CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE NEXT EVENING, JULIA and Lia were sitting in the lounge of the plush The Gore hotel in South Kensington, waiting for David to turn up for the date. Lia had promised to dash as soon as he appeared, but Julia was so nervous and uptight that as far as she was concerned, Lia could come on the date with them.
Steve Smith hadn’t shown up at all, which was strange, but rather than being relieved, Julia was a little disappointed. The full on sexual innuendo was hard to take, but it was difficult not to warm to the attention.
‘Don’t you think Steve Smith would scrub up nicely with a makeover?’ Julia said casually, as they both accepted another glass of bubbly from the handsome young waiter.
‘Don’t tell me you’re thinking about doing it with him?’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Julia shook her head a little too violently, and the knock-on effect spilled Champagne all over her new Ghost dress. ‘Shit.’ She began sponging it off with a napkin. ‘Why would I be thinking that? I’ve got a hot lawyer on the way over here right now.’
Before Lia could reply, an amazing looking girl stalked into the bar area, and surveyed the room. Then she honed in on Lia and Julia.
‘Who the hell is this?’ Lia whispered, as the Amazonian creature stomped towards them.
‘I hope it’s not that girl David was supposed to be seeing.’ Julia replied. I can’t compete with her!
The girl came to a halt in the front of their table. Her youthful legs seemed to stretch forever. Julia hated her at once, because every man in the place was ogling her, and moments earlier they were ogling Julia.
And then she spoke the words that would set in motion a chain of horrific events.
Hands on unbelievably slim hips, she declared: ‘Hugo is with me now, deal with it.’
Lia and Julia sat, open-mouthed, holding their glasses.
Finally, Julia spoke. ‘You think her husband is going to run off with a nasty little piece such as you?’
The girl handed over a receipt for two plane tickets to Tokyo, for the coming weekend. One was in Hugo Higgson’s name. ‘Booked on Hugo’s personal credit card,’ Lia said, recognising the number.
‘Anyone can book tickets. Stalkers are especially good at obtaining information such as credit card details,’ Julia told the girl brusquely. ‘Are you going through their bins at home?’
With a smirk that spread unattractively across her puffed up cheeks, the skinny bit of fluff handed over an iPhone. The background picture was of her and Hugo. And they were lying in a double bed, staring at the ceiling. He was naked, she had her boobs out and Julia could tell, even from the tiny image, that they were totally natural and unbelievably pert.
Bitch.
Her best friend finally reacted – and was predictably enraged. ‘Right,’ Lia said, dialling a number.
‘Who are you calling?’ Julia and the slag asked in unison.
‘The police.’
An aging detective arrived at the same time as David Henry-Jones. With thick glasses, a bulbous nose and vinyl maroon jacket, the cop bore the look of one who was at odds with the world, and would happily take a bad mood out on the closest person to hand.
‘What’s going on?’ David asked, briefly bending down to give Julia a peck on the cheek, an action that didn’t manage to send shockwaves to her nether regions, like it had before.
I hope all this stress isn’t rendering me frigid.
‘Allegation of insider trading, sir. Detective Alan Cave. I am with the fraud squad.’
Insider trading. Christ. Julia looked at Lia with astonishment.
‘Glad you could make it so quickly.’ Lia directed the response at Personality Alan, whose permanently sour scowl was, Julia decided, quite scary.
She turned to Lia. ‘Are you sure about this? The bit of fluff might be lying, and this is going to end up costing both of you. Think of Hugo’s career. He’ll be struck off.’
But Lia was bordering on hysterical. ‘I warned him. He should never have listened to bloody Rover. I told him I didn’t care about the lifestyle. I’m not you, for god’s sake!’
Julia would have been more wounded by the comment than she was, if it wasn’t true.
‘And who is Rover?’ Detective Cave asked.
