Then he’d discovered Ireland and our farm, finding out two months into their engagement that his bride was due to inherit the whole lot.
“Marie.” He gave me his firmest nod. “I’m glad you’re early. We need to talk about today.”
“Of course.” I cast Dessy a meaningful glance, one that suggested I would rather be discussing cowboys. “I know I’m just there to observe, really, but I have read through the file.” I’d qualified as a lawyer two years ago, having done my law degree and legal practice course over in London, then taking the New York Bar after another year of studying. I was able to practice both in England and New York, which had been the goal, as we had an office in London as well which would eventually be run by me or my brother. Our father wanted flexibility, so Aiden and I had been expected to dedicate ourselves to our books and then our practice, which I’d swallowed prettily until now.
“You won’t be observing, Marie. You’ll have to take a lead.”
I walked alongside him into the nearest meeting room. “What do you mean?”
“Lonny’s had to go to the hospital with his wife and no one else knows the file as well as you. I have every faith that you’ll getwhat the client wants from the mediation. Let’s sit down and you can talk me through your strategy.”
An hour later and I felt like I’d been grilled by law enforcement twice over. My dad was thorough and insistent and encouraging, so by the time he left me to stew over the key notes from the file once more, I was fired up and forgot to miss Ireland, instead contemplating what I knew of the lawyers who worked in commercial property for the Callaghan firm that represented our opposition.
Callaghan, Price and Waters was an old legal practice who weren’t dissimilar to Greens. Price and Waters were long since dead, their names lingering on. They’d been established at the same time, but while the larger of our offices was in New York, Callaghans were bigger in London. We’d shared work if there’d been a conflict of interest and we couldn’t take on a case, and they’d done the same, but I hadn’t actually come up against them yet.
Their client lived in England, residing just outside of Oxford, somewhere I’d never been but always wanted to go. Our client was from Long Island, and was the neighbour of Callaghans’ man, the dispute around a boundary, with both parties having what I could see were equal arguments to a plot of land in New York, which was worth a ridiculous amount of money and could also cost another ridiculous amount of money on legal fees if both parties didn’t come to an agreement in the next few days.
This wasn’t the only case against Callaghans. It had timed nicely for a case that was going to court, starting tomorrow and scheduled for eleven days. My father was lead on that case and I was shadowing him, still learning the ropes, although given he’d passed the boundary dispute onto me, maybe he thought I’d finally learned some of them.
I read through the information on the lawyers from Callaghans that one of the secretaries had compiled. There were no photos printed, just biographies that’d been photocopied from the “Legal 500” and some recent news articles.
Leonard Gifford, Kingsley Hammond, Pierre Newcomb, Peter Callaghan, Grant Callaghan.
No women. That didn’t surprise me. Big traditional law firms like mine were teaming with white men, usually white men who’d all grown up together or were in the same club as someone’s uncle who’d opened a door for them. I’d grown up with knowing that because I was a woman I was seen as having talents in other areas.
My grandfather had suffered a conniption when he found out I was studying law.
“What’s the point?” he’d said, dabbing a finger towards me as if I was a cardboard cut out of myself. “She’s not going to take the Bar. She must study something more suitable. Literature or philosophy. Our offices are no place for my granddaughter.”
Surprisingly, it’d been my father who’d come to my rescue, not that I’d needed it. Ignoring someone was a technique I’d perfected somewhat, probably because I was one of nine siblings.
“She’s the brightest of them all and she’s wanted to be a lawyer since she was a child. Don’t penalise her because she’s a girl. She can study what she likes.” My father hadn’t raised his voice or sounded grumpy. He was a better lawyer than his dad, far more laid back and tolerant, but then he needed to be being married to my mother.
She was fiery and fierce, her temper belonging to a red head, if we were still being stereotypical, only she had the same dark hair as me, typically Celtic.
The conversation about what I was studying had stopped there. My grandfather had visited me four times at Stanford,and then again at University College, London, attending every graduation too and no more was ever said about a woman working at his law firm and not as a secretary.
Two years before I joined, two other women joined as counsel, probably to pave the way for me, which they had. Another two had joined since, bringing the grand count to five out of almost thirty lawyers. It was slow progress, but it was still progress.
I tidied up the file, putting the papers back in order, glancing out of the windows into the atrium of the building. The prelude to the mediation was taking place here and would block out most of the day, although the actual mediation was tomorrow. We’d be in the same room trying to hammer out a deal until we'd flattened every kink. No going home until both parties agreed.
That was if we could get them to agree to the mediation today.
File in hand, I headed to the elevator, the pinch of my new shoes on my toes making me question today’s life choices. I leaned against the side, hoping that I’d have the ride to the twelfth floor to myself, stealing a few minutes of peace before what would be a very full on day commenced.
The doors reopened and a tall man came in, his broad shoulders swallowing up the space. I took him in, not having seen him before but finding something familiar in his features and the way he was carrying himself.
He was strikingly handsome with thick dark hair that would be a challenge to keep as tidy as it was right now. He was clean shaved with a strong jaw and high cheekbones that made him look far too delicious. I wondered if Dessy had seen him and what her thoughts would be.
“You work here at Greens?” His accent was English, the smooth, well-formed vowels of someone who’d been privately educated.
“I do.” I clutched the file closer to my chest, trying to relax my shoulders.
“Could you make sure we have coffee and tea in meeting room three? There seems to have been an oversight.”
I bit back the first wave of words that wanted to explode from my mouth instead relaxing the file and applying my most charming of smiles. There wasn’t much doubt that this was someone from the Callaghan party, someone who had no idea who he was speaking to.
I rose to my full five feet four inches with heels and tipped my chin up, narrowing my eyes at him. I didn’t do anything to soften my Irish accent which I’d promised myself I’d never lose when I spoke.
