Isla leaned over and removed one high-heeled vamp and then the other. Idris took a gulp of whisky. He looked away.
“I don’t know exactly what they might reveal. But that doesn’t mean I can’t put an injunction on them, does it? I’m allowed to be pre-emptive, right?”
“Is it something that can harm your reputation as a police officer, Idris? And does it concern anyone else, as in will it hurt someone else’s reputation?”
Idris nodded. “If details get out it could hurt a number of people, some very close to me. But isn’t that why we have libel laws in this country? To protect innocent parties?”
“Libel and defamation are tricky areas and difficult to prove, especially if the report is based on truthful facts that could be verified by anyone. Without being in possession of any details, my advice would be to bring a breach of confidence or privacy action against the reporter. If private material is extensively reported on, then essentially the private nature of the material has been lost. This argument is one that is well recognized and accepted by both English courts and the Court of Human Rights.”
“That’s it, exactly!” Idris agreed. “She wants to report on a matter that’s absolutely private and no one else’s business. How quickly could we make that happen?”
“If you think the matter’s urgent we could get it heard by a holding judge tonight to set an interim injunction. But at some stage you’d have to be prepared to divulge the details in court. Everybody involved in the injunction would be anonymized of course, so your privacy would be protected. Your name would be replaced by three letters, such as XYZ, and that’s all the news agency could publish even if they report that an injunction has been granted against them. I’d push to make sure that the injunction covers any descriptive matter so they can’t say what it’s in relation to, but I couldn’t guarantee that. It’s a risk because the reporter could ask for greater leeway. I’ve seen cases where that happens. You’ve read them yourself: ‘well known sports star obtained an injunction to prevent the publication of the story of his affair with well known singer’, and social media goes into a frenzy to discover their identities.”
Idris cupped the glass so hard between both hands it almost cracked.
“What you’re telling me is that the injunction would be totally useless!” he burst out.
“We could try for a so-called ‘super injunction’ whereby the interim injunction against the news agency contains the provision that they can’t even disclose the existence of the proceedings. Is anyone involved a minor? That’s usually a clincher for the super injunctions, but otherwise they’re very hard to obtain.”
“What do you mean by interim? Doesn’t that mean temporary?”
“It does. The case would have to go to trial. Usually the court orders a pre-determined amount of time. It could be anywhere from a few days to six months or so. The risk of course is that if the injunction doesn’t stick there’s even more publicity for the news than if it was just reported.”
Idris slammed the glass onto the coffee table and jumped to his feet.
“Bloody hell that’s so unfair!” he exclaimed. “What happens when the injunction lapses?”
“Hopefully, the news agency loses interest in promoting the story and moves onto bigger fish, leaving you alone. It is a powerful tool, Idris, and it may be what you need. But without knowing any of the details of your case I can only provide some generalities. It also depends on how valuable the information is to other news agencies because the injunction would only be good here in the UK.
“Do you remember the case with David Beckham’s stolen emails? He obtained a High Court injunction against their publication, but media agencies across Europe published them anyway. Then the British papers defied the injunction and wrote up their own stories.”
“What you’re telling me is that it’s a lost cause!”
He dropped back onto the sofa, letting his head fall into his hands.
Isla stood up and reached a hand towards Idris’s slumped shoulder. Without her shoes, she was only tall enough that the top of his head was just below her chin.
“Bloody press think they can ruin someone’s life for the fun of it,” he muttered.
She bent her head to say into his ear, “It’s not just the press, Idris. Life in general sucks. Every time you think you have your life mapped, planned out and perfect, the universe throws in a curve ball and smack, you land back on your arse.”
Idris tilted his head until they were staring into each other’s eyes. Hers were swimming with tears.
“What’s wrong, Isla?”
Her fingers plucked at the delicate fabric of her blouse. She lowered her voice so he had to strain to hear her.
“Am I still attractive, Idris? Am I the type of woman a man would want to marry, have kids and live happily ever after with?”
The breath caught in his throat. Thoughts tumbled on spin cycle through his brain. He had never dreamed of being in this position with the woman he idolized, but these were exactly the questions he had asked and answered for himself. He dropped his gaze to his empty glass.
“Of course you’re attractive, Isla. There’s no one in the world more beautiful.” He chewed through his lip to stop more words spilling out. There was only one person who could dent her confidence. “Is this about Quinn? Has he left again?”
Hope sprang in his chest. Quinn’s relationship with Isla was noticeably rocky and it wouldn’t be the first time they had separated.
Tears spilled in a silent waterfall, trickling over her cheeks.
“No, he hasn’t left. Yet. But I have some news that’s going to push him over the edge. Even if it doesn’t force him out the door, it’ll change our lives forever. Unless I don’t go through with it.” Her voice was little more than a breathy whisper.
His head was buzzing. What had Isla done?
“Isla, what is it? If you need help that Quinn can’t provide—” he broke off his sentence before he said too much. Isla was turning to him for help, but that didn’t mean she was looking for anything more from him.
“I’m attractive now, but in nine months time when I’m the size of a house I’ll be nothing but an ugly cow that no one can love.”