Quickly deciding that Rover was one person who definitely deserved a visit from the cops, Julia nodded. ‘My husband. Well, ex-husband. He ran off to New York City with a slutty dwarf a few weeks back. I’ve always wondered why.’ The innuendo on the last word remained in the air.
David stared at her, aghast. ‘Julia, please don’t say anymore.’
The detective peered at him through the thick spectacles. ‘And who exactly are you, sir?’
‘Her solicitor.’
‘Great, another lawyer. I don’t suppose you know Hugo Higgson too?’
David’s face went purple. ‘What are you saying? Anyone associated with Hugo is guilty of fraud.’
‘Well, Rover probably is,’ Julia said gleefully, imaging the look on her ex’s face when the police showed up to extradite him. ‘I’ve always wondered how he was able to start his own trading firm so quickly after we married.’
‘Julia, please!’ David appeared ready to explode. ‘Shut up,’ he spat, sotto voce.
‘It will help us, won’t it?’ Julia whispered back.
‘No,’ David pulled her away from the detective. ‘You don’t get it. They will seek compensation. And anything Rover made from the money he earned as a result of the insider trading will go too. That could mean everything you have. If found guilty, both of you could end up with nothing. Both of you.’
Shit.
‘What the hell have I done?’
David shrugged. ‘I tried to warn you.’
Moving towards the policeman, Julia told him she was taking it back. ‘Scorned woman, and all of that.’
‘Too late, I’m afraid. Can’t ignore it now that I’ve heard it. The only thing you can hope for is that Rover and Hugo are somehow innocent.’
Julia looked over at the slag licking her lips and throwing cutesy grins in the direction of an octogenarian at the bar.
No. She couldn’t hope for that.
Any man who would screw that would easily commit insider trading.
And how would a lawyer get stock tips?
From his best mate.
Rover.
Shit.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WHEN JULIA ARRIVED HOME in a cab with David Henry-Jones, Connie stayed out of sight, and listened.
It only took about five minutes of eavesdropping to realise that something had gone horribly, terribly wrong with her plan.
Rover’s accounts already frozen; no money from the divorce; total bankruptcy a possibility.
Could it be true? Quickly, the maid checked her bank account for the fifty thousand pounds. Sure enough, it wasn’t there. What on earth had Mrs Palmie done?
Thinking quickly, Connie realised that she could easily be implicated, if something wasn’t done – and fast.
If Connie was arrested, she’d be removed from the UK for violating the conditions of her visa so quickly her head would surely spin.
Sneaking out of the house, Connie headed for the nearest police station. Not wanting to be deported, she figured there was only one thing she could do.
Reveal all.
About the accounts and how she got them.
About Mr Rover and the spying.
And about Mrs Palmie’s dodgy lawyer business.
The detective arrived before they’d had their second cup of tea. His unfortunate face peered angrily at the screen of the security camera.
‘What is Personality Alan doing here?’
‘Probably taking an inventory,’ David said, dryly, as Julia got up to let him in.
A few minutes later she led the detective into the kitchen. ‘I don’t know where my bloody maid is,’ she continued crossly. ‘You’d think she’d hear the commotion and come down and do her duty, wouldn’t you.�
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‘Oh, I think she’s definitely done that, Mrs Parmier.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Ms Connie Allenis just informed us that you are masquerading as a lawyer and in this capacity, have appropriated funds from a Hettie Green of Harrow. Is this true?’
David held a hand up, as if to shoo Personality Alan away. ‘Julia isn’t pretending be a lawyer. I am acting as her lawyer. The maid clearly doesn’t understand the English language to the extent required for important matters.’
But Julia knew different.
Connie had stitched her up.
Must have taken money from Rover or something. Those bloody accounts were probably just fakes. Rover would get off and get the house and Julia would go to jail.
How could she have been so bloody stupid?
‘Sir, unfortunately, we have to take such allegations seriously. So, Mrs Parmier, how do you respond?’
‘Don’t say a word, Julia,’ David shouted.
And this time, Julia didn’t.
