by Rob Wyllie
'And there is this too.' Olivia removed a crumpled letter from a second envelope and passed it to Maggie, who took it and began to read aloud.
'Dear Mr Saddleworth, Thank you for continuing to choose Geneva Swiss Bank for your private banking needs. May we respectively bring to your attention that the annual fee for your secure deposit box service is now overdue. If you have already paid, please ignore this letter, and thank you once again for choosing Geneva Swiss.'
She noticed the date printed on the top left hand side of the letter. 'But this was nearly eight years ago, is that right?'
'Yes, that's right.'
'And I assume your husband had some explanation for it?' Maggie said. 'Otherwise it would have turned up in the disclosures that Asvina showed us earlier.'
'He played it down,' Olivia said. 'He claimed it had been set up on the advice of a financial adviser he was using at the time, who said there would be tax advantages in taking some of his fees for public speaking engagements in cash.'
'Tax avoidance more like,' Jimmy said.
'Exactly. And so he says he had second thoughts about how wise that was for an MP and didn't go through with it.'
'Did you believe him?' Maggie asked.
'No, but the bank won't reveal any information so of course there's no way to check it.'
Clutching at straws, thought Maggie. 'Olivia, is there anything else you can think of that might help us?'
'I don't really know. I suppose maybe he is facing up to the fact that his party is going to lose the election, and at his age, he's never going to become Prime Minister.'
'So you think this is some kind of late mid-life crisis?' Jimmy said. 'That might explain the relationship with Penelope White?' Not surprisingly, he had struck a raw nerve.
'White is a bitch,' Olivia said in an indignant tone. 'All that female empowerment crap she spouts when she's just a cheap tart like all the rest.'
'Gerrard has a history of this then?' Maggie asked softly. 'Affairs, I mean.'
'Oh yes. I'm pretty sure he has had several liaisons over the years, but I've stupidly just put up with it, because I've never thought he would ever leave me, especially not for a woman like her. You know how black and white the Labour party can be. There are large sections of the party that would never forgive him for running off with a Tory.'
A woman like her. The right-wing warrior Penelope White, attractive and at least ten years younger than Olivia Saddleworth. The outspoken scourge of the political-correctness movement, a climate-change denier and the woman who had ran a year-long campaign to destroy Maggie Brooks' reputation. The most hated woman in Britain. That was Penelope White's work, and she despised her for it. But perhaps thanks to this case, she might finally get the chance to meet her, where she would tell her to her face what she felt about her. But as far as Gerald Saddleworth was concerned, it seemed obvious that he was at a turning point in his life, and had decided quite clinically to dispose of his old life and start afresh with a new one. New life, new wife. Maggie knew all about that.
'I've no idea what he sees in her, or her in him, and I don't really care,' Olivia was saying, 'but I expect he'll tire of her soon enough, like he seems to have tired of me.' Maggie felt it was said in hope rather than expectation.
'I expect you're right,' she lied. 'But let's see if we can put you in the very best possible position for the future. Our focus is to uncover as much as we can about your husband's finances, and I think we have enough to get started on. Jimmy and I will review it first thing tomorrow and come up with a plan of attack. Rest assured we'll leave no stone uncovered, and we'll be in touch as soon as we have anything.'
It sounded convincing, but with very little to go on, the truth was Maggie had not the faintest idea at all where to start. It wasn't surprising considering she had never done anything like this before.
◆◆◆
'What do you think to that then Jimmy?' Maggie said, when the meeting was over. 'It didn't seem to take you long to get into the swing of it. Anybody would have thought you'd been doing it for years.'
'Aye, it was great. I really enjoyed it actually. Looking forward to getting stuck into the case and nailing that swine.'
'What about innocent until proven guilty?'
Jimmy shrugged. 'He sounds about as innocent as Stalin in my opinion, but fair enough, I suppose we do need to find some evidence.'
'Ok, well if you're absolutely sure you can cope with working with me, then we'll start tomorrow at 9am sharp, in my offices.'
He looked surprised. 'You've got an office?'
'I do. It's one of these serviced places down near Fleet Street. I rent one tiny room with two desks and it costs three times a month what I pay for my flat. It's called Riverside House, although it's nowhere near the river - you can Google it for the address. Turn up tomorrow - I'll arrange for Elsa to give you a pass card and a user code and password for one of the desktop computers. She's the receptionist for the facility, a very nice Czech girl - you'll like her.'
