by Karen Swan
‘Well, actually,’ Harry demurred, beaming brightly, ‘Mrs Marfleet had just agreed to accompany me to dinner, to discuss things further.’ Kate went to move in protest, but his hand tightened on her shoulder. Parker looked at her – furious to be left out of the party – but he knew very well Harry Hunter’s predilection for pretty things. If that was how they reeled him in, so be it.
‘Marvellous. Well, Kate is one of our brightest stars. I know you’ll be in safe hands.’
‘I’m certainly hoping so,’ Harry replied, his eyes twinkling devilishly.
Kate stood as still as a statue, her smile frozen, as they talked around her.
Harry checked his watch. ‘Well, we’d best get on or they’ll give our table away.’ Everyone smiled politely, knowing full well Harry Hunter’s table would never be given away. ‘A pleasure,’ he smiled, nodding to Parker, and steering Kate gently by the elbow he led her down the corridor. As they rounded the corner to the lifts, Kate looked back to see the entire typing pool congregated around Parker in the corridor. He nodded approvingly. He’d always known she’d go far.
Rather than go back through Agent Provocateur, they left through the building’s back door – ‘Which is an enormous shame,’ Harry said mischievously, ‘as I saw something on the way in which I thought would look incredible on you.’
He tried to take her arm as they crossed the back streets, but she pretended to grapple with her bag – thank God she’d grabbed the large camel Birkin today. It could act as a defensive weapon if need be. She didn’t trust him.
They were there in minutes. Kate looked up at the building, amazed. She’d walked past it hundreds of times and never known it was a private members’ club. The red door was so glossy she could practically do her make-up in the reflection, but there was no sign anywhere. It looked just like a private residence.
The floor inside was laid with black and white tessellated marble, and they climbed a mahogany staircase to the first floor, where an immaculate receptionist took Harry’s jacket. Kate decided to keep hers on. She hoped it was true what the fashion editors said about power dressing. Her jacket would need to be a suit of armour for this dinner.
Harry signed her in, flashing the receptionist an intimate smile as he pushed the visitors’ book back to her. Kate could tell by her response that he’d bedded her. She looked away in disgust. God, he was a creep.
A butler (crikey – Kate had never seen a real one before) led them up some more stairs to a large dining room, where she couldn’t help but gasp. White leather button-backed booths encircled the room, with camel suede chairs set around circular tables in the centre. A giant canvas of Damien Hirst’s Butterflies and some aboriginal art hung on the walls and a huge glass cupola was set into the roof, flooding the room with light.
They were taken to a booth in the corner – ‘My favourite table,’ Harry smiled – and a bottle of Krug was automatically brought over.
‘Just half a glass, thank you,’ Kate said.
‘Tsk, I’m worried,’ Harry said, shaking his head. ‘I’m not a lawyer, and even I know it’s against the law to have only half a glass of this stuff.’
Kate smiled sarcastically. She was annoyed. She’d been railroaded into this. Her boss had practically pimped her into this dinner and she hadn’t had a chance to ring Monty and let him know where she was.
She tried to text him but she couldn’t get a signal. Harry took the phone out of her hand and put it on the table. ‘No mobiles allowed in here,’ he smiled. ‘Club rules.’
‘But I just need to ring my husband – let him know where I am,’ she protested.
‘Probably best not to,’ he said, wrinkling his nose. ‘I’ve found husbands don’t usually like knowing their wives are with me.’
Kate looked at him witheringly.
‘Let’s get a couple of things straight, shall we, Mr Hunter. This is business. I am sitting here only as your prospective lawyer, not your next lay.’ She sniffed huffily.
He smiled calmly and let a few beats pass. ‘What’s the other thing?’
‘Huh?’
‘You said “a couple of things”.’
‘Oh. Did I? Yes. Well, the other thing is that – business or not – my husband has absolutely nothing to fear from a man like you.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘I’m extremely sorry to hear that,’ he said, still bloody smiling, and passed her a menu.
She cast her eyes over it – she always went for the risotto – and put it back down, primly crossing her legs and clasping her hands in her lap.
