by K. L. Slater
There were far more experienced paralegals in the team, but Joanne hadn’t forgotten how Emma had opened her heart in a recent professional development interview. She’d mentioned her marriage problems and admitted she was driven to better herself because, growing up, her father had constantly told her she’d never make anything of herself.
That need to prove her worth had resonated with Joanne on a very deep level. It had been one of the many things she’d tried hard to bury years ago. Suffice to say, some things just didn’t want to stay hidden, and that was a problem, because hers was a childhood she’d rather forget.
Unlike some other local legal outfits, Walker, Dent and Scott were not the kind of firm who threw glitzy parties that ended up in the ‘Who’s Who’ pages of the glossy Nottinghamshire Aspect magazine. The most they did was take the staff out for a quiet lunch each year, usually at Hart’s restaurant, a week before Christmas.
So although she knew he existed, Joanne had never met Emma’s husband, Shaun.
This year, Walker, Dent and Scott had the honour of being chosen to host the annual legal conference for the East Midlands region. Roy and Dan had asked Joanne if she fancied organising the event, and she’d readily agreed. It was just her cup of tea.
She booked out the ballroom at nearby Colwick Hall. Once the ancestral home of Lord Byron, it was an ornate and impressive building set in extensive grounds on the River Trent. Joanne felt sure the legal eagles from surrounding towns and cities couldn’t fail to be impressed by the hand-painted ceiling and majestic pillars. It was the perfect venue to cement Walker, Dent and Scott as the premier legal practice in Nottinghamshire.
She’d organised canapés and champagne for arriving guests and a four-course lunch served at white-linen-dressed round tables for ten.
Just as one speech was coming to an end, she’d spotted a couple of flashes from the back of the room. She’d slipped from her table and stalked over to the man in dark clothing clutching a fearsome-looking long-lens camera.
‘Who are you and who do you work for?’ she’d demanded in clipped tones, fearing he had been sent by a rival law firm intent on stealing her ideas.
‘My name is Shaun Barton and I’m freelance.’ He raised the palm of his free hand in the air, the width of his shoulders and muscular biceps not lost on Joanne.
She was trying to act fearsome, but there was something about this tall man, with his rugged good looks, his slightly arrogant stance but shy manner, that completely disarmed her.
‘The Post asked me to come along to get a few shots for the Nottinghamshire Aspect magazine. Apparently someone asked if they could cover the event.’
‘Oh!’ Joanne felt the creases slide from her brow, and she smiled widely at him. ‘In that case, carry on, thank you.’
She turned to walk away and then hesitated, two glasses of champagne lending her a little more sauce than usual. ‘If you fancy a glass of champagne and a bite to eat, my table is over there.’ She pointed with an oval nude fingernail. ‘We had a no-show.’
Ten minutes later, Shaun Barton slid into the seat beside her, and he stayed there until the end of the afternoon.
The man was a tangle of interesting contradictions that, to Joanne’s equal delight and annoyance, got her heart racing a little faster. It was a long time since she’d felt that.
Much later, back home and sitting on her balcony with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, she poured herself a well-earned glass of Rioja. She had a warm glow of satisfaction in her chest, signifying a job well done and the fact that she had Shaun Barton’s business card in her handbag.
The next morning, she drove to work, unusually pumped up with anticipation for the day ahead.
She smiled to herself mischievously, recalling Shaun’s mesmerising blue-green eyes and forceful square jawline. They’d been unable to focus solely on each other as there was important networking to be done, especially for Joanne, as the event host. Still, they’d managed to engage in a little small talk and enjoy the invisible electricity that crackled between them.
The journey into work was swift, as she’d left the house earlier than usual, thanking her lucky stars that Piper was on a youth hostel trip in Derbyshire with school for the week. For once, events seemed to have conspired to help her, rather than hinder her.
She parked the car in the otherwise empty staff bays and stopped halfway across the car park to fish the office keys out of her handbag.
When she looked up, she saw Shaun Barton standing by the office door. He looked even taller and broader than she remembered. Her heart thundered in her chest and her mouth felt dry.
‘Could you spare me a few minutes?’ he said cautiously as she drew closer. ‘I’ve come to apologise.’
Chapter Ten
Joanne was aware that people often took her confident manner – sometimes bordering on bolshie – the wrong way. What they didn’t realise was that it was merely a tool to conceal a multitude of deeply personal fears and anxieties.
She had been a meek child, overshadowed by Carmel, her older, borderline genius sister. Carmel had been the apple of her parents’ eyes, and despite her best efforts, Joanne never really had a chance of getting anywhere close to her sister’s academic achievements.
But Joanne was a bright girl, and she had a real knack for understanding very quickly exactly what made people tick.
At school, she realised that nobody ever noticed a wallflower. The shy, introverted children were left to wilt on the sidelines, whilst the more extrovert personalities stepped into the spotlight – and the teachers’ favour – far more quickly.
She found it easy to assume these beneficial attributes, even though most of the time she battled with low self-esteem and anxiety. She could turn her appropriated personality on and off like a light bulb, and regularly did so to great benefit.
