by Sonia Icilyn
“Sure,” she replied, following him out of the conference room and into his office. “How’s your case going?” she probed.
“It’s a bitch,” Dale said wearily, finding his chair behind his desk. “I’m in court again this morning with William Katz.”
“The ‘Bulldog,’” Philippa acknowledged from across the room, where she was pouring herself a glass of water. “You’ve got a pretty good reputation going yourself as the ‘Wolf.’”
“He’s making me nervous,” Dale admitted wearily. “I can’t concentrate or seem to shake him off. And I don’t feel convinced that my client is innocent.”
Philippa threw him a gaze. She’d never seen Dale look this ill at ease before. “What’s wrong?” she asked, concerned. “And don’t tell me it’s about Marcus Davy, your client.”
“This firm can’t afford any negative publicity,” Dale told her.
Philippa suddenly realized that Dale calling her into his office was not about him. “This is about me, is it?” she said.
“Yes,” he nodded.
She spotted the bottle of whiskey and fixed them both a drink. “Here,” she said, handing him a Scotch and water. “This will take the edge off. Now, what is it?”
“I want to tell Avril the truth,” Dale said pointedly. “She’s holding the reigning title of Miss African-Caribbean and I don’t want any adverse publicity placed on us that would put my relationship with her or the firm in jeopardy.”
Philippa’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to take this to a personal level,” she said in a businesslike tone. “Don’t ask me to.”
“I’m not asking you to do anything,” Dale returned. “I want to tell her.”
Philippa looked at Dale with genuine concern. “We’re not at the bargaining table here,” she said, “but I must remind you that this is a law firm. What happens here is no one’s business unless we allow it.”
“She’ll never trust me if I don’t tell her and she finds out,” Dale said, weakened by the remark. “I can’t eat… I can’t sleep. She’s in my thoughts constantly. I’m falling in love with her.”
Philippa chuckled. She knew that feeling only too well. “Did you really need to consult me about this?”
“You’re a woman,” Dale drawled unabashed. “I just don’t know how you women think.”
“Then I’d say,” Philippa considered, “if I were her, I’d be upset hearing the full story on my involvement with Maxwell Armstrong elsewhere, but I’m not sure I want you to intervene.”
“I want to do it,” Dale stated tersely.
“Then good luck,” Philippa said, sensing that this was too touchy a subject to press.
Dale nodded, knowing the task would be tough and the information would be even tougher for Avril to swallow. “I don’t think I can wait until the weekend,” he admitted. “We’re supposed to be going to the Royal National Theater on Saturday, but I need to deal with this first. I think I’ll call Avril and tell her tonight.”
Avril had to switch off. There was no two ways about it. The moment she entered Reuben Meyer’s business premises, she composed herself and decided to stay focused.
“Miss African-Caribbean,” Reuben announced when she was showed into his office by one of his many assistants. “Please, sit down.”
“Thank you,” she accepted.
There was a low level of excitement in her gut as Avril began to anticipate her new role, though she told herself not to get too inspired until Reuben Meyer explained her position. She needed to be certain his offer would be something she could galvanize herself into before she could display her usual trademark smile.
“Now,” Reuben began in his low baritone voice. “I have given your title some consideration and have decided that you’re right. There should be some purpose and role attached to having the designation of Miss African-Caribbean.”
“Of course,” Avril agreed.
“How would you feel about involving yourself in some basic community projects that are affiliated to my company,” Reuben expanded. “A year ago, I completed the construction of a housing project with a few investors and moved in a shipload of leasehold tenants. However, there are problems brewing and I need to get to the root cause of it. Does that interest you?”
“What will it entail?” Avril queried on raised brows.
“I need to know facts,” Reuben finished. “It would mean you talking with the tenants, involving yourself in their issues and reporting back to me.”
“Do you intend to help them?” Avril asked concerned.
“If it’s something I can fix, I’ll fix it,” Reuben promised. “After all, nobody wants grumbling tenants, do they?”
