by Sonia Icilyn
“How can I help you?” Dale Lambert began.
“An apology would do,” Bertha related coldly. “We’ve been waiting—”
“Of course, I’m sorry,” he interrupted. “My partner is absent today, so I’ve had to handle more of the workload. I hope you don’t mind.”
“We don’t mind,” Avril said softly, cutting off her mother’s protest. Her thoughts settled. “We, my brother and I, are in a bit of a mess and Lennie de Souza—he’s my stepfather…”
“My husband,” Bertha inserted.
“…suggested you could help.”
“Suppose we start from the beginning,” Mr. Lambert advised, while rolling a gold-colored pen between his fingers.
“It all began when my daughter was crowned Miss African-Caribbean,” Bertha began, clutching at her snake-skinned handbag.
“I’d like it if Miss Vasconcelos could tell me,” Mr. Lambert interrupted.
He stared at Avril. There was a deep, gravelly quality to his voice and a faint accent that was American English she’d heard affected in sitcoms.
“Well, Mr. Lambert,” Avril started, carefully allowing her gaze to bounce from the chocolate-brown eyes facing her to the impeccable gold cufflinks at his wrists.
“Call me Dale,” he smiled.
“Dale,” she accepted, also noting his perfect white teeth. “I was on the threshold of getting married two weeks ago when I received an anonymous letter in the post.” She sighed to collect her thoughts. “Mr. Maxwell Armstrong—”
“Did you say Maxwell Armstrong?” he repeated on raised brows.
“Yes,” Avril nodded, as a diamond stud in his left earlobe flashed at her “We were engaged and—”
“Do you know him?” Bertha interrupted, detecting the shift of Mr. Lambert’s broad shoulders beneath his £600 suit.
“I know of him,” he admitted forlornly. He looked at Avril, then jotted down some pertinent notes on the legal pad under his hand. “Continue, please.”
Avril looked at him carefully, as though judging his ability to be tough. “He’s the father…of a baby…to another woman,” she blurted haltingly. “When I found out, I couldn’t go through with the wedding. Now he’s planning to hit me with the bills and dismissed my brother from his employment at his father’s company.”
“Wow!” Mr. Lambert exclaimed. “I’d say he’s looking to level the score.”
“You can say that again,” Bertha agreed soberly.
“Leave it with me,” Dale said smoothly.
Avril looked at her mother. “That’s it?” Her eyes landed on Dale Lambert. “You don’t need to know anything else?”
“Not at the moment,” he answered sharply.
“Mr.…Lam…Dale,” Avril protested. “We don’t have thirty-two thousand pounds. That’s how much Maxwell Armstrong is asking for. I…we need your help.”
Dale glanced at his expensive watch. “I’ll get back to you in a few days,” he smiled. “Try not to worry.” He rose to his feet, fixed his gray tie and affected a firm handshake with them both.
Avril was not prepared for his towering height, dwarfing her by at least six inches. “I don’t think you understand,” she continued as her first contact with his firm, thick fingers sent a tingling action along her nerve endings. “I’m expected to attend an awards dinner next week and would rather like the matter sorted before then. It’s a high profile occasion and it’s very likely the Armstrongs will be there.”
“I’ll call you,” he said. “Please leave a number I can reach you on with my secretary.”
Outside his office door, Avril felt confused. “Mum—”
“He’s a good friend of Lennie’s,” Bertha interrupted, irritably. “So let’s do as he says and not worry. Lunch?”
Avril accepted.
“I hope you’re right and this lawyer whips their asses,” Antonio declared over the dinner table later. “I went to my office today and found the door locked. I couldn’t get in.”
“Did you see Maxwell?” Avril asked, hardly able to touch her food. Her mind was still spinning with the image of the man who had promised he would call in a few days.
“No.” Antonio’s voice filtered into her thoughts. “My…former secretary told me he was not in the office and that Georgie had ordered that I was not to remain on the premises.”
“They forced you to leave?” Bertha gasped.
“When the top man barks, you don’t howl back,” Antonio stated. “Georgie even ordered that I leave the key to the company car.”