In later life, these qualities and ability combined to make her an astute and effective lawyer, able to build rapport with people from very different walks of life. So much so that she’d often wondered if her real calling should have been to become an actress.
Particularly at times like this, when her knees had turned to jelly and her guts to liquid.
She eyed Shaun coolly, took a breath in and swept past her visitor and up to the building, oozing confidence. In reality, her hand shook as she tried to get the key in the door, and every few beats, her heart bounced out of rhythm inside her chest.
Once inside, she asked him to take a seat while she made some coffee. She wouldn’t usually offer refreshments to an unannounced visitor, but she badly needed some caffeine to try and kick this dreamy feeling of hovering above herself, as if she were watching a stranger.
She pointed out the comfy seats in the reception. He didn’t move over to them right away, so she inched back past him, squashing against the mammoth curve of the reception desk, forcing her close enough to smell his lemony scent and see the shower-damp ends of his hair that curled into his strong, lean neck.
She filled the kettle and spooned coffee into two cups in the small kitchenette. She could hear him whistling and it made her smile.
He was so different to the men she worked with. Like her, they were probably operating with false images too. Suited and booted and using convoluted language to meet the clients’ expectations of what a good lawyer should look and act like.
It was refreshing to meet a man who wasn’t afraid to simply be himself, and act naturally in what for some would be quite an intimidating situation.
She found herself glancing in the small mirror on the wall behind the door, fingers flicking through her expensively highlighted blonde wedge to inject a bit more volume.
She stared at the glass, blotting her lips together, wishing she’d used the more flattering peach shade instead of the plain nude gloss this morning. At least she’d worn her new Armani trouser suit, sharply cut to show off her slim figure at its best.
Get a grip! she hissed silently to herself as she moved back to the counter top.
This was exactly how it had started last time. Six years ago and yet it felt like a lifetime.
She recognised the power of the chemical attraction that manifested itself as a physical, magnetic pull between them.
The thought of how it had all ended before sent a shudder through her bones, and she closed her eyes against it. She’d worked so hard, rebuilt everything around herself, and there was Piper to think about… No. She couldn’t allow their faces to shadow her thoughts for even a second.
But the past was in the past and it faded a little with each and every day. That was all that mattered.
She forced her mind to focus on the job in hand, sloshing a little milk into each cup before carrying the drinks through to reception.
Glancing at the wall clock, she noted it would be at least another twenty minutes before the other staff started to arrive for work. She felt relieved. The other partners would recognise him from yesterday’s event and she didn’t want to raise any eyebrows.
‘Thanks for giving me a chance to explain,’ Shaun said as she handed him a coffee.
Joanne sat down opposite him, purposely perching on the end of a cushion to show her long legs to their best advantage. She was curious as to what he wanted to apologise about.
He took a sip of his coffee and set it down on the low table next to a neat stack of magazines. Then he laced his fingers together and seemed to pause in thought for a few moments, before meeting her enquiring stare.
When he spoke, his voice sounded level and considered.
‘I wanted to make something perfectly clear to you. My wife is Emma Barton. She works as a paralegal here at Walker, Dent and Scott.’
‘Emma?’ Joanne said faintly, as the connection registered. ‘Oh… I see.’
She felt instantly deflated, her chest swelling with huge and unexpected disappointment. Although they hadn’t had much time to chat last night, it should have been one of the first things he’d told her.
Shaun cleared his throat and looked away.
‘I say “my wife”, but we’re not really together any more. It’s… complicated.’
‘It sounds it.’ Joanne put down her own drink, not trusting her slightly shaking hand to keep it from spilling over her new trousers. ‘But no harm done, I suppose. Strange you didn’t mention it, though.’
‘I don’t know why I didn’t,’ he faltered. ‘It must’ve had something to do with the chemistry between us.’
Joanne raised an eyebrow.
‘I know you know what I’m talking about, but I was out of order. That’s why I came in early to see you, to apologise. I didn’t mean to mislead you in any way.’
‘I see.’
A smile spread over his generous mouth.
‘I wondered if you’d let me buy you a coffee after work. You know, to apologise properly.’
‘Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly accept. You’re married to one of my staff.’
‘It’s just a coffee, and I told you, we’re not tog—’
‘Even so. I’m sure you understand it violates certain ethical boundaries for me.’
There was an awkward silence. Both of them could feel the electricity between them. Both of them knew not to mention it.
Eventually finding common ground in chatting about the warm weather that was predicted for the rest of the week, Shaun finished his coffee and left the building.
He turned back at the door.
‘You have my card,’ he said softly. ‘If you change your mind about the coffee, that is.’
She nodded. ‘Bye, Shaun.’
For a few minutes, Joanne sat alone in the pleasant space. The light flooded in through the Velux windows above her head and bounced off the waxy dark green leaves of the potted palms in the corner.
Shaun leaving like that was like the warm glow of the sun on her face suddenly fading.
But it was time to pull herself together. There was work to do.
