Chapter 7
7
John was obviously well connected as, despite barely two weeks having passed since the email announcing his death, everything has been arranged and the memorial service is today. The Temple church is already packed by the time that Alasdair and I arrive and, to begin with, I worry that there won’t be anywhere for us to sit. There’s an empty block of pews in the middle, but I can spot the reserved signs even from here. I’m scanning the other pews despondently when I suddenly spot Janice waving and pointing to a seat next to her.
‘I saved a seat for my favourite partner,’ she tells me conspiratorially when I reach her. ‘Although I didn’t realise you’d be bringing a plus one.’ She looks curiously at Alasdair for a moment before speaking again. ‘I’ve seen you before somewhere. Property, am I right?’
‘Very good,’ Alasdair tells her.
‘I expect we can squeeze you both in if I shuffle up a bit,’ she tells him as she wriggles along to make room. When we sit, it’s so tight that I can feel both Janice’s and Alasdair’s hips digging into mine.
‘Although I’m grateful,’ I murmur to Janice, ‘I’m not sure you’re supposed to have favourites.’
‘Well, I do,’ she retorts. ‘You’re the only one who ever says thank you, and that gets you preferential treatment.’
I’m just about to tell her how depressingly low that sets the bar when the organ music swells and the doors swing open to reveal a man in robes, holding an ornate cross on a long wooden pole. As the organ continues to get louder, he raises it high and advances into the church. Behind him, in solemn procession, walk Martin Osborne and the other senior partners, decked out in their academic regalia. The guy with the cross halts by the empty block and the partners file into the second row of pews.
‘Wow,’ I whisper to Alasdair. ‘He’s got the full complement. All the senior partners are here.’
After the partners come another set of men wearing fur robes. ‘Representatives from the Skinners’ company,’ Janice informs me as they take up their places behind the partners. ‘And here come the Freemasons,’ she continues as another block of men in dark suits, wearing colourful sashes and chains around their necks, file into the pews behind the Skinners.
‘I tell you what,’ Janice murmurs. ‘If you wanted to wipe out the legal heart of London, a bomb in here right now would do a pretty fine job.’
The final group to enter the church are, I’m guessing, John’s family. There’s an elegantly dressed woman I’d estimate to be in her late fifties, along with two young men who are very obviously his sons, from their facial features. I watch them closely as they take their place in the front row, admiring their poise under pressure. It’s got to be an emotional moment for them, but all three are perfectly dry eyed and holding their heads up high.
‘She’s doing well, isn’t she?’ Alasdair whispers. ‘It must have been a hell of a shock. I heard it was a heart attack. Not quite face down in the soup, but not far off.’
I nod my head as the final members of the family procession take their seats. My cursory glance turns into a full-on double-take as I realise that I recognise the two people sitting next to John’s sons. What the bloody hell are Rollo and his mum doing here? Before I have a chance to say anything to Alasdair, however, the minister is asking us to stand for the choir introit.
‘I think John would have been pleased with that,’ I observe to Alasdair and Janice as we make our way through the city towards Skinners’ Hall for the reception. The firm laid on buses, but it’s a beautiful crisp winter’s day so the three of us decided to walk.
‘Don’t you think it’s odd that neither of his sons gave a tribute?’ Alasdair remarks. ‘I mean, it was nice what the other people said about him, but you didn’t get any insight into what he was like at home.’
‘I’d still love to know what his connection to Sarah is,’ I tell him.
‘Who’s Sarah?’ Janice asks.
‘I’ve no idea what her real name is. The woman who was sitting slightly apart from the other family members, with the little boy. She lives on the same road as me.’ I decide not to mention the parking wars, as it’s not a story that shows me in my best light.
‘Daughter, maybe?’ Alasdair offers.
‘No,’ Janice says firmly. ‘He didn’t have any daughters. Two sons, that was it. She might be with one of the sons, I suppose, although she looked quite a lot older than them, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t have any grandchildren.’
‘How do you know all of this?’ Alasdair asks her. I’m not at all surprised, but he hasn’t come across the formidable Janice in person before.
‘I chat to people,’ she says enigmatically.
It’s weird, being outside during the day. I keep glancing around me guiltily, as if one of the senior partners is going to pop up at any moment and demand to know why the hell I’m not in the office. Martin was quite clear in his latest missive, though. As a mark of respect to John, anyone attending the service and reception had to keep their phones turned off and invisible until the proceedings were officially over.
‘Perhaps she was a family nanny or au pair,’ Alasdair suggests after a while. We consider it before I dismiss the idea.
‘Too young. She can’t be more than ten years older than the sons. Babysitter, maybe?’
‘Why would you include a babysitter in the family pew?’ he counters.
‘You’ll be able to ask her yourself in a minute,’ Janice advises us. ‘We’re here.’
There’s obviously some sort of receiving line because, although the buses have long since dumped their passengers and departed, there’s still a long queue outside the entrance to Skinners’ Hall. I’m grateful for the fine weather as we shuffle slowly towards the door; queuing in the rain would have turned my hair into an untameable frizz.
Eventually, we inch our way inside to be greeted by John’s widow and two sons. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ I tell her as I shake her proffered hand before moving on and repeating the process with each of the boys. Up close, I can see that they’ve both inherited John’s light blue eyes but, where his were cold and calculating, theirs sparkle with life. If I didn’t know better, it would almost look like amusement.
