Confessions Read online

  Oh God, Chinese walls, would they ever go away? But this time Nat was out of the loop, so she truly knew zilch. ‘I honestly don’t know anything. I’m sort of on sick leave, so I haven’t been in the office. But I imagine it’s simple fact finding and nothing more sinister.’

  Cassandra tilted her head and finally gave a small smile. ‘I’m guessing “sort of” sick leave is a euphemism for something else? Something much nicer than illness?’

  Nat chuckled. She didn’t mind looking dreadful, so long as her baby was thriving. ‘Do I look that bad?’

  ‘Not at all; I just have pregnancydar. Congratulations. How far along are you?’

  ‘Thirteen or fourteen weeks.’ Nat tapped the wooden table. ‘I hope.’

  Cassandra rose and brushed invisible crumbs from her coat. ‘If you do hear anything and you felt you could tell me…’ She pulled a business card from her purse and jotted a number on the back. ‘We would both be very grateful. It was so tough for all of us to witness Melanie’s decline, unable to do anything but watch. My father did nothing wrong or unprofessional. You’ve met him, so I’m sure you know that, but to be forewarned… Bye, Natalie. And the best of luck.’ She briefly gripped Nat’s hand before turning away.

  Nat slipped the business card in her pocket. Her mind buzzing, she gazed absently through the window. What would she do if she found anything out? Another flaming moral maze. But her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of an attractive man striding to the door. Almost brushing shoulders with Cassandra, he stopped, then turned his head to have a second look.

  The handsome man was her boyfriend. He leaned over to give her a peck. ‘Was that your two o’clock appointment?’ he asked, grinning.

  ‘Stop taking the piss,’ Nat replied, feeling a niggle of pique, despite his soft kiss.

  ‘She seemed familiar. Do I know her from somewhere?’ he asked.

  ‘I certainly hope not. I don’t want you mixing with attractive young blondes when I look

  so–’

  ‘Beautifully pregnant.’

  She took his proffered hand and stood. ‘You know you’re not allowed to say the P word. We don’t know for sure.’

  ‘Yes, we do.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘And in fifteen minutes I will be proved right. I can’t wait to tell Mum, then shout it from the treetops.’

  A horrible thought suddenly hit her. ‘What about Andrea?’

  He shrugged. ‘What about her?’

  She touched her stomach. ‘This.’

  ‘If she finds out, fine, but I’m not telling her. I have no plans to see her now, or ever if I can help it.’

  Her heart thrashing, Nat followed Wes to the car. ‘Really? What about her threats?’

  He climbed in and looked at her steadily. ‘What will be, will be. Priorities have changed. I won’t let her into our life. Does that sound okay to you?’

  Avoiding the traffic, he drove the back way through Cheadle Village. They didn’t speak until he turned off the engine in the leafy hospital car park. He dipped his head. ‘Nat, is that fine with you?’

  It was more than fine, but there were so many ifs and buts, she didn’t know where to start. Still, only one thing seemed to really count. ‘Does Andrea know about your decision not to see her?’

  Wes’s face clouded. ‘Oh, yes, she knows.’

  32

  Civic Duty

  Nat woke up bright and early and scooped up her list of things to do. She hadn’t slept that well, but it was fine. Her insomnia had been born of excitement, and she had filled in the wakeful interludes by scribbling memos on the pad by her bed. A call to Mr Savage was at the top.

  She had intended to call Gavin yesterday, but buoyed by the results of the scan, she and Wes had travelled straight to Congleton to break the glad tidings to Kath and Joe. Although she’d already met them both, it was on their turf this time. Ridiculously nervous, she’d sat on the edge of her chair like a character from her current tome. Hesitant, mannered and polite, she’d nibbled cake and sipped lemonade, saying enough pleases and thank yous to satisfy Mrs Cadwallader. But she needn’t have worried; as soon as Wes cleared his throat and announced: ‘Natalie and I are going to be parents in the autumn,’ Kath stood with arms raised and jigged on the spot.

  ‘I knew it! I knew it,’ she laughed, gathering both Nat and Wes, and continuing a three-way prance.