‘So how can I help you, Mr Hunter?’
He burst out laughing.
‘Well, you can start by not calling me Mr Hunter! I feel like I’m back at school. You’re like Miss Jean Brodie, sitting there. Relax, babe.’ He squeezed her thigh.
She didn’t smack his hand away, but regarded him coolly for a moment before putting her mobile in her bag and snapping it shut. ‘Mr Hunter, I think under the circumstances it would be advisable for you to continue this meeting with Mr Parker. We clearly aren’t going to get very far.’ She went to shuffle out of the booth.
‘No, wait! Wait. I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m being a jerk.’ He spread his palms out. ‘Please. I’ll behave.’
He cast his eyes down to his drink. ‘It’s just that . . . ’ He looked back at her, his eyes puppy-dog. ‘I’m in a fix and I need help. It’s hard to know who to trust. When I met you at the party I thought maybe I could trust you.’ He looked at her. ‘You’re clearly very good,’ he smiled, flicking his eyes down to the Tiffany étoile ring – another trophy – glittering on her finger. ‘Actually, I thought you’d call me the next week and chase me on to your client list. Everybody always does that.’ He frowned at her. ‘But you didn’t. Why?’
She looked at him. She knew he was a man to whom everything came too easily – money, success, fame, women. What he hungered for was the thrill of the chase. She decided to give him one. But on her terms.
‘It’s been a very busy time for us,’ she shrugged casually, taking another sip of champagne.
He regarded her in turn. Her nut-brown hair tumbled on to the shoulders of her dove grey Armani trouser suit, and he couldn’t stop imagining it splayed out on his white pillows, her cat-like green eyes regarding him sleepily, wantonly.
She stretched out one arm on the table and began lazily drumming her nails. ‘The thing is, our books are full, Mr Hunter, and we’re not really looking to take on any new clients. We need to be sure we can deliver a thorough service to our existing clients first. You’re too much of a handful.’
‘I am a handful,’ he agreed. ‘That’s why I need you. And it’s why you’re in business. People like me keep you in a job, Mrs Marfleet.’
‘Our integrity is everything, Mr Hunter,’ she said, smiling patronizingly. ‘We can’t afford to spread ourselves too thinly.’ She shrugged, hopelessly.
‘Bullshit,’ he said, the smile finally fading from his lips. She was playing him. ‘I’ve got a big problem that’s going to end up being very expensive for me and very lucrative for you. I’d practically print money for you and you know it. What’s the real reason?’
He looked at her, his eyes beginning to blaze. She stared at him levelly, but said nothing. After a few moments she said, ‘Did you ever consider that perhaps not everything is about money, Mr Hunter?’
Clearly, he hadn’t. He sat back, the frustration mounting. His jaw clenched and Kate tried not to notice how goddam handsome he looked. The domineering pose suited him.
‘What is it about then?’ His voice was low.
She took the magazine out of her bag and threw it down on the table. She jerked her chin towards it.
Harry didn’t move. He cast his eyes over the cover and looked back at her, without picking it up. The corners of his mouth turned up.
‘Don’t tell me you’re jealous,’ he said.
Her eyebrows shot up.
&nb
sp; ‘I’m disgusted,’ she sneered. ‘James is a friend of mine.’
‘More fool you,’ he sneered. He knocked back his drink, then poured himself another. ‘Anyway, you can relax, because it’s all over. She wasn’t worth the effort.’
Kate was privately thrilled to hear Coralie dismissed, but that didn’t change what he’d done to James. She remembered the tension between them at Cress’s party. They clearly had history, but seducing Coralie was a low blow. She shook her head slowly. ‘That doesn’t make it better. It makes you even more of a shit.’
He glared at her.
‘You can’t speak to me like that,’ he growled.
‘Why not? I don’t work for you yet, Mr Hunter. And I never will.’
She stood up to leave. He grabbed her wrist and held it so tightly it hurt.
‘That’s not your call to make.’
She pulled her wrist away and rubbed it. ‘It’s my call to get the hell out of here and away from you.’