“What?” his mother chortled.
“So I left it right there, in the ignition.”
Bertha squeezed her son’s fingers. “Don’t worry, the lawyer we saw today said he would work it out.”
Avril’s curiosity grew. “Where do you know him from?” she asked Lennie, while picturing the handsome man who looked nothing like a lawyer.
“He’s the son of a close friend of mine,” Lennie explained. “Dale was born in England, but he grew up in the States. He graduated at Yale in law after receiving a scholarship to study there. His entire family—his parents, grandparents—all live out in Florida. He has a sister, Elyse, who’s visiting right now.”
Avril was tempted to inquire whether he was single, but Meyrick suddenly crept into her mind. She recalled his features well. The sexy charcoal-colored eyes, square-shaped face, cleft in his cute chin and kissable lips made her realize her emotions were still frayed at the edges with the devastating blow left by him and his brother.
“Mr. Lambert sounds qualified enough to get me out of the fix I’m in,” she said, her mind still a quandary.
“Dale’s good,” Lennie moved on. “I was in a fix myself once and he pulled me right out of it.”
“And what entanglement would that be?” Bertha inquired suddenly.
Lennie laughed. “Leave me alone, woman. It’s Tony and Avril who Dale’s dealing with.”
But Avril couldn’t get the problems facing them out of her head. By nightfall, she felt fraught with nerves. She just could not settle. Her reality had taken an unexpected turn and she could only but wait to hear what Dale Lambert had to say.
Her fists balled in frustration. Damn Maxwell Armstrong and his brother, she thought on a frown before she turned out the lights and sank her head into her pillow. Still fraught, she made a sudden vow. She would never try and reach a man’s heart again, such was the pain of unrequited love. And with that resolve, Avril slept.
Chapter 4
“What time is your appointment?” Kesse Foster asked, as she sipped iced lemon tea from a tall glass and contemplated Avril over the rim. Concern reflected in her dark eyes while she watched Avril stare absently at the ambling traffic through the large windows that overlooked Kensington High Street.
The early August weather was already upon them. It was cool, but sunny which was why Kesse chose the nearest table to the window. Dressed in blue jeans and a white jersey, with her full head of cascading brown hair spread wildly across her shoulders, Kesse realized she was in far better shape than Avril that afternoon.
The former bride-to-be was wearing a simple white kaftan with a blue denim skirt beneath. The two items hardly complemented one another, nor did they seem suited for Avril’s caramel-brown complexion, slim frame and fragile boned features. With her tossed curls abandoned behind a blue velvet head band to tame her hair away from her face, Kesse could see just how miserable Avril looked.
“Eleven o’clock,” she answered on a low note.
Kesse looked at her watch. “That gives me half an hour to catch up,” she said. “I have to be at the store later.” She glanced at her friend. “So, how are you?”
“I’m lost,” Avril answered wistfully. “I’m trying to figure out if there was another purpose to why Maxwell wanted to marry me.”
This was the one question that had remained on her mind over the last few days. Amid more flurries of tears that were more about her low self-esteem than the predicament she was in, A
vril needed something of worth to hold on to.
“He loves you,” Kesse answered flippantly.
“A man doesn’t give his love,” Avril replied cynically. “He lends it on the highest security with considerable interest from the woman concerned. And if he receives very little dividend, he reinvests in a new one.”
Kesse uncomfortably readjusted her seat. “You’re talking as though Maxwell wasn’t sincere.” She noted the woebegone nut-brown eyes. “What is this about?”
“I expect you’ll hear soon enough,” Avril began dismally. “Maxwell’s a father.”
Kesse put her glass down on the clean table top. “What kind of father?” she asked.
“The regular kind,” Avril answered bitterly. “As in procreation.”
“He has a child?” Kesse gasped, astonished.
Avril threw her an acknowledging nod. “Three…maybe four months old now.”
“Oh my lord,” Kesse said, shocked. “How…when did you find out?”