  ‘I think she’s pleased,’ Joe said wryly, lifting his head from the newspaper, but smiling nonetheless. ‘Congratulations, son.’ Then, with a glint in his eye. ‘Congratulations, Natalie, though I’m not sure I recognise you fully dressed.’

  The men had strayed into chatter about football – a new City signing and the ref’s disgraceful penalty decision on Saturday – so Kath had rolled her eyes and pulled Nat into the chilly conservatory, put on a fan heater and sat her down.

  ‘So, tell me everything. How far on are you?’ she’d asked.

  ‘Fourteen weeks,’ Nat had replied, pleased to say it out loud. ‘We had a scan earlier.’

  There had been another peal of delight. ‘Please tell me you have a photograph.’

  ‘I have,’ Nat had replied, digging in her handbag, but not wanting to hand it over just yet.

  Kath had seemed to understand. Peering at it without touching, she’d sighed. ‘Perfect, just perfect. So tell me exactly what you could see on the screen…’

  Nat hadn’t known if she’d been referring to a willy – or not – but it was nevertheless fabulous to describe what she’d seen on the ultrasound scan to someone who was thrilled to know.

  She now peeped at the snap. Her eyes had been so glued to that beating heart, then counting the arms, legs and toes, that she hadn’t thought about the baby’s sex. She didn’t want to know anyway; the fear of tempting fate was still creeping in. But all was good yesterday; she could breathe a tad more easily now.

  ‘Second trimester,’ she said to herself. How the heck did that happen? And more to the point, it meant she only had one more trimester to get used to the idea of an actual child, not one borrowed from Gavin or cooed over via an iPad screen. Bloody hell!

  Infused with surprising energy, Nat finally settled down at the table. No more procrastination. Last night’s master plans needed to be put into practice. First up, SS.

  ‘Savage Solicitors. Chantelle Rochelle speaking.’

  Rochelle? A rhyming surname? Really? Why didn’t she know that? Reminding herself not to be surprised by anything SS related, she stifled the chuckle.

  ‘It’s Nat. Guess what?’

  ‘Harry Styles is coming in to the office to get his will sorted. He’ll immediately spot me and beg me to be on the cover of his new album. His gran lives near mine. Did you know that?’

  ‘No I didn’t. Try again?’ Then, thinking Gavin might not be impressed by the two of them holding up calls with a guessing game for half an hour, ‘It’s fine; I’ll tell you.’ She took a big breath. ‘I’m pregnant! I am going to have a baby in September.’

  ‘Really? Wow.’ Then after a beat. ‘Are you sure? You’re quite old to be having–’

  ‘Excuse me! Forty is nothing these days.’

  ‘You’re forty? God, my mum’s only–’

  What the flip? People were supposed to be pleased, not put her in the same bracket as some old granny who’d gone to Italy for fertility treatment. ‘Well anyway, can you put Gavin on, please?’

  ‘Ah I get it,’ Chantelle continued. ‘You’re accidentally up the duff with that dishy guy with the mad bitch wife?’

  A bit close to the bone. ‘Well yes, maybe, but… Just put me through to Gavin, please.’

  He came on the line a little too quickly. ‘Natalie. What can I do you for?’ He couldn’t hide the smile from his voice.

  ‘You’ve been feeding Chantelle the lines, you bloody sod.’

  ‘This wee laddie? As if.’

  ‘I’ll get my revenge,’ she said when his chuckling had died down. ‘I’m only phoning to offer my freelance services.’
r />   ‘You mean you’re bored already?’

  ‘Pretty much. Tell me what’s happening in the real world. Brian Selby, for starters. Doctor Woodcock’s daughter came to see me yesterday. Have you been speaking to her father and asking for documents? She’s worried he’s going to be blamed for something.’

  The line went quiet, then Gavin cleared his throat. ‘Remember we act for Brian Selby, Natalie,’ he said, the humour all gone. ‘We do whatever helps him. If that includes slinging mud at the medic who prescribed the drugs, then so be it.’

  The jolt of reprimand hit her as usual, but she knew he was right. The duty to do one’s utmost in the best interests of the client was obligatory. Over the years she’d done it many times with gritted teeth. Yet she felt sorry for the Worsley GP. Perhaps she was getting soft. Hormones, probably, currently the answer to everything.