‘Yes it is,’ he agreed. ‘But I’ll have Parker on the phone and firing you before you’re even out the front door. If it’s a matter of choosing between me and you, who do you think he’ll go for?’
She stood stock still. She could see from the fire in his eyes that he’d do it.
He sat back in the booth. They both knew he’d got her. He’d guessed correctly – her job was too important to walk away from. She had nothing else to walk to.
Slowly, furiously, she sat back down again. She wasn’t used to losing.
Charming in victory, he handed her her glass. ‘Shall we celebrate with a toast?’
She ignored it. ‘You haven’t heard our terms yet, Mr Hunter. They may not be acceptable to you.’
‘I’m sure they’ll be fine.’
She raised an eyebrow. He was so bloody cocksure. ‘Three years minimum retainer, seven hundred and fifty pounds per hour.’ She had added an extra year on the retainer and £200 on the hourly rate. There was no way he’d go for it.
He didn’t even blink. ‘Fine. I have only one condition.’
She couldn’t believe it. He was either stupid, reckless, or as unprepared to lose as she. ‘Fire.’
He looked straight at her.
‘I only ever want you. None of the other partners are to represent me. I am placing my trust in you, and you alone.’
She stared at him, wondering what his big secret was. In the back of her mind rattled the fear that she was sealing a pact with the devil, but these terms were too good to pass up. They guaranteed her partnership. She’d be made.
‘Agreed.’
They held each other’s gaze, contemplating the new relationship. Kate tried not to notice that his eyes were the same green as hers.
‘Bottoms up, then,’ she said finally, taking the glass from him. They drank deep, Kate feeling satisfied and glib that she’d pulled a number on him. They were even.
‘There’s just one other thing.’
She raised an eyebrow in suspicion.
‘Let’s stop with the Mr and Mrs. I’ll call you Kate. You call me Hunter.’
‘You don’t want me to call you Harry?’ she asked, baffled.
‘No, I liked the way you called me Hunter in the corridor.’ His eyes were dancing. ‘It made me feel like a god.’
It was no good. In spite of her best efforts, she burst out laughing, and they both giggled like schoolchildren who’d sat on a whoopee cushion.
Seeing peace break out, the waiter came over and discreetly poured them each another glass.
‘So,’ Kate said, trying to suppress her giggles and regain some professional composure. ‘What exactly is the problem?’
‘Apart from the Sun saying I’m gay every other day?’
‘I’ll slap them on the wrist. Get them to stop that. They owe me a few favours.’ She smoothed her trousers. Her leg still felt hot from where he’d squeezed her thigh. ‘Yes, apart from that. What’s the big expensive-for-you, lucrative-for-me problem?’
He took a deep breath and looked at her. ‘I’m being blackmailed.’
Kate leant in, the questions rushing forward in her head, her killer instinct kicking in.
‘By whom?’
‘When I was teaching, I slept with one of my pupils.’
Kate didn’t miss a beat.
‘Only one?’
‘Uh, well, no. But she’s the only one who’s come forward.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Emily Brookner.’
‘How old was she at the time?’
‘Fourteen.’
‘When did it happen?’
‘Six years ago.’
‘How old were you?’
‘Twenty-nine.’
‘Tch.’ She took stock. ‘Right. Well, I’m sure you know that statutory rape carries a custodial sentence. We need to get you a criminal barrister. My role’s going to have to be damage limitation. The public love a charming rogue but they’ve no stomach for dirty old men feeling up their daughters.’
‘It wasn’t quite like that . . .’ he protested.
‘It will be in the papers,’ she countered. ‘How did she contact you?’
‘She sent an email to my website.’
‘How much does she want?’
‘One million.’
Kate whistled. ‘Does she seem angry? Victimized? Is this about justice, do you think?’
‘I don’t know,’ he shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen her since . . . since it happened.’
‘Did it happen just the once?’
He shook his head.
‘No.’
‘How many times?’
‘Countless. We were together for over six months, probably nearer to a year.’
‘I see. So you wouldn’t say she was traumatized by the relationship? She didn’t seek counselling? Nothing came out at school?’
‘No. Nobody knew anything about it. We were very careful. And she definitely wasn’t traumatized. She was the one instigating everything.’
