‘Ja, but Sydney said she hasn’t seen the interest so high and all at once like this before. She thinks someone talked.’
‘Nick?’
‘I can’t see it. He might not be scared of me telling his wife about Sydney but he knows better than to test me.’
I close my eyes. I don’t even want to know what that statement alludes to.
He leans back, the leather chair rocking a little. ‘But the only other people who know are the police and… people who wouldn’t say anything.’
‘Us. Sandy and Jackson. Your mum and Lawrence. Williams and Amanda. The guys in Jackson’s team that night. Would they say anything?’
‘Not a chance.’
He sighs. ‘What about Amanda?’
I sit back quickly, my hands pushing against his chest for leverage. ‘Ofcourseshe wouldn’t. She’s my best friend, Gregory.’
‘All right.’ He plants a kiss on my brow, then lifts me to my feet. ‘Breakfast. Now. Go.’
15
Practising corporate law means accepting that your life will be a constant navigation through peaks and troughs. One day, you’re riding high on the buzz of closing a deal or taking a cheap thrill from getting one over on another lawyer. The next, you’re back to mundane documents or a pissed-off client because your opposite number has managed to screw you in a negotiation. It might be fair to assume therefore that I’d be seasoned to life’s highs and lows, might even put them within one of those vague stereotype categories likenormalorordinary. But life with Gregory is like taking up an extreme sport. Not like diving or skiing. More like cliff diving or ice climbing without a harness.
The thing is, I’m addicted. I’m addicted to the adrenalin rush, the thrill of being with him. Bad days, in fact, utterly shit days, like today, make the high days like Monday at Primrose Hill and Wednesday’s kinky home-working day, seem even higher. He’s in my veins, he’s in my blood and I’m starting to think he might be the only thing keeping my heart beating. But I don’t know how many more days like Tuesday, Thursday and today I can take. I find myself sitting at my desk, as I am now,wondering whether it’s all worth it. What I’m wondering right now is whether those three words I’m so desperate to hear him say would justify everything.
Yesterday had started like any other day. We woke at five thirty and Gregory went straight out for a run whilst I worked out in the gym with Jackson, quizzed him about Sandy until he blushed then moved on to the spin bike, making way for Gregory and his fine torso to beat up the punch bag. We had morning kinkiness which meant I had to take breakfast on the move. Jackson dropped me at my office, where I deposited a second bagel with Paul, albeit with a scowl. I still haven’t forgiven him for snitching on me, telling Gregory which coffee shop I was hiding out in on Wednesday morning.
The cliché goes,bad luck comes in threes; well, my first bout came via email. It pinged through to my inbox around nine thirty. I was finishing off the latte Margaret had left on my desk and Neil Wallace’s name – accompanied by a rather awkward-looking headshot – appeared on my screen. Mr Ghurair was apparently very impressed with the due-diligence report I prepared for the first in his series of imminent deals.Concise,commercial,pragmatic.That’s what Neil wrote. I’m not sure if it was a direct quote. Then came the catch. Because I’ve done such a concise, commercial and pragmatic job of the due-diligence report, Mr Ghurair is now not just keen but adamant thatI’mthe person to take up the Dubai secondment. Neil tells me he needs my decision by Friday next week but it’s obvious he still thinks I’ll do what everyone expects and say yes. That’s why he isn’t pushing and that’s why telling himnowill be ten times worse than if I was any other lawyer under his management.
I was still pondering the prospect of Dubai when Gregory’s name danced across the screen of my phone.
‘Hey, baby,’ he said. I knew from his tone that it was aboutthe case. ‘I’m about to join a conference call but I wanted to let you know John Harrison called. The results on the second print from the gun are going to be back tonight or tomorrow.’
Just like that. That’s how he delivered the news, as if it was completely within the scope of ordinary. Perhaps it is in the scope ofourordinary. I’m beginning to understand the parameters ofournormal are much different to the average person’s. I thought about that for most of the day. Even when I wasn’t thinking about it as the main event, it remained a subplot in my mind all afternoon. I worked on Gregory’s joint venture with Shangzen Tek – at least that’s one thing that seems to be ticking over according to plan – but at six thirty, I gave in. I couldn’t sit at my desk and feign normal any longer. I also didn’t want to go back to the Shard and continue the charade. So I wandered. I had no aim in mind, I just headed west and found myself in Covent Garden where the Christmas lights – a giant Christmas tree hung with red LEDs, and an enormous, sparkling white reindeer – drew crowds of tourists doing early Christmas shopping.
It was after nine when I took Jackson’s call and he came to pick me up. He dropped me at the entrance to the Shard after I insisted I really couldn’t come to harm navigating the vestibule and one lift. He watched me into the building before heading off to see Sandy.
Gregory was on his phone, still in his navy suit, his crisp, white shirt open at the neck, one hand tugging at his hair. He paced in front of the lounge window, the city lights bright behind him.
‘They asked about her? About her specifically?’ His voice was raised and laced with something, irritation or anxiousness perhaps, but he wasn’t shouting. ‘That much is on police record,Mother; they were bound to bring it up. Did they… did they ask how she?—’
He took a deep breath as he listened, his upper body rising and expanding. Then he slumped, defeated, onto the edge of the sofa and leant forward with his elbows on his knees.
‘They’re trying to establish motive. Trina? She’s supposed to be off the case.’ He shook his head and his cheeks puffed out with his breath. ‘Look at it this way: the CPS are going to see that this whole thing has sent that sick bastard where he belongs.’
Sick bastard!I’ve heard him growl those words once before, in exactly the same way. Last time, they were aimed at Jack Jones, my old boss and the man Gregory beat until he confessed to sexual assault. Gregory was beyond livid then too.
Quietly, I placed my bags down on the floor and pressed the front door closed.
‘Stop crying. Please. Iknowthat. I’m sorry you got dragged into this and I’m sorry that they brought her up. Yes, I know she has a fucking name and I’ll do everything I can to keep her out of this, you know I will.’ He stood up abruptly, then turned and found me on the opposite side of the lounge, not daring to move from the doorway. His irises were black and piercing. ‘You’re drunk,’ he snapped into the phone. ‘Stop drinking. Now? Fine. Stop drinking, I’m on my way.’
‘Hi,’ I said. It was all I could think to say. His rage was clear.
‘I need to go out.’
‘Now?’
He walked towards me and dropped his lips to my nose roughly. ‘Yes.’
