A few weeks later, the Honourable Claire Hartley, senior partner at Hartley Tod family law firm, sat as still as a sitting statue, staring unwaveringly at her opponent. She was neatly put together.
Armani suit – blue
Armani blouse – crisp white
Shoes – Manolo Blahnik, black
Bag – Aspinal’s, black
Jewellery – Hancocks of Burlington Arcade, chunky and old
She barely bothered to hide her disdain as the men faffed about with piles of paper on the shiny conference table.
‘Right, I think that’s about it. We have everything we need for our side, how about you, Claire?’ said Piers the Wife Slayer.
Anna had nicknamed him that after the first official meeting she and Claire had with him and Julius. Claire had warned her about Piers’s savage reputation in the divorce courts, but Anna couldn’t believe he would be so bloodthirsty with her, considering he’d been the best man at their wedding all those years ago. He’d been in their lives for so long; he’d stayed in their home whenever his own relationships broke down, which was often. Anna had come to know him as a friend, albeit Julius’s friend, but still, she’d done the wifely thing many times, and offered her husband’s best mate every kind of support she could muster when he was in most need. Anna had even put him into pyjamas and into bed in their spare room when he was sobbingly, vomitingly, hopelessly drunk. She’d wiped his privileged, posh-Chelsea, good-looking but also very unattractive face with a flannel, and he’d whispered ‘Thank you, Nanny’ as he dropped off. Surely, then, he wouldn’t be going for her throat at this critical moment, as the two lawyers were preparing the case to go to court?
Claire had warned Anna not to underestimate the power of male loyalty, and this particular bromance was long, strong and chock-full of testosterone. No way was Piers going to let his certain knowledge of (a) Julius’s repeated and unregretted adulteries, or (b) Anna’s continued attempts to bring their relationship back in line, or (c) Anna’s ongoing pain about her lost child and her consequent depression, exasperation and increasing reliance on sleeping pills, get in his way. Except the sleeping pills part. He’d already let Claire know in no uncertain terms that if Anna didn’t toe the line by allowing this divorce to be discreet and much in Julius’s favour, protecting his image at all times, then he might be ‘forced’ to reveal information like that about Anna. Claire had advised her client to fight them like rabid dogs to gain the ground she so justly felt Anna ought to occupy, but after lots of reflection and debate, Anna instructed Claire to capitulate, so that she could have a quiet life. Her desire was to sink into the background of his landscape, and to eventually exit it altogether. They would always be linked by the very fact of Florence’s abduction, and the consequent very public and strategic effort to improve security in all maternity wards in her name. Or rather, more accurately, in Julius’s name. In ambitious Julius’s important name.
For years, Anna had watched as Julius’s attempts to run for the BIG job in government were thwarted at every turn, often by his own hubris. His mistaken belief that the more the public got to know him, the more they would like him, had been his ultimate downfall. Much as his party desperately wanted a man of colour to aim for and achieve greatness, it doesn’t matter what colour you are (even if that very fact might be to your advantage in times of growing diversity, especially in a party where there is precious little, where there’s a shocking paucity of different skin), it just doesn’t count for anything if you are essentially a king tosspot. The British might be known for valuing the odd buffoon, but Julius’s narcissism and snobbery had ultimately rendered him intolerable, unelectable and rejected. He still had a backbench presence, but his voice was seldom heard in any potent or memorable way.
Anna had spent her entire married life with him trying to gently nudge him away from all the false idols he worshipped. She’d known he had political ambitions from the start, and she had respected that, especially since he claimed he genuinely wanted to effect change for the good. But then … he became swept up in his need for success. He put everything else second, apart from his libido, of course, which he had somehow conveniently worked into his narrative of himself as an alpha male. Anna was tired of it. His mind wasn’t attractive, his body wasn’t attractive and his morals were positively abhorrent.
So desperate was she to divorce him that she told Claire repeatedly to agree to pretty much all of his demands so that she might the sooner be free. She was content to sign any non-disclosure agreements. The way she saw it, those documents meant she agreed not to reveal what a fake he was. By dint of logic, that also meant she didn’t feel obliged, conversely, to declare how ‘real’ or ‘honourable’ he was either. EVER. In fact, her plan was to keep her lips sealed about him. So, Anna caved in and let him have all the trappings, the art, the house, the pension, even the vintage soft-top Mercedes he bought for her but which he really bought for him. None of that mattered. She would rent her own flat.
‘Yes,’ replied Claire now on behalf of Anna, ‘I think you have everything you need, Piers. Literally EVERYTHING and more. I should just like to add something my client has not instructed me to say, but I’d like to, whilst we are all in the comparative safety of this room. You are mighty lucky, Mr Lindon-Clarke, that my client appears not to have a malicious bone in her body, because your clear culpability in the gradual corrosion of this marriage is indisputable. For my money, you