He leant back, one hand draped casually on a thigh, the other raked through his curls.
‘How did the relationship end?’
‘She left the school suddenly. Mid-way through term, as I remember. I think her parents sent her to a finishing school in Switzerland.’
‘People still do that?’
He shrugged. ‘Apparently.’
‘And she’s only come forward now, since your rise to fame and fortune?’
He nodded.
‘So one might say she was a gold-digger, provocative, predatory . . .’ Her voice trailed off. She sat still for a few moments, watching the bubbles fizz in her glass. Then the corners of her mouth tipped up and she leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table. She lowered her chin and looked up at him through her long lashes. ‘She’ll be twenty, twenty-one now. I’m sure she’s even more – comely – now than she was then.’
Harry leaned in and looked at her, their faces so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. ‘Where are you going with this?’
Kate dropped her voice. ‘Well, if you were to resume the affair with her, you know – be pictured around town together, take her away, buy her a few new dresses – it would legitimize the earlier relationship and make it much harder for her to successfully argue any claim for emotional trauma. I mean, the statutory rape charge is de facto, she was under age, that’s it. If she wants to take you to court, she can. But if you engage her in another relationship as a legally consenting adult, it’ll be much easier for us to break her down. We can threaten to expose her as a gold-digging slut. We’ll break her down so that she doesn’t even want to get out of bed, much less go to court.’
Harry sat back, regarding her levelly.
‘My God. You really are that good.’
Kate’s eyes glinted with satisfaction, and Harry could see he wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the thrill of the chase. He was desperate to get her into bed. ‘You’re a wildcat,’ he murmured, mainly to himself. ‘I can see you’re goin
g to be worth every penny.’
Chapter Twelve
Skipping up the wide shallow steps to the apartment, and singing ‘King of the Swingers’, Kate rounded the corner and found Cress sitting outside her front door.
‘Oh, crap!’ she exclaimed. ‘What have I forgotten?’
‘Nothing,’ Cress smiled. ‘I just thought we should have a summit meeting. About Tor?’
Tor – of course. Kate had been so carried away with the evening’s dramatic professional progress, she’d forgotten all about her bereaved friend. She felt instantly awful about being drunk and happy. She tried to hide both.
‘How is she today?’
‘Well, she’s kicked me out,’ Cress drawled. ‘Says I’ve got to go back to my own family. Huh!’ she snorted.
‘Well, that’s got to be good, right?’ Kate asked, rummaging in her bag for the keys. ‘It’s a sign she’s beginning to look forward a bit. Move on.’
Cress sighed. ‘She’s nowhere close to moving on. She still hasn’t cried yet. Don’t you think that’s weird? It’s like she’s completely in denial.’
Kate fumbled with the keys and dropped them. She hurriedly picked them up but it took three goes before she successfully got them in the lock.
‘Are you pissed?’ Cress asked suspiciously.
‘Hmm? Well, maybe a little bit,’ she said slurring, tossing her bag on to the floor and marching up the stairs to change out of her suit.
Cress gave a big sigh. She’d quite like to be drunk too. The last few weeks, looking after Tor at close quarters, had knocked the stuffing out of her. She felt toxic.
Cress took off her shoes and started the long trek towards the kitchen. Although still in Battersea, Kate and Monty were technically outside the Nappy Valley zone, being on the wrong side of the boundary road of Battersea Rise. Populated by smaller worker cottages and flats, it attracted a younger, pre-families crowd and Kate had no intention of moving over the border until she had a bump, which she said was the official Nappy Valley ‘passport’.
Not that they were slumming it in this self-titled ‘interim’ period. Though their neighbours might have the square footage of a henhouse, she and Monty had the open-plan penthouse of an old converted school which pretty much had 360-degree views of London. The Linleys had once lived there, and it was a vast whitewashed double-height space with thirty-five-foot curtains, walnut floors and sixty-inch plasmas. The two bedrooms were upstairs on the mezzanine level and a spectacular aquarium had been fitted into the glass wall that looked down from the bedroom to the living area below. Even the fish had a view.