“On our wedding day,” Avril disclosed, moments before she took a long sip from her own glass of cranberry juice. “I was tipped off anonymously.”
“What!” She winced.
Avril nodded recklessly.
“Men!” Kesse shook her head in disbelief. “So that’s why you didn’t marry him.”
“How could I?” Avril reasoned, tight-lipped. “Maxwell has a baby-momma.”
“I’m so sorry,” Kesse sympathized as she took a hold of her friend’s hand. With a reassuring squeeze of friendship, she added, “This is awful.”
“It gets worse,” Avril went on. “Maxwell fired Tony and hit me with the full cost of the wedding.”
Kesse worded each syllable slowly. “Run that by me again.”
“He’s sending me the bills,” Avril confirmed. “The first of them trickled in by post two days ago. That’s why I arranged for us to meet. I needed to talk. I’m sorry I couldn’t return your calls sooner.”
“That’s all right,” Kesse answered. “You’re still emerging from an emotional roller coaster and as your friend, it’s up to me to listen.”
“Thank you,” Avril returned. Her face fell. “What gets me is that I feel stupid for attempting to marry someone I clearly didn’t love.”
“Then why did you—”
“I don’t know,” Avril interrupted, shaking her head vigorously. “I think I got swept up in the tide of publicity and being desired by someone powerful.”
“And as handsome as Maxwell Armstrong, I hear you,” Kesse chuckled, before thinking better of her remark. She composed herself quickly. “I shouldn’t have said that. Some men are just not worth the effort. A woman should simply play with them then move along to the next.”
“That’s not how it’s supposed to be,” Avril shot back, startled at Kesse’s conjecture. “There needs to be a moral line marked somewhere.”
“Not everybody has one,” Kesse defended, almost recklessly. “What are you going to do?”
Avril shook the turn in conversation from her mind. “My stepfather’s hired a lawyer to work the case,” she explained. “That’s who I’m meeting this morning.”
“Do you think he can help?” Kesse asked, before sipping more lemon tea.
“Who knows,” she shrugged.
Kesse pondered the situation. “You guys must have spent a fortune.”
Avril nodded. “Yes.”
“The cake, the food, the flowers,” Kesse recounted slowly. “Actually, I heard the cake was donated to the African Wedding Fayre at Battersea Park.”
“Really?” Avril asked, brows raised.
“Where else would perishable items like that go?” Kesse pondered.
Avril sighed. “To charity I expect. Maxwell hasn’t been in touch to tell me what he did with everything.”
“He’s abroad,” Kesse revealed suddenly. “I telephoned Greencorn Manor and—”
“What?” Avril broke in. “Without asking me?”
“It’s been nearly three weeks,” Kesse reminded abruptly. “You weren’t taking calls from anyone and people were asking questions. As your maid of honor, I needed to know what to tell folks.”
“And he’s on holiday!” Avril could hardly believe it. Her heart sank at the prospect that while Maxwell was taking a vacation, she was burdened with financial woes.
“Maxwell probably needed to get away,” Kesse surmised.
“Don’t make excuses for him,” Avril said in disgust. “Maxwell has responsibilities that he ran to me to escape from. You can’t trivialize this by telling me how he needs to further separate himself from his obligations. A baby is…permanent. That’s it.”
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Kesse pleaded in earnest.
Avril tried to calm herself. “When is he back?”
“Friday,” Kesse told her.
“In time to attend the Amateur Tennis Awards dinner on Saturday,” Avril deducted. “What a spectacle that’s going to be.”
“Just ignore him,” Kesse advised sharply.
“Are you coming to lend me support?” Avril asked suddenly.
“I guess I’ll have to,” Kesse declared on a chuckle. “Someone’s got to play peacemaker.”
“Peacemaker!” Avril repeated, annoyed that her friend seemed to be treating her life as some sort of joke. “I’m in debt. How can…” Her voice trailed as she curiously stared at Kesse, confused. “If Maxwell’s on vacation, who’s been sending the bills?” She paused momentarily to consider the culprit. The truth dawned. “His mother.”
“Avril,” Kesse cautioned.