Nine months? She might as well have screamed the words at him the way they left him reeling.
“You’re pregnant with Quinn’s baby?” He forced the words through a suddenly dry throat.
She nodded. She licked her lips and then spoke quickly, in short, jerky sentences.
“I did the test today. Quinn said I was an idiot for forgetting my birth control. I am! What am I going to do? It’s been the only question on my mind all day. If I stay pregnant it’ll change our lives forever. I’ve just made partner. I need to consolidate my role here. With Clementine off playing happy families with her foster son this company needs me to be full-time. I can’t cope with being a mother on top of that. And it’s not as though Quinn will give up his position to be a stay at home dad. I’m trapped in a nightmare, Idris! The only way out I can think of is to terminate the pregnancy. Terminate it before it goes any further!”
Idris recoiled.
He thought of his mother and how she must have panicked when she found out she was pregnant with him. Her circumstances had been less than ideal. She was a single mum. Tali’s dad had done a bunk before she was born and Silke had been too proud to track him down. She had worked hard to raise Tali and then, when Tali was almost old enough to start a life of her own, Silke had found herself pregnant with Idris. Had she ever been tempted to have an abortion? Idris shuddered. Would he have preferred Silke to terminate the pregnancy so he had never been born? His shoulders hunched and for a moment he felt incredibly alone, hardly able to formulate his thoughts. With a start he realized he was glad to be alive. Glad that Silke had risked her own dreams and reputation to bring him into the world.
Isla was sobbing hard now. He stood up and wrapped his arms around her shaking form. She needed him. With his own unique perspect
ive, maybe he was the only one who could give her what she needed right now?
“Hush, don’t fret.” He allowed himself to stroke her hair, luxuriating in the gloriously rich strands, while her tears soaked into his jacket. “You and Quinn are going to have a beautiful baby together. And you’re going to be an incredible mother. Never doubt that for a moment, Isla. You care about your clients, so think how much more you’re going to care about your own child.”
She lifted her face to his, blinking water-logged eyes.
“You really think I could manage to be a m-mother?” she hiccupped.
He let his hand stray from her hair to cup her cheek.
“You asked me before if I thought you were the type of woman a man would want to marry, have kids and live happily ever after with. The answer is absolutely yes. Who wouldn’t want to marry you, make babies with you and live with you forever, happily or otherwise?”
She stood quiescent in his arms, her desperate gaze never leaving his, drawing strength from his adulation.
* * *
Quinn stood outside the building that housed the Perry Grais Standing law firm. The street bustled with impatient energy, busy with cabs and buses taking workers home at the end of a long workday. The frosted glass doors into the building were locked and he fumbled in his jacket pocket for his phone to call Isla to let him in. Just then the door slid aside and Lillian Perry exited.
“Quinn! Are you here to see Isla?” She eyed the bunch of flowers in his hands.
“Yes. We had a bit of a barney last night, so I thought I’d surprise her,” he said with a sheepish grin. “But I forgot the building doors lock automatically at seven.” He checked his phone and noted that it was seven minutes past the hour. “I was just about to call Isla to come down and let me in.”
“Oh, don’t do that, that will spoil your surprise!” Lillian said. “Here, let me unlock the door for you. The lifts still work, so you won’t have any problem getting to the correct floor. Good luck. I hope she forgives you. Isla hasn’t been her usual self today. I’ve never seen her so mopey. You two need to kiss and make up.”
Quinn stepped inside the building, hearing the door snick solidly behind him as Lillian relocked it. He listened to the steady echo of his footsteps ringing out in the eerie silence of the empty foyer and took the solo ride upstairs. The lush carpeting of the reception area and corridor muffled his steps so he approached Isla’s office soundlessly. A combination of sleek frosted and clear glass sheets held in place by steel frames separated the offices. As one of the partners working full-time, Isla had taken over Clementine Grais’s large office.
Closing in on the door to her office, he came up short at the sight of Isla in the embrace of a business-suited man. Within seconds he recognized those huge shoulders, the close-capped head of hair.
What the hell is Idris Carson doing with Isla? The thought ripped through his brain. Several years ago when they both worked the Hackney borough he and Isla had double-dated with Idris and his girlfriend, but that had petered out because so had Idris’s relationship. During that time he and Isla had developed a casual friendship, but he had no idea she’d seen Idris without him.
Idris raised a hand to gently cup Isla’s face in his massive palm. They were talking so quietly and earnestly, Isla’s attention so riveted on Idris she had no clue Quinn was watching her. Isla raised her arms and wrapped them around Idris. He saw her lift onto her tiptoes and bury her face against his neck.
Rooted to the spot, Quinn felt the blood pounding through his temples. What the hell is going on?
His hand clenched over the stems of the roses he held, the cellophane packaging crumbling beneath his grip. He had never previously distrusted her late nights home were due to her workload, now he found himself wondering about her fidelity. Doubt decimated him, drowned him in a mounting tide of fury.
He turned on his heel. Dumping the roses in the trashcan near the elevators he punched at the buttons, knowing he had to escape before his rage forced him to confront them. If he had to face them now he wasn’t sure who would make it out of the office alive.