  ‘I realise that, but you’re not “slinging mud”, are you, Gav? He seems a good guy.’

  ‘As it happens, no. But there’s no property in a witness, Nat. Anyone can approach him for information or a statement, including Khan and your mate Jack.’ He paused. ‘It might be our expert toxicologist, actually. Did you know he got bail?’

  It took her a moment to shift focus. ‘Who? Brian?’

  ‘Yup, and Shirley. Both back home for now.’

  That brought a smile. She pictured young Lucy’s look of despair when her parents’ ‘absence’ was mentioned. ‘I’m pleased, at least that’s something. Are they still both saying they did it?’

  ‘Each of them say they held a pillow to Melanie’s face. Who knows how that will pan out ultimately?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘For want of a better expression, the jury is still out. Brian and Shirley have yet to plea in the Crown Court; we need to get proper disclosure, look at all the police evidence, particularly toxicology. There’s potential for murder, attempted murder or assisted suicide. That’s just for starters.’

  Nat laughed. ‘You love your job, don’t you, Savage?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ he replied.

  She ended the call, flicked on the kettle and went in search of her mum. Following the sound of humming, she stopped at the lounge door and watched Anna polish the woodwork with a yellow duster. Every few moments she stopped to practise her steps. A waltz? Foxtrot? It was so nice to see her happy; thank God for Borys.

  The thought of Michal Gorski popped up. She snorted to herself. What was she like? Mentioning him to Gavin had definitely been on the agenda. Bo and Fran had often complained about ‘mumsnesia’, but Nat was clearly starting her foggy headedness early. Thank goodness Anna’s invisible dance partner had reminded her.

  Retreating to the kitchen, she called Gavin back.

  ‘Thought I’d got rid of you,’ he said.

  ‘About Michal…’ she began.

  Why she’d temporarily forgotten, she didn’t know. He was regularly the subject of Anna and Borys’s discussions over szarlotka, Lover Boy’s favourite apple cake:

  ‘Who would do such a dreadful thing?’

  ‘The money men, Anna.’

  ‘But why? He was working all hours to pay them, wasn’t he? Who are these wicked people?’

  Nat tried not to earwig; the stress wasn’t good. On the one hand her feelings of culpability made her sweat buckets; on the other, it made her determined to stop the bloody thugs.

  ‘What about him?’ Gavin asked.

  She took a breath. ‘Yes, Michal. You were going to have a think about the debt management villains…’

  ‘Ah, that.’

  ‘And? What did you decide?’

  ‘Let’s just say Robbie has done a session of what Robbie does best.’

  ‘As in?’

  ‘His creative use of the laptop.’

  ‘What? You mean hacking?’ She had forgotten about this alleged skill. In truth she’d always supposed Gavin was winding her up about it; she still wasn’t sure. ‘Gavin! Just tell me.’

  ‘Robbie found a trail which ended with a name.’

  ‘Really?’ She could feel her heart thumping. ‘And it belongs to…?’

  ‘One very respectable Mr Lewis Foster. He’s a financial adviser who has some swish offices in Wilmslow, apparently.’

  ‘Really?’

  The word emerged far too high and Gavin chuckled. ‘Did no one ever tell you acting wasn’t your strong point, Nat?’

  People had. ‘So what now?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve already done my civic duty. Reported everything I know to the police. Cheshire police’s economic fraud unit, to be precise. Next up will be a nod to the Insolvency Service.’

  The pounding in her chest cranked up another notch. ‘And this has nothing to do with me or Goldman Law?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing,’ he replied firmly. ‘In fact it might well generate some good publicity for the whistle-blower. He’s tall and handsome with a terrific moustache. Tell you what, he’ll look braw on the front page of The Times.’

  With a grin, Nat remembered the magician’s outfit. ‘Wearing a cape and top hat with a little white rabbit, maybe?’ She laughed. ‘Hey, I could earn some dosh by exposing the “secret sorcerer life” of the Heald Green Solicitor.’

  ‘Fame at last, don’t knock it.’

  ‘I thought your PC Plod case was going to make you famous.’

  ‘Hmm… Not the type of fame I was hoping for. Nor him, I expect.’