“No,” Avril admitted. “Where would my office be?”
Reuben pulled back into his chair. “There’s no office,” he said. “You’ll be moving into one of the apartments.”
“Oh,” Avril gasped.
“It’ll only be temporary,” Reuben warned. “And you’ll be working incognito.”
“But,” Avril protested. “I thought my new role would widely publicize my designated title. I believe your tenants would be more trustful to inform me of what’s going on if they were led to believe someone in the public eye were on their side.”
Reuben reconsidered. “You have a point,” he conceded. “We’ll do it your way.”
“And my salary?” she prompted.
“I think thirty thousand for the full year of you holding the Miss African-Caribbean title would be sufficient,” Reuben confirmed, “on provision that there would be other projects I would expect you to offer your service to within that year.”
Avril smiled. “I’m in agreement. What’s the housing project’s address?”
By the time she met Kesse for dinner the following evening at one of the chicest restaurants in London, Avril was bursting with news. The autumn leaves had colored the trees and were beginning to carpet the sidewalk when she stepped from the taxi and walked into Nobu Berkeley.
She’d been ambivalent about seeing her friend again. Kesse had not only candidly aired her point of view the last time they’d spoken, but behaved in a manner Avril had not seen before. It had thrown her off balance. But now she had regained her poise and serenity. There was a certain dignity attached to her composure, too, that generated confidence as she pushed the restaurant door open.
“Well it’s official!” Kesse announced as she watched Avril walk toward the window table, excitement written across her face.
Avril was anxious to talk about her new job. Her first day had flown by in a flurry—leaving Reuben Meyer’s office and the rush home to tell Lennie and her mother about the project. Then she’d packed a few things, enough for the temporary stay at Reuben’s newly constructed apartments before Lennie drove her into Shepherds Bush where the project was located.
Her first night in the building had been uneventful and quiet. Of course she missed the signature restaurants, contemporary holistic spa, courtesy gym, and cocktail bar she’d grown accustomed to while living at Maxwell’s riverside apartment. And the pool and vast garden at her mother’s Dulwich Village estate were also additions she had to forgo.
Reuben’s latest project was for the working minority classes—the hard laborer, single mother, nurse, or schoolteacher whose earning bracket would never stretch to property ownership, but were people who still wanted to enjoy a standard of living that was both modern and comfortable. Avril couldn’t wait to gloat to Kesse that Reuben had given her a job worthwhile.
“What’s official?” she asked, taking her seat and placing her pocket book on the table, her thoughts ready to launch into detail about what that job entailed.
“Maxwell’s parents are organizing the christening for their new grandchild,” Kesse revealed.
This was not what Avril expected to hear. Her mouth fell open. “What?”
“I heard it from Meyrick,” Kesse revealed.
“You saw him?” Avril asked, drained of gusto.
“H
e…he came into my store,” Kesse stuttered. “We got talking and that’s when he told me.”
Avril summoned the waiter and ordered a glass of brandy on ice. “I suppose I should’ve expected this to happen sooner or later.”
But she had thought it would be later. Much later.
After the excitement of her new job offer, Avril had successfully managed to obliterate Philippa Fearne from her mind. There was a lot to be said about staying busy because it worked. Now, she was to learn that the situation on Maxwell Armstrong had moved on a notch.
“They’re holding it a month from now,” Kesse continued. “At the village church.”
“In Grantchester!” Avril exclaimed.
Kesse nodded.
“I have to hand it to the Armstrongs,” Avril mocked as the waiter deposited her brandy. “They’re not very tactful, are they?”
“I don’t know whose idea it was to have the christening at the same church where you and Maxwell were expected to get married,” Kesse said, almost apologetic. “I just thought you should know.”
Avril downed her brandy in one swift motion. After the tangy effect worked its way into her system, her thoughts became clear. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she remarked coolly. “I have a new job now, I’m dating Dale Lambert and I now know who the mother of Maxwell’s baby is.”