There are two waiters standing at the end of the reception line, each holding a silver tray with an assortment of drinks. I grab a glass of champagne and scan the room, which is humming with muted conversation. I spot her on the second sweep. She’s standing all alone, sipping a glass of champagne, with Rollo beside her holding a glass of orange juice. She looks lost and, despite our enmity, I find myself feeling a little sorry for her, even as my curiosity about who she is grows. I’m still staring at her when she looks up suddenly and meets my gaze. I can see her eyes narrow briefly before she grabs Rollo’s hand and begins to cross the room towards me. I glance behind to summon Janice and Alasdair as my wingmen, only to find that they’re already engrossed in conversation with other people. Shit. I’m going to have to front this out on my own, as best I can.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says once she reaches me. ‘You look familiar, but I can’t place you. Do I know you from somewhere?’
‘I live in your road,’ I tell her.
‘She’s the lady you shouted at about the parking space,’ Rollo adds, unhelpfully in my opinion.
I can practically see the penny dropping and brace myself for the inevitable onslaught. What happens catches me by surprise. She smiles.
‘You got me clamped,’ she says, but there’s no malice in her tone.
‘Only after you reported my car as abandoned,’ I reply.
‘It’s a fair cop,’ she admits. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’ve been dealing with a truckload of shit over the last year, and I think I’ve taken it out unfairly on lots of people, including you. I’m Rebecca, by the way.’
‘Thea. Nice to meet you, I think.’
‘Don’t worry, I don’t bite. I take it you worked with him?’
‘Yes. I’m one of the partners at Morton Lansdowne.’
‘Did you like him?’
‘I respected him.’
‘Nicely sidestepped.’
‘Do you mind me asking how you knew him?’
‘Not at all. This is Rollo, my son. John is – sorry, was – I must get used to saying that. John was his father.’
For a moment, it seems as if time freezes while I try to digest that information.
‘You weren’t expecting that, were you?’ Rebecca says with a grin. ‘It’s all right. Nobody does.’
‘How?’ is all I manage, before I run out of words.
‘Oh, the usual way. I’m sure you don’t need diagrams, do you? Wealthy married lawyer seduces stupid woman who really ought to have known better. It’s a classic tale; I think Disney are working on a film version of it. It’s a bit like Beauty and the Beast except she falls pregnant and the beast gets even more beastly.’ She glances down at Rollo, who looks unfazed, as if he’s heard this story many times before.
‘Darling,’ she says to him. ‘I think there are some snacks over there. Why don’t you put some on a plate and bring them back for Thea and Mummy?’
‘Can I have some too?’ he asks.
‘Of course. Don’t wolf them down though; take your time. I don’t want you being sick on this expensive-looking carpet.’
‘Sorry about that,’ she says as Rollo crosses the room towards the buffet. ‘I do try to protect him from the worst of it, but I can’t always help myself.’ She lowers her voice conspiratorially. ‘The truth is, I’m glad the fucker’s dead. That makes me sound like an awful person, I know, but I can’t help how I feel.’
Before I have a chance to even formulate an answer, we’re interrupted.
‘Rebecca, darling, there you are. Where’s dear Rollo?’ I turn and come face to face with John’s wife. Today just keeps getting weirder and weirder.
‘Sorry, how rude of me,’ she says seamlessly. ‘I don’t think we’ve met except in the receiving line just now. I’m Alice, John’s widow.’
‘Thea. Junior partner,’ I reply.
‘Thea lives on the same road as me,’ Rebecca explains as Alice puts an arm around her and gives her a squeeze.
‘Really? What a small world. I’m so glad you’ve got someone to talk to, though. I was worried you’d be bored with all these stuffy lawyers.’
‘I sent Rollo over to investigate the buffet table,’ Rebecca tells Alice. ‘Thea was asking about our situation, and there are some things he’s not ready to hear yet.’
‘Quite right. Poor boy can’t help who his father is, can he? Still, now John’s dead, we can set about putting things right for both of you. Oh, heavens, I can see Martin the terminally dull trying to catch my eye. I’d better go and play the dutiful grieving wife.’
I’m starting to feel like I’ve slipped through a portal into a parallel universe. The longer I spend in this room, the less sense the world makes.
‘I don’t think you were meant to hear that,’ Rebecca says with a smile. ‘She’s doing a terrific job, but underneath it all I think she’s as glad to be rid of him as I am. Are you going home after this?’
‘I probably ought to go back to the office.’
She grimaces. ‘That’s what he used to say. The way he talked, it was like the world would end if he wasn’t at his desk. He thought he was so bloody important, but what will his legacy be, hmm? He’s not going to get a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame because he helped fat cat business A buy wanker business B. All those hours, all those late nights, all that money, and all that’s left of him are an indifferent wife, two legitimate grown-up children who barely knew him, an ex-mistress that hates him and an illegitimate son who hopefully won’t remember him. As far as his oh-so-precious fucking job is concerned, it’s like dropping a pin into a pond. It shines for a moment, but doesn’t even cause a ripple as the water closes over it and it’s forgotten. Sorry, I probably oughtn’t to be saying this to you. Champagne always makes me indiscreet. I’d better grab Rollo and head off before I make a tit of myself.’
As she turns to look for her son, something rebellious stirs in me. Before I have a chance to second-guess myself, I touch her on the arm.
‘Sod the office. I’ve got some wine in the fridge if you fancy coming over.’
She smiles widely. ‘Deal. I’ll even leave you a parking space.’