* * *
“Thank you, Idris. Nobody could be a better friend.”
Isla leaned in, grazing his cheek with her lips as she rested her head against his neck.
Idris breathed in her scent, crushing her to him, but it was like grasping the fading echoes of a dream. She slipped out of his arms and he struggled not to grip her more tightly.
“I’m not sure I helped with your problem, but you certainly helped with mine. You won’t say anything about the baby, will you?”
He forced a smile to reassure her anxious eyes.
“Of course not.”
“What are you going to do about your injunction? Do you want to go ahead with it tonight?”
His smile started to lose its elasticity, crumbling at the edges. For a few moments he had totally forgotten his problem, but now the memory of Aislinn Scully returned with a vengeance. There was no escape from calling her tonight.
“No, I can see that an injunction isn’t the answer I need. I’ll sort something else out. I’d better go.”
“It’s after hours so the office building is locked, but the lifts still work and you should still be able to exit the outside doors. You just can’t come in.”
She took a step closer to him, bringing herself within achingly blissful reach.
“Idris, thank you so much for what you said.”
Her voice was subdued, vibrating with emotion, its timbre making him think of satin sheets and silky skin. His throat tightened and he jerked his eyes away from her. Buck up, you berk! Stop mooning over something that’s never going to be.
“I’ve got to get going,” he muttered, slamming out of her office and racing for the elevators as though he could outrun his desire for her.
Chapter 23
Reuben Richards’ flat, Thursday, April 5
Reuben Richards had taken advantage of his real estate connections to purchase a two-bedroom mews house in a quiet street in the Crystal Palace triangle before the onslaught of young professionals pushed prices skyward. Having bought at the low end of the scale, when he traded in his real estate commissions for a detective constable’s pay he could still afford the mortgage payments.
Forced to take leave from work following a recent injury, Reuben isolated himself from the sourdough pizzerias, pop-up cocktail bars and microbreweries sprouting like mold along the high street, nestled between vintage shops and retro cafes. Normally he enjoyed the area’s relaxed atmosphere. He knew indulging in a pourover Columbian coffee and flipping through his social media accounts would take the edge off his nagging worry about what his face would look like after the skin grafts settled in. But swathed in bandages he couldn’t make himself leave the house and face the pitying stares of strangers.
He was thankful that Josh Brymer, who had been left homeless in the same accident that injured Reuben, still resided in his spare bedroom. Josh had been a godsend by running errands, turning visitors away when Reuben couldn’t bear facing them and generally acting as his interface to the world.
In return, Reuben was surprised at how much he relished taking on the role of older, wiser big brother. Being a mentor to the teenager was a new experience for him that had become particularly enjoyable when Josh expressed an interest in policing. Answering Josh’s questions and relaying his own police experiences, gave him an unaccustomed sense of satisfaction.
Another advantage to having Josh around was that it kept his mother, Georgie, from spending too many hours fretting over him. She still came over early in the afternoon on most days, bringing a hot meal for the boys.
Reuben didn’t feel nearly so guilty about keeping his mother at arm’s length since her romantic dalliance with his work colleague, Eli Morgan, appeared to be going from strength to strength.
Eli had had a messy breakup with his wife last year, missing his two daughters and feeling his life had gone to pot until a spark had ig
nited between him and Georgie. The relationship had put a strain on Reuben’s friendship with Eli and he had almost severed those ties. He had made it clear that his blessing was based on the stricture that there were no PDAs in his presence!
When the doorbell chimed at 7:10 p.m. Reuben and Josh were rushing towards the exciting climax of the newest electronic game installed on Reuben’s state-of-the-art gaming console.
“Come in, Eli!” Reuben shouted above the thunder of gunfire in his ears.
The split second lapse of attention gave Josh the upper hand and, with a roar reminiscent of a football final, Josh pummeled Reuben into extinction.
Reuben threw his controller down in disgust. “Bloody hell, Eli, your timing sucks!”
Eli dumped two paper sacks and a six pack of beers on the coffee table beside the remote.
“Is that all the thanks I get for trekking out for take away when the weather’s drizzling like a crybaby? One Thai green curry, one beef chow mein, one sweet and sour prawns with special fried rice, two cocktail buns filled with yellow bean and coconut paste, and one bubble tea for junior.”
The three of them pulled Reuben’s mismatched chairs closer to the table, and for several minutes there was nothing but the sound of slurping and chugging as they devoured the food, afterwards licking fingers and lips clean.
Eli scooped a handful of prawn crackers into his mouth, washing them down with a long swig from his beer bottle.
“Right, lads, let’s turn that rubbishy video game off and let’s see some decent programming. And by decent, I’m talking about some sort of news coverage that isn’t focused on the royal wedding,” Eli ordered.
Reuben pecked at the buttons and gave Eli a sly smile that pulled at the bandages covering the lower left side of his face and neck. “Mum must be driving you mad then. She never misses a royal documentary, not even to catch up with East Enders. With a royal wedding on the cards, she’s in seventh heaven.”
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