Kesse’s dark eyes bulged. “Girl, I don’t know where you should begin first.”
Avril chose. “How about we start with my new job?”
“No,” Kesse amended quickly. “Who’s the baby-momma?”
Avril hesitated. “Her name’s Philippa Fearne. She’s Dale’s law partner at his firm.”
“Oh my lord,” Kesse drawled recklessly. “I’ve heard of her. Rakeem told me she’s white.”
“She is,” Avril confirmed. “She’s very beautiful, too, and I can see why Maxwell went for her, but I haven’t confronted her yet. I want to know why she sent me the anonymous note and…why she didn’t stop Maxwell sooner. It would’ve saved me a lot of heartache.”
“Your heart didn’t get broken,” Kesse reminded harshly. “If it did, you wouldn’t be with Dale Lambert right now after all that talk about hitching Rick Armstrong. How did that all get started anyway—you and Dale Lambert?”
Avril shrugged. “I’m not sure,” she said, almost in confusion. “Lennie retained him to represent me against the Armstrongs and then we sort of got it together.”
“But he’s Philippa Fearne’s partner,” Kesse reminded astutely. “Talk about a small world. How are you going to reconcile that she took your man?”
Avril almost choked. “Philippa didn’t take Maxwell from me,” she insisted harshly. “She’d already given birth to Maxwell’s baby before he proposed. I should imagine that she saw me as the woman wronged and that he had betrayed her. Why else would she have sent me the note?”
Kesse shrugged. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Avril replied in honesty. “I mean, do I ask Dale or her?”
“Her,” Kesse exclaimed loudly. “I’m a firm believer in going directly to the source.”
“I did ask Dale a few questions about her relationship with Maxwell, but he would only confirm that Philippa was once Maxwell’s lawyer.”
“That’s probably how they met before the affair,” Kesse acknowledged. “And Dale Lambert can’t tell you anything without infringing his legal obligations, which is more reason why you should confront Philippa Fearne yourself.”
“I know,” Avril wavered, nervous that she may have to do precisely that.
“Are you going to continue dating Dale Lambert while this is hanging over your head?” Kesse pressed on.
Avril’s brows rose. “I don’t see why not.”
“Then you best be careful,” Kesse cautioned, “because his loyalties may lie more with Philippa Fearne than they do with you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Avril gasped, offended by the remark.
“Exactly as I say,” Kesse proclaimed. “As long as he’s her partner in law, he can also be her partner in war, cavorting to keep all manner of things from you.”
Avril’s mouth dropped. “You’re overreacting,” she said, deeply offended. “I happen to like Dale Lambert very much. He’s proven to me that I can trust him, that he has the right attributes and moral fiber in life to build a serious, long-term relationship on and I’m looking forward to getting to know him better.”
“Did you say long-term relationship?” Kesse asked, as though the very phrase was alien to her. “Is that what you want from him?”
“Maybe,” Avril drawled, surprised she’d made the assertion, especially on the subject of trust. This was not like her.
“He hasn’t been seen with a girl in months,” Kesse laughed. “Are you sure he’s not gay?”
Avril rose from her chair. “I don’t know whether you are intentionally doing this, forcing a reaction,” she started, “but firstly, Dale dates women, not girls. And secondly, I happen to know he’s not gay because he set his sights on Philippa Fearne before Maxwell got her.” Then Avril closed her eyes, immediately aware she’d said too much. When she reopened them, a picture of glee was painted right across Kesse’s face.
“So that’s why you wanted to keep Meyrick Armstrong hanging in the wings,” Kesse breathed, “in case things do not work out with you and Dale Lambert.”
Avril felt sick. “I came here to tell you about my new job,” she said, her voice fraught and dismal. “Instead…” She could hardly speak, overwhelmed by the depth of their conversation thus far. “I’m leaving.”
“We haven’t ordered,” Kesse protested, without a shadow of apology.
