Twinkle Twinkle Little Lie

by Geraldine Fonteroy

  Why, why, why? Julia said to herself as she gingerly attempted to make her way down the sodden path that led to the brown bevelled glass door of Hettie Brown’s nasty little abode.

  The dark mood wasn’t entirely Hettie’s fault. Lia had called to say that Hugo had discovered Rover had run off with the pale Oxbridge dwarf from his office. Apparently, it was ‘true love’.

  It was sick, that’s what it was.

  Seething on the doorstep, Julia pictured the two of them huddled together in Central Park, sipping weak lattes and declaring their love. That foul little Leftie. So much for hating Conservatism, as she’d once told Julia. Rover was about as Right as you could go before hitting full blown Fascism, so her whale-loving socialist principles didn’t exactly stack up, did they? Bitch.

  The door swung open before she could knock. Hettie Brown stood there, resplendent in some sort of beige lounge suit. It was covered, Julia couldn’t fail to notice, in dog hair. Oh God. Not a dog. Julia hated dogs, and they hated her. Small, cute ones, like those pedigree Japanese Chins in Louis Vuitton press advertisements, were bearable, but anything larger . . .

  Suddenly, a huge Dalmatian appeared from beneath some bushes that made up the wild forest that seemed to cover the right side of the garden. He leaped onto her with a joyful bark.

  ‘Noooooo,’ Julia was so horrified she couldn’t even verbalise the fact to Hettie, who was clapping and beaming from ear to ear at the sight of Julia being mauled by her mangy pet. ‘Oh, look. He likes you. That’s a good sign. Rover doesn’t like everyone.’

  Rover? As the dog showed Julia more affection than human Rover had shown her in the last three years, she had to wonder at the irony of the bloody thing having the same name as her husband. Soon to be ex-husband.

  ‘Look, Hettie. I am allergic to dogs, so if you wouldn’t mind . . .’

  ‘Sit Rover, sit.’ Hettie clapped her hands loudly, but Rover continued to try to snog Julia with a lack of control usually displayed by drunk teenagers at Cornwall in the summer.

  ‘Why don’t you come right in and I’ll to try to keep him out in the hall?’ Hettie stood aside and Julia raced past and down a dark corridor, looking back over her shoulder to see if Hettie had managed to keep the beast out.

  Thankfully, the postman appeared at the end of the block, and clearly Rover enjoyed attempting to fornicate with him too, because the dog dashed off up the road with a yelp of pure delight.

  ‘Interesting animal,’ Julia said sullenly, observing the paw prints on her white LK Bennett cardigan.

  ‘Since Kevin left, Rover has been my rock.’

  Thinking it would be more appropriate to put the dog down with a rock, Julia turned to consider her surroundings. Everything inside was as dark and dismal as expected from the exterior of the house. It was one thing to live on a train line – but surely there was no need for purple leather sofas and matching leatherette curtains to add to the effect of desolation?

  Hettie noticed the expression on Julia’s face. ‘We like it dark. Romantic, that’s what Kevin always said.’

  ‘Did he?’

  Maybe he liked it dark so he didn’t have to look at you?

  ‘Come into the kitchen, will you? We haven’t really touched it since we bought it – never seemed time, what with Kevin always travelling.’ She opened a glass door into a delightful shabby chic white and lime kitchen. It was tasteful and bright – God knows what Kev and Hettie were planning to do to it – black marble and those hideous shiny mirrored doors were Julia’s guesses.

  ‘This is nice.’

  ‘Oh, no. It’s so dated. But now, I suppose, it will stay like this.’ Tears were falling from Hettie’s already redden eyes. By the look of the woman, she hadn’t stopped blubbering since Julia had seen her over a day ago.

  ‘Would you like tea?’ At least, Julia thought that’s what was offered through the heavy sobbing.

  ‘Green, if you have it?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Green tea.’

  ‘Oh, is that a brand?’

  Christ. ‘Oh, it’s okay, just the normal stuff then.’