  Nat sat up, intrigued. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Well…’ The chime of his desk phone interrupted his reply. ‘Got things to do, Bach. Ask your buddy, Jack.’

  33

  Attic

  Feeling a little on guard, Nat inhaled the delicious buffet aromas and listened to the hum of conversation around her.

  She caught Wes’s eye and smiled. He had asked for complete honesty and going forward that was fine. Backwards would not be helpful given his struggle to keep angst or annoyance from his face. Today of all days, she was particularly glad of her circumspection. It wasn’t as though she had anything to hide personally, but the Goldman clan were another thing, and the whole dynasty was here at Catherine’s Sunday brunch.

  Nat’s immediate instinct had been to say no to the invitation, or at least to dig deep for an excuse. There had been a smattering of pleasure when the text arrived asking her and Wes as a couple, but it had been rapidly replaced by alarm.

  Wes had been more sanguine. ‘Look, the whole thing is horribly incestuous, but they are our partners and friends, part of our lives.’ He’d given her a peck. ‘Unless you have plans to do a runner for five years again.’

  ‘Not funny.’

  Of course he was thinking about him and Catherine, her and Catherine, her and Jack, the strange foursome who’d been intertwined one way or another for fifteen years. Wes had no idea about the bigger picture, the Julian, Aisha and Levenshulme Mafia affair in particular. Still, everyone around the long bench had abided by the rules of civility so far: they’d sipped their Buck’s Fizz, nibbled on smoked salmon blinis, and passed round the Goldman baby and pleasantries.

  She looked around her balmy surroundings. In contrast to the ultra-modern cooking area, this room was more traditional with wooden beams, panelled walls, an open fire and the huge oak table. It looked like a genuine antique and probably was. Were the cool, high-gloss kitchen units and white sofas Catherine’s choice, and this homely dining suite Jack’s? Who knew? Nat’s old ‘nous’ seemed to be faulty these days. She glanced at Max and relaxed a jot more; if anything went awry, the tribe could always turn on the new boy, who was flirting outrageously with Jack’s usually sullen daughter, Verity.

  Aisha was sitting on the opposite side. Without her pregnancy bump, she looked tiny. Nat had tried to squeeze in next to her, hoping that baby talk would break the ice after their less-than-friendly meetings last year, but Catherine had intervened. ‘You’re at the other end next to Jack, Nat. He’s been missing you. Prepare yourself for a grilling.’

  Her stom
ach rumbling, Nat turned to him now. ‘So, what’s going on with PC Plod and the taser case?’ she asked, helping herself to several triangles of buttered brown bread.

  ‘Ask your pal, Gavin.’

  ‘He says to ask you.’

  He lowered his voice. ‘Seems your Mr Savage isn’t happy with the racism angle.’

  ‘What racism angle?’

  Jack removed his glasses. ‘Young black lad minding his own business gets tasered. I’d say it speaks for itself.’ He polished his lenses before replacing them. ‘We can’t have our upstanding police force behaving that way.’

  Nat narrowed her eyes. Of course he had a point, one she’d tried to explore herself, but Dwayne hadn’t raised it, so it wasn’t appropriate to pursue. And besides, Jack had never been that type of lawyer; he’d always done his bloody brilliant best for a client financially, absolutely, but never for a cause.

  ‘What are you up to?’ she asked.

  He shrugged and spread his hands. ‘Just doing your job, Miss Bach.’

  Another platter was passed her way. Almost slavering, she stared at the selection of homemade pâtés, king prawns and quails’ eggs. Typical; they were all on the bloody banned list. It was always the same; when deprived of something, one missed it so much more. She handed it to Jack.

  ‘Eat double for me, will you.’ She shoved in another triangle of Hovis and chewed. ‘So, what about DeMille and his seamstresses? Did you check all the documents proving their entitlement to work here?’

  ‘DeMille?’ He paused. ‘Ah, Cecil B. Very good. Of course.’ He poured himself more wine. ‘I don’t suppose you’re drinking alcohol either. Doing it by the book?’

  She stared at his face. It was definitely shifty. ‘Did you do it by the book, Jack? Those checks? If he’s employing illegal workers, he’ll get a shedload of bad publicity and a huge fine. which he’ll pass on to Goldman Law for their failure to–’