Luckily, she wasn’t put in a cell, just a small room with a battered wooden table and numerous chairs dotted about it. Connie was nowhere to be seen.
Little bitch.
Julia vowed to throttle her the minute a chance availed itself. In one night she had, in all probability, lost her home and her liberty. What harm could a little murder do?
There was a rattle at the door, and David Henry-Jones stepped into the tiny space.
‘How bad is it?’
David cast a solemn look in her direction. ‘Depends, did you do it?’
‘Only so that I could get my money. I meant to pay Hettie Green back, really I did.’
‘Oh, Julia. Fuck. This is bad.’ David collapsed onto the nearest chair and put his head in his hands.
Julia looked up at him. ‘I gave them Rover’s accounts. You’d think they’d let me off.’
‘Depends on whether Hettie wants to press charges, but there is a good chance she will. They haven’t spoken to her yet. Of course, the way this is going, you stand to lose everything thanks to Hugo’s behaviour. The house. The car. The accounts . . .’
Like I don’t know that.
‘But can’t he just pay it back? He’s made a lot more since then.’
‘Apparently he hasn’t paid tax on the earnings from the money he misappropriated. The sum seems to exceed his net worth.’ David smiled wryly. ‘You’re net worth too, I suppose.’’
Julia shrugged. In the back of her mind, Hettie’s copper mine was looming large. Perhaps the police might not contact her? Or she’d misunderstand what was going on?
And hell might freeze over.
Thinking of the copper mine reminded her of Steve Smith. Strangely, heat eased over her cheeks at the memory of his muscular arms attempting to grope her.
You’re clearly going mad, Julia. Stuck in a small room with David Henry-Jones, and you’re thinking about that moron.
As if reading her mind, David suddenly put both hands on her cheeks and kissed her.
‘Really, here?’
In response, he just groaned and kissed her more deeply.
But, horror of horrors, Julia couldn’t get into it. Where was the tingling between the legs? The increased heart rate?
This is what she’d been waiting for.
Well, not exactly in this location – banged up in a police station – but still . . .
As the passion intensified – on David’s part, anyway, Julia couldn’t figure out why all those feelings she’d been experiencing had gone.
It was just the situation – the worry about all the horrible criminal charges they might throw at her.
Hopefully it was that and not . . .
Christ.
Oh no.
But yes. The more she thought about it, about him, the stronger her desire to pull away from David was.
Shit.
It was true.
The only thing on her mind was Steve Smith and his large, muscular arms wrapping around her as . . .
Shit. Shit. Shit. No Julia. No. A partner in a top legal firm, or an overweight PI who, in all probability, lived in an illegal squat nowhere near central London.
Get real, Julia. David used to float her boat, time to try and get that feeling back.
But why was he kissing her in such a namby pamby way? She wanted to be taken. Like, well, like . . .
Don’t think of Steve Smith.
‘I could get very serious about you, Julia,’ David murmured in her ear.
‘Um, me too,’ Julia replied.
After all, what was another lie?
‘Julia, you okay?’ David finally drew away and placed a hand on hers.
‘Yes, yes. Everything’s fine. Well, not fine, but, you know . . .’
Suddenly, the old detective with glasses burst into the room.
Julia stood up. What now? Is this where they took her to a cell full of aggressive lesbians with anger management issues?
‘It appears that you can go, Mrs Parmier – as long as you promise not to pretend to be a lawyer ever again.’
‘What, why?’ Julia looked to David for clarification, but his expression showed he had no idea either.
Personality Alan looked done-in. ‘We contacted this Hettie Green, but she said that her money had been repaid in full, and that on account of you paying for some settlement to her ex-husband, there would be no way she’d testify against you.’ The detective’s lips curled up in a disgusted frown. ‘Apparently, and I quote, she ‘loves you’.’
Relieved, Julia fell into the steel chair beneath her and began sobbing like, well, Hettie.
The detective tactfully backed out and pulled the door closed, leaving David to deal with her.
