.”
“I haven’t gotten around to it as yet.”
The barely visible tightening around the corners of his mouth had my defensive guard gearing up.
“When last we spoke,” he drawled out.
“You assured me you would be seeking legal representation.”
The office door suddenly swung open carelessly.
Both Mr Collins and I turned our attention towards it.
Dante froze, already partially through the doorway.
“Sorry.” He started backing out.
“I thought you were in Reception. The guys are heading out now.” He peered at Mr Collins then back at me.
“Is there anything you want me to tell them?”
“No,” I waved him out.
“Wait. Remind them to get here at least two hours before the show. Some of the temps were cutting it close last night.”
Dante nodded and backed out the office, quietly closing the door.
“Why are you here?” I asked Mr Collins.
“Truthfully. What does Matt want from me?”
He surveyed me silently for a brief moment before pulling a few sheets of paper out of his case.
“Nothing at all, Mrs Bradley. My client simply wants to ensure you’re both on the same page concerning your upcoming divorce. I’ve listed a few requirements that will be expected of you,” He handed over the sheets.
“Have a quick read through, then we’ll discuss them.”
I took the sheets, not sparing them a glance.
My focus was on the lawyer.
Something was up, the look he’d given me was a strange one.
I had spent too long trying to decipher Matt’s facial expressions during our relationship, and what they meant, to not have learnt something about reading between the lines.
Something was definitely up.