  Watching as Hettie busied herself preparing tea in chipped black mugs with logos of car marques on them, Julia wondered how to bring up the subject of representing her. First, of course, it was necessary to make the sad little woman believe she was actually a lawyer. Time for some idle and revealing chit chat.

  ‘I like those mugs. Reminds me of when I was up at university.’

  ‘Oh, you went to university? My Kevin wanted to go. But in those days university was a lot harder to get into, wasn’t it? Kevin failed his A level in pottery and didn’t resit. Couldn’t see the point, anyway. Not with him inheriting a business and all that.’

  Boring. And not surprising.

  Trying to manoeuvre the conversation back to herself, Julia exclaimed, ‘Well, I managed to go to university, despite the fervent partying of my younger days.’

  Now ask which one. Or what I did. Or something.

  ‘Must have been fun,’ Hettie put a cup of what was supposed to be tea down on a horrid black coaster. Julia looked closely at the beverage. Why was there foam in the tea?

  Hettie laughed. ‘Oh, that’s just from the sweetener I buy. Kevin got food poisoning from dodgy milk once so we use this stuff all the time now.’ More tears. ‘I mean, used.’

  Julia ignored the pathetic sniffing and pretended to take a sip of the tea. ‘So, yes. Uni. Those were the days.’

  ‘You must have loved it, to talk about it so much,’ Hettie remarked.

  Groaning inwardly, Julia considered it a miracle that Kevin hadn’t run screaming years ago. Having a conversation with Hettie was like watching one of those dire soap operas on telly – made you want to poke a fork in your eye to avoid it. It was time to be more forceful with the information. Hettie was a fool who didn’t seem to be able to pick up the subtle nuances of a conversation.

  ‘Yes, I did. But it was hard work. Law isn’t an easy subject.’

  ‘Law? You studied law?’

  Finally. Bingo! ‘Yes. I worked in a top firm when I graduated.’

  ‘Really? So that’s why you offered to help me with Kevin? Because you know people.’

  Julia nodded wisely. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So, have you found someone to represent me, then?’ Hettie looked up from her tea and thanks to the huge eye bags, the effect wasn’t dissimilar to a dog begging for food.

  ‘Well, actually, I was thinking of getting back into practice myself. I thought perhaps I could represent you.’

  Hettie’s keen, vacuous pupils widened. ‘For free?’

  Julia coughed to cover up her surprise. She hadn’t expected that. Cheap cow. Thinking quickly, she said, ‘Well, no. I mean, coming out of retirement isn’t inexpensive. But don’t worry if you can’t afford it – I have many women desiring my services.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  Honestly, how thick was she? It would be surprising if the woman could do up the shoelaces on those sensible brown boots she was wearing.

  ‘I was quite celebrated as a divorce lawyer. To this day I still get requests for help. So I have plenty of work, but I plan to only take one client at a time – a full, personal service from my lovely home in South Kensington – so obviously I need to charge my full rate. I can still find you someone, though. Leave it with me.’

  Hettie finally managed to comprehend the offer. ‘No, no. Take me, not those others. I have plenty of money. At least I think I have.’ She raced to a nasty mahogany-coloured bureau and began rooting about. ‘My cheque book is in here somewhere. Let me write you a deposit. Is that what they call it?’

  ‘Retainer,’ Julia said knowledgably, having heard of it from one of her friends recently. ‘But not yet. Let me send you a letter with my rates, and you can decide then.’ Better to heed Lia’s words, and try to deflect any suspicion that Julia wasn’t the real deal.

  ‘But don’t we need to get started right away?’

  Thinki
ng that Lia should be here to listen to how little Hettie cared for checking out lawyers, Julia shook her head.

  ‘No, I must do things the proper way. This is strictly a business arrangement, okay?’

  ‘Yes, but won’t Kevin do something, sell the business or something, if we don’t act fast?’

  Having no idea how to answer those questions, Julia patted her new client’s hand condescendingly. Might be worth getting to know the case a bit, so that she’d know exactly what to sneakily ask a lawyer on Hettie’s behalf. ‘First things first. Let me ask a few questions. How long have you been separated?’