“Lynfa never liked me,” Avril fired back. “She always complained that I was too skinny. It wouldn’t surprise me if she encouraged her son to find a woman with child-bearing hips.”
“Do you think she knows about the baby?” Kesse questioned, as the news began to implode in all avenues of her brain. “I mean, if she does, then I can expect an invitation shortly.”
Avril’s nut-brown eyes began to widen at the insensitive suggestion. “What?”
“The christening of course,” Kesse concluded. “Being one of the leading stockists of Armstrong Caribbean Foods does have its advantages.”
Avril’s heart sank further into her ribcage. “Lynfa will be in her element as the doting grandmother,” she said through clenched teeth. “All said and done, I didn’t mean a great deal to any of them, did I?”
“Rick liked you,” Kesse reminded soothingly.
“He’s no longer talking to me,” Avril revealed on a regretful note. “I’ve been thinking of the times I spent at Greencorn Manor. Maxwell would invite me to go there with him for the weekend. He played chess or scrabble with Georgie, while Meyrick and I talked over cocktails. Our conversations meant a lot to me.” Her voice rippled. “Now he’s cast me aside because I never married his brother. It hurts.”
“I’m sure he’ll come around, in time,” Kesse said in an encouraging voice.
Avril wanted to confess her feelings for Rick Armstrong, but having jilted Maxwell at the altar made the moment seem inappropriate to spring the nature of her emotions onto her best friend. Instead, she tucked away that memory.
“I hope so,” was all she could answer.
“This lawyer,” Kesse prompted, before draining the last of her iced lemon tea. “Is he good?”
Avril shrugged again. “I don’t know,” she complained, staring at her cranberry juice. “He didn’t take down much information. In fact,” she added for emphasis, refusing to comment on his strikingly pop idol good looks. “I’m not confident he can help.”
“What’s his name?” her friend probed further.
“Dale Lambert.”
“Dale Lambert!” Kesse sat erect in her chair and ignored the raised brows of the nearby diners sipping morning coffee. “Good lord, Avril. If anyone can get results, he’s your man. He’s nicknamed the ‘Wolf’ because he gets the job done. Goes straight for the jugular and in for the kill.”
Avril’s eyes widened. �
�You know him?”
“He’s legendary in his field,” Kesse said on an excited breath. “My boyfriend sings his praises daily. Rakeem hired Dale Lambert to fight his corner on a legal case against the local council last year. They tried to block his new wine bar license after a shooting incident.”
“I vaguely remember you telling me something,” Avril recollected. “What happened?”
“Rakeem came out smelling of roses,” Kesse said victoriously. “After all, he didn’t know the two men who were trying to settle a score in his wine bar. No one got hurt and Rakeem did call the police after doing the smart thing by evacuating the premises. Dale Lambert dealt with the legal end swiftly, so the bar was only closed four days.”
Avril was suddenly hopeful. “This man can get me of the hook and Tony his job back?”
“From what I can gather, he’s an impressive piece of legal machinery and even has an adversary named the ‘Bulldog.’” Kesse answered lightly. “So I’d be surprised if there’s a glitch he couldn’t handle.”
Avril smiled. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time.”
She finished her cranberry juice, promised to call Kesse and left the small coffee shop to keep her scheduled appointment with Dale Lambert.
Her breath came up short and rapid in her throat as Avril emerged like a butterfly from the London underground. She felt oddly elated on leaving the subway. She also felt underdressed. She should never have assembled her clothes so haphazardly that morning and scolded herself for feeling so low.
Now loaded with fresh information about Dale Lambert, the denim skirt was far too old and the white kaftan was slightly stained from years rather than months of wear, hardly suitable to be greeting a successful lawyer. But there was no time to return home and change. And though her bare legs were fabulous—slender and toned—she looked too casual in black sandals.
But an urge to walk faster swept recklessly over her as she made her way toward Finsbury Park Road where Dale Lambert’s London office was located. On arrival, she was immediately ushered by Dale’s assistant to a vacant chair in his outer office.