Avril shook her head. “I’m not hungry.” And without a second glance, she walked out of the restaurant.
Avril was in a daze. What could she possibly have done to Kesse to deserve this kind of friendship? One hour ago, she’d felt happier and more contented than she had done in weeks. Her wedding fiasco… Maxwell’s baby… Meyrick’s dying friendship had all infected her mind like a disease, each an affliction that had blighted her judgment and possibly her health. But she had managed to root them from her thoughts.
Dale Lambert had helped her remove that scourge. She had no cause for worry, not when it came to him. Now, she may have put their budding relationship into jeopardy by what she’d revealed to Kesse Foster. The matter preyed on her mind in leaps and bounds and in no time at all, Avril found herself at her mother’s house.
Bertha was relieved to see her. Avril finally felt she could unload what it had been like working at the housing project without going into too much detail about what was going on in her personal life. It was an escape mechanism. And the only one she knew under the present circumstances.
“Hi, Mom,” she announced on entering the kitchen where Bertha was preparing a Haitian dish for her husband. Avril liked seeing her mother in plain blue jeans, a body-hugging white top, with her hair hanging around her shoulders. It belied her age, easily projecting her to be a woman in her thirties rather than her fifty-two years. “How are you?” she asked.
“Avril, I’m brimming with worry,” Bertha breathed in her melodramatic manner. “Tony’s in his room. He hasn’t come out since this morning and is refusing to speak to anyone.”
Avril sighed. No hope of talking about her new job here. “Why’s he holed up in his room?”
“I don’t know,” Bertha shrugged, helpless. “I was hoping you could talk to him. He might tell you what’s ailing him.”
“Me!” Avril exclaimed, sarcastically. “Haven’t you noticed we’re not on good terms right now because of Elonwy? If anything’s happened between them, I don’t want to know about it. Keep me out.”
“But I need to know what’s happened,” Bertha panicked. “He won’t tell me, but he might tell you.”
“I don’t want to do this,” Avril protested, whining. “Do I have to?”
“You’re his sister,” Bertha reminded.
“Don’t patronize me with remarks like that,” Bertha suddenly exploded. “You are both my children. Whatever has happened in my life and the husbands I have had should have no bearing on the life we live together now.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“No, you never do,” Bertha croaked, a tremor now evident in her tone. “Why can’t you understand, I am worried about him. And my grandchild.”
“But never about me, eh, Mom?” Avril chided.
“What are you talking about?” Bertha gulped, startled.
Avril backed off. “Forget it, Mom. I’ll go and talk to Tony.”
She wanted to scream the moment she left the kitchen. Her body was whirling with tension. Avril did not expect this. Wherever she turned, there was a problem. First Kesse, her mother and now Tony. Oh, God! She just wanted someone she could sit down and talk to. Meyrick Armstrong flung to mind. He had been such a person, once. A long time ago now. And then—Dale Lambert was there, in her mind’s eye, with that reassuring smile on his face.
Avril took an intake of breath, shaking as his image consumed her entire being. Now that he was there, immersed in her thoughts, she knew it would be hard to shake him. She thought about the time they’d spent together, about his long drugging kisses and the way he’d touched her and suddenly felt a longing for him. But a splinter of treachery prevailed. Was Dale longing for her or secretly harboring feelings for his law partner?
Why oh why did she have to tell Kesse Foster her single and most deepest fear! As Avril ascended the stairs and made toward her brother’s bedroom, she worried about Kesse making this privacy prime time news.
She knocked on the bedroom door and waited. No answer. Avril rapped again and called out to her brother. “Tony, I know you’re in there.” Seconds later, the door opened. Avril ventured in. “Tony?”
He’d crawled back beneath the sheets of his bed like a hermit, leaving the top of his head out to look at her. “What do you want?” he moaned.
“Mom’s worried about you,” Avril began, perching herself on the edge of his bed. “She wants to know what’s wrong and sent me up to find out. Personally, I’d pass on the idea of taking you on, but—”