  ‘I dunno. A few days. Nearly a week.’

  ‘Well, you need to wait two years before you can divorce. Of course, we might be able to do something about that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Julia had no idea. Mental note: ask the lawyer how to get around the two-year rule. ‘Let’s do all the official stuff then we can discuss the specifics.’

  ‘Shall I come over? To your new office?’

  Bugger. That nosy Mrs Reynolds with the author husband will have a field day if she catches sight of Hettie in her beige.

  ‘Yes, of course. My office is at my house. You can visit me there.’

  Preferably when it’s dark.

  ‘Wonderful. When shall I come? Tomorrow morning?’ Hettie gazed at her desperately and Julia calculated quickly. David Henry-Jones had been able to fit her in tomorrow afternoon. As long as she asked all the right questions, she could have something resembling decent advice for Hettie by Friday. When this information was relayed, the stupid woman welled up again. ‘That would be great. Friday. That’s only the day after tomorrow, isn’t it?’

  Christ. ‘Yes, come as late as possible. I might be out organising things at, um, court.’

  ‘Can I come on the tube?’

  ‘Yes. Gloucester Road.’

  ‘Oh, is that the street the tube is on?’

  But Julia couldn’t answer, because she was transfixed to the blob of horribleness that was about to fall from Hettie’s nose onto the vile purple cushion she was cuddling to her chest. For the hundredth time since first meeting her, Julia wondered at anyone marrying the woman in the first place. If Julia owned a copper mine, she’d expect a spouse who could at least blow a nose in a timely fashion when required.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ARRIVING HOME, JULIA TOLD Connie to go into Rover’s office and throw out all the books.

  The maid was stunned. ‘What? But Mr Rover loves book.’

  ‘Mr Rover loves some Leftie slut, not books.’ Julia accentuated the ‘S’ on the end of the final word. ‘Now, do as I say. I am starting a business and I will run it from his office.’

  ‘A business?’ parroted Connie, still stuck to the spot.

  ‘Yes. I will need space for my own books and things, so quickly now, start cleaning out that damn room.’

  The maid still didn’t move. ‘What sort of business you start?’

  ‘Why? Does it affect you?’

  ‘Maybe it does.’ Connie looked shifty.

  ‘How, exactly?’

  ‘Well, it more work. I can’t do more work for no money.’

  Ah, it was becoming clear.

  Julia narrowed her eyes. ‘You aren’t being paid now, are you?’

  The maid didn’t answer.

  ‘Rover left me nothing, you know. I can’t pay you.’

  Connie appeared to ponder this. ‘You could if you start business.’

  ‘Maybe I don’t want to pay someone who is so unbelievably stupid.’

  Connie was unperturbed by the comments. ‘I am cheap and I am here. Who else put up with you?’

  The two women observed each other as if for the first time. In that moment, Julia realised that Connie might, might, be an ally instead of enemy. After all, whilst the maid may have been more fond of Rover than Julia, the bastard had, in actuality, left Connie too. The maid could be invaluable in protecting Julia’s little divorce venture from unwanted attention. She could pretend to be a legal secretary when Hettie turned up, and dumb maid if (and please God they wouldn’t) the police turned up asking questions.

  She grabbed Connie’s hand and dragged her onto the small chaise longue in the foyer. ‘Okay, here it is. I am going to get myself the best divorce lawyer in London and take Rover to the cleaners.’

  ‘To court you mean?’ Connie replied, wisely. ‘They don’t do divorce at the dry cleaners.’

  Honestly! ‘I mean, I am going to get all his money. In court, and in any other way I can.’

  ‘But that’s not a business.’

  Yes it is.

  ‘No, but this lawyer costs money that Rover knows I don’t have.’

  ‘So you start a business?’

  ‘Yes, exactly.’

  ‘As what?’

  ‘As a lawyer.’

  Now the maid looked totally baffled. ‘But you not lawyer? You bimbo.’