She stood up and dusted herself down, berating herself for being so ridiculous. She would push this annoying photographer from her mind, and in a day or two, with any luck, she would forget he ever existed.
Chapter Eleven
Twenty-four years earlier
You’ve been locked in your room for a long time now.
There is no clock in here any more so you’re not entirely sure how long you have been upstairs. But the light has faded outside and you know that soon it will be completely dark.
You can stand the hunger pains, the thirst and the boredom, but you hate the dark more than anything.
They removed the bulb ages ago as part of the punishments, and the shadeless pendulum hangs uselessly from the ceiling, reminding you of a hangman’s noose. Sometimes, when you lie on your bed and stare at it, it seems to sway slightly, as if something unseen is moving it.
‘Please, God, please help me.’ You hug your knees closer to your chest. ‘Please let me know you’re here, God.’
You imagine a bright white light above your head, like you once saw in a photograph of the Virgin Mary. And for a few minutes, you feel a little better. Until the light fades a bit more and your heart begins to pound.
‘I promise, if you keep me safe, I’ll not steal any more biscuits from the jar,’ you whisper into the shadows.
You always promise God things when you need Him the most, but once your punishment is over, you nearly always forget to follow through.
That’s just the kind of person you are.
You really hope that God hasn’t noticed, because you need Him now. You need Him more than ever.
Chapter Twelve
Emma
I arrive in the staff car park ten minutes earlier than usual and inspect my puffy eyes in the rear-view mirror.
I resorted to a darker eyeliner this morning in an attempt to define them, and also used some sparkling eye drops, but there’s no escaping the bleariness.
I usually wash and style my hair every day; it’s a thin and lifeless mess otherwise. This morning, though, I just couldn’t face the palaver. Instead, I’ve scraped it back into a low ponytail at the nape of my neck and pinned back the wispy side bits with a couple of Maisie’s glitter hair grips. Perks of being mum to a fashion-conscious pre-teen, I suppose.
Since qualifying as a paralegal, I’ve made a real effort to sharpen up my image, ditching the comfy skirts and trousers paired with tunic tops in favour of shift dresses with matching jackets and a couple of serviceable trouser suits in black and navy that I can brighten up with a silky blouse and heels.
Today, a far more casual outfit of baggy black trousers, flat pumps and an ill-fitting floral top has made a comeback. Damn Joanne Dent and her perfect image and perfect career. Overnight, the stuff I admired her for has started taunting me. I just don’t know what the two of them are thinking, getting involved on a romantic level. It’s messy. Very messy.
I heard Shaun leave the house at six this morning. I fought the urge to jump out of bed and scream out of the window at him.
This wouldn’t be usual behaviour from me, but everyone has their limits and he’s managed to push me well beyond mine.
It’s my job to take Maisie to school for her breakfast club, leaving me plenty of time to get to the office for my start time of 8.30. I had thought Shaun might offer to take her in today, as a sort of peace offering. But no. He’d had no problem at all in getting himself out of the house and away from my planned scorn at breakfast. It was like he’d suddenly grown a pair overnight.
Then, unexpectedly, in he waltzed again at 7.40, just in time to take her.
‘Get your bag, princess. I’ll whizz you to school.’
‘Yesss!’ Maisie was delighted. She much prefers Shaun’s roomy car and the fact that he’s willing to play her favourite playlist at full volume all the way there, with no interrogation about last night’s homework.
I’ve parked up at the far end of Walker, Dent and Scott’s neatly marked-out staff bays, facing the hawthorn hedge that acts as a barrier to t
he pavement running alongside. The leaves look cool and green against the backdrop of a cloudy sky; it seems so simple and uncomplicated, compared to the difficult situation that awaits me inside the building. Like it or not, I’m going to have to face Joanne at some point today.
I close my eyes and allow myself a couple of deep, calming breaths before grabbing my handbag and walking across the car park as confidently as I can manage.
Joanne’s office overlooks the car park. She might well be looking out of the window at this very second. Just the thought of it has the fury sticking in my throat like crushed nut shells.
I swallow it down. I can’t afford to let this affect my career, and although it’s a complication I didn’t want or envisage, Shaun is effectively a free agent.
Damn him for rushing into it, though, after agreeing that a stable home life was of paramount importance to our daughter.
My chest feels tight and my legs seem a bit shaky as I move quickly towards the building.
I don’t know if Joanne knows I know yet.
Working out how I’m going to play it is sending my anxiety levels sky high. It shouldn’t be me that’s on the back foot here. I’ve done nothing wrong.
As I approach the rear entrance, I glance up at Joanne’s office window again, but it’s shaded by a white slatted blind. Inside the cool building I pass the small communal kitchen on the right and climb the stairs to the first floor, pausing to stow my handbag in my locker.
This floor houses the admin staff, paralegals and the two trainee solicitors. The second floor belongs to the practising solicitors and the three partners, including Joanne’s own smart glass office.
I’m not the only one who’s in early today. Three or four people are already at their desks, looking busy, but I don’t miss the lightning-fast look that two of the other paralegals shoot each other before smiling too widely at me.