‘It’s all okay. Amazing news.’
‘Now all I have to worry about is being homeless,’ Julia said, through the tears. Plump blobs of liquid fell onto the wooden table at which she sat.
‘I won’t let that happen,’ David told her forcefully.
But his words just made Julia cry all the more.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE NEXT MORNING JULIA wondered if the whole sorry affair had been a nightmare. Then her BlackBerry pinged. The police. This time they did want an inventory for the case against Rover. Sighing, Julia agreed they could come over within the hour, but once two women in uniforms arrived, she couldn’t bear to watch the spectacle of everything being catalogued and itemised, so she left them to it and went to visit Hettie.
There was still unfinished business with her ‘client’, and Julia owed her for not pressing charges, so it was the least she could do to brave Rover the horny Dalmatian and go and say thanks.
Astonishingly, Hettie didn’t seem to care about the fake lawyer stuff.
At all.
‘Hettie, there’s something I need to say. Well, thank you. That’s what. For saying I’d paid back the money and . . .’
‘No, Julia, thank you. Both for paying me back and paying Kevin in advance. I never thought someone would be so generous. Kevin thinks it’s all down to his fantastic lawyers – but I know you just wanted me to be at peace.’
What was the woman on? Not crack, with her bank balance.
‘I still don’t know why Kevin chose those particular lawyers,’ Julia said, in an attempt to more the conversation in a more sensible direction.
‘Oh, that was my fault.’ The tubby woman blushed.
‘What?’
‘When you came over Rover must have gone through your bag because when you left there was a business card on the floor from Inner City LLP. I was going to give it back but then Kevin rang and asked me to post his knickers, and I only had a black box to pack them in, which obviously I couldn’t write on.’
What was worse? the fact that moronic Hettie had hooked up Kevin with David’s firm, or that she was posting knickers to a man who had left her to father a child with another woman. Julia couldn’t decide. ‘Obviously not.’
Get on with it, woman.
/> ‘So I wrote his address on the back of your card and stuck it to the box. I figured you could get another one. He must have pulled it off the box and decided to call.’
Haven’t these people heard of a phone book?
‘So,’ Hettie said, beaming. ‘All’s well that ends well.’
‘But don’t you care about my lawyer thing?’ Julia tried to not react as Rover the dog mounted her leg and began humping.
I should kill you for pinching that card, you mutt.
‘So what if you aren’t registered now? You did study law, didn’t you? And you did a great job for me.’
What? Hettie had obviously not listened too carefully to what Personality Alan told her.
‘And I haven’t forgotten our deal about the copper mine. You’ll get your share, as agreed. Plus the fifty grand you paid to Kevin.’
‘I suppose we need to find this damned mine then?’ It was a glimmer of possibility in an otherwise grim future. Unless, she just stuck with David Henry-Jones.
But what about Steve Smith?
A loser, Julia. No!
Forcing a cup of foul tea on her guest, Hettie went rummaging in a drawer. ‘I found it, by the way.’
‘Sorry?’ Julia forced herself to pay attention.’
‘The copper mine. Well, I found an address. On a card.’
She passed over a small card. Eagerly, and with trembling hands, Julia flipped it over, expecting to see a South African address. Or an Australian one. Or even details for somewhere in South America.
Instead, the card read: ‘The Copper Mine’ Half-price Tattoos and Beer. The best place to get ‘done’ in Mallorca.
‘Should we go and check it out?’ Hettie asked cheerily, as Rover continued to get off on Julia’s leg.
Julia smiled. How ironic. It wasn’t a copper mine. It was The Copper Mine.
A tattoo parlour.
Not a mine.
Of course.
What else would Kevin’s grandfather own?
‘Tattoos and beer?’ she mumbled.
‘Kevin said tattoos were a goldmine. That was the play on words, you see? Copper mine and gold mine.’
Twinkle Twinkle Little Lie Page 11