  ‘WHAT!’

  Connie shrunk away. ‘That’s what Mr Rover says. He told his girlfriend once that ‘you work at being a bimbo’.’

  Blood boiling, Julia said she was a lawyer once, no matter what that bastard ex-husband had said.

  The maid shook her head. ‘No. You no go to university. You told me. Can’t be lawyer without university, can you?’

  You could if you had enough cash to pay the right people.

  ‘I did it part-time. Without Rover knowing. I thought he wouldn’t approve of a wife who works. How wrong I was.’

  This seemed to have some effect. ‘Okay, so you say you lawyer now.’

  ‘Yes, and I will only have one client, but when she is here, I’d like you to pretend I have lots of clients asking for me. But that I am saying no to them. It’s important to keep up the image.’

  ‘Why?’ The maid looked blank.

  ‘Because she will be paying for the lawyer we will use against Rover.’

  ‘Ah.’ Suddenly, it seemed that Connie understood. ‘Quid pro pro,’ she said, obscurely.

  ‘Sort of. Where did you hear that?’

  Connie tapped her pierced nose knowingly. ‘Judge Judy,’ she said.

  ‘Of course,’ Julia replied, standing and directing the maid towards the office. ‘Where else.’

  Two hours later, and the study was transformed into something resembling a sombre solicitor’s office.

  ‘You need to hang up your degrees,’ Connie told her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘On the wall. That’s what doctors do.’

  ‘A doctor fiddles about with your body. That’s why you need to check that he didn’t get his degree out of a packet of cornflakes.’

  ‘But you should still hang it up. So that it looks good and expensive.’

  What was the woman babbling about?

  ‘It’s easy to get one, if you need. Just Google.’

  ‘No need. I told you, I went to university.’

  Julia went out to her large clutch and took the printed sheet she and Lia had downloaded from the dodgy Internet site the previous evening, after Julia had finally conceded that some degree of professionalism was required to fool Hettie.

  Which, as it transpired, was totally unnecessary.

  Connie held it by one corner. ‘Did you get your degree from cornflakes packet?’

  ‘No. of course not.’ Julia turned away so Connie wouldn’t see her blush.

  ‘But why is it all folded up, and what is UCK? Isn’t it supposed to be UCL?’

  ‘It stands for University College Kings. Two universities in one. It was a special part-time course.’

  ‘What if your client wants to check?’

  ‘She could, but they don’t have the course anymore. Too difficult.’

  The maid threw Julia a suspicious look, and Julia wondered, not for the first time, if Connie wasn’t as dumb as she made out. ‘That’s convenient.’

  ‘A bit like the way your command of the English language comes and goes,’ Julia remarked.

  This t
ime, it was Connie who looked uncomfortable, but only momentarily. The maid then quickly suggested that if Julia managed to get more than half from Rover, the leftovers went to her.

  ‘I’m not sure I understand.’ Julia understood perfectly.

  Canny little cow.

  The maid spoke slowly. ‘You get 75 per cent of his fortune, I get the bit over 50 per cent.’

  ‘Connie, I am not sure that is possible to get that money. Even 50 per cent will be difficult. Rover has assets everywhere, and I don’t know where to start looking for them.’

  The maid didn’t appeared troubled by the statement. ‘You never know. You might find something. Either way, I keep job, with pay rise.’

  ‘Fine. Okay.’

  Connie looked at Julia slyly. ‘You be surprised what I know about Mr Rover. Things that help you. And me.’

  Then the two women grinned. It had taken years, but now, united in a fear of poverty, they finally understood each other.

  Connie took out a pen and pulled a sheet of paper from Rover’s printer. ‘Write down what you want on cards and letterheads. I got cousin who will do for free.’

  Julia was thrilled by the offer. She raced to the laptop on the table and scoured the website of the largest firm in London. Picking a female lawyer with a long line of accomplishments after her name, she copied the letters out and handed the notes to Connie.

  ‘Make sure there is lots of silver embossing. Makes it look like we didn’t just run the cards up overnight.’