And she will like you, thought Maggie, what woman wouldn't? She couldn't really afford the office, but Asvina had argued that without it, it would be harder to convince a court that the business was respectable and therefore capable of providing a stable income. One that could pay for a decent home in which to bring up a child. Because that was the ultimate goal. Start off with a modest aim, one afternoon a month, then maybe even go for one or two days a month of supervised access and then take it from there. Of course, any access would be infinitely better than the current agony of legally-enforced estrangement, but a child belonged with his mother, and her life could not resume any semblance of normality until Ollie was again living with her.
'Ready for five minutes on the hearing?' Asvina had returned to the conference room, having momentarily left to escort Olivia Saddleworth to the elevator.
'So, we're on in about six weeks from now - just to remind you, it's Wednesday 19th at 2.00pm, so for goodness sake, make sure that's etched in stone in your calendar. As we agreed, we're going to ask for Ollie to spend just an afternoon with you each month, and also to allow moderate contact via phone, e-mail and text during the month. We've talked about the basics before. You're going to have to show that your life is back on track after your breakdown, that you have a decent place to live and a steady job etc etc. Social services will also talk to Ollie to see how he feels about the situation. I know it seems crazy when he is only six but it's very likely that he is missing his mummy and that will have a great bearing on the case. Remember, the court's only concern is for the welfare of the child, they don't care at all about your feelings or your husband's either for that matter. Got all that so far? I mean, I know you're a lawyer Maggie, but family law is very different to criminal cases in the High Court.'
'Yes,' replied Maggie meekly. 'I understand.'
'Social services will also want to interview you before the hearing of course. They like to do it at home, and they also like to turn up unannounced to get the real picture of what home is like. So I need to ask you this Maggie so please don't take offence - but are you still drinking?'
What she meant was 'are you still drinking yourself into oblivion every night?' She thought about the last few months, where only the comfort of cheap Chardonnay had stopped her going insane. Eight, ten bottles a week, more if she was being honest with herself, but frankly, that's where you end up when you've screwed up big time. You have to drink to blot out the awful cost of that one stupid error of judgement, you wander around your dirty flat talking to yourself, crying, and hoping against hope that today is the day it will all turn out to have been a ghastly dream. But it isn't a dream, it's real, and no matter what you do, you can't erase the horror. Who could? All that pain, terror, loss. And all because of you and your stupid ego.
She realised that Asvina had repeated the question.
'No..., I mean yes,... well, I have been drinking too much, I know I have, but I've started to get a grip on it. I know how important it is th
at I do, really.'
And it was sort-of true, if only in the last forty-eight hours where at last there had been a tiny chink of light at the end of a dark, dark tunnel.
'Ok, Maggie, I believe you, but I can't say this other than bluntly. If social services find you drunk or hung over at home, or if they find your bins full of empty bottles -and believe me, they will look before they even knock on your door- then it's over - maybe for years. So I can't stress enough how important it is that you keep your nose clean in the next six weeks. Understand?'
'I understand.'
Asvina smiled. 'Good. Now, I've had a letter from Miranda Padgett your husband's solicitor, informing us that they intend to contest the case.'
'I knew that,' replied Maggie, remembering the events of the previous day.
'So just to set your mind at ease, there's no need for us to worry about that unduly. It's a pretty routine tactic where access is disputed and there's no likelihood of an amicable settlement. As I said before, the court is only interested in the welfare of the child, not the wishes or needs of either parent. Miranda knows that of course, so their approach will be to try and provide evidence that you are an unsuitable person to be responsible for the care of a six-year-old child. So please Maggie, don't give them any material to work with.' It was said with a smile but her tone was serious.
'I won't Asvina, and I can't thank you enough for all you've done for me.'
They hugged warmly before agreeing that they must meet for lunch in the near future. 'A dry one,' added Maggie with a wry smile.
But now there was just one more thing she had to do that afternoon. It would have been a similar scene on that terrible September day in Notting Hill, approaching two years ago. Specifically, the eleventh day of that month. Nine-eleven. Not a co-incidence either, but the date specifically chosen by Alzahrani for her first atrocity because of its symbolism amongst supporters of radical Islam. The greatest day in their history, according to their warped credo. And then almost one year later, and exactly one hundred days after Maggie had conspired to have her freed, she had repeated her ghastly crime at Ollie's school.
Today, just like then, at 3.15pm on a cool early spring day, mothers were beginning to gather around the school gates waiting for their children to come out. Three sturdy concrete bollards had now been erected in front of the school gates, and parents in the main were respecting the one hundred metre no-parking zone that had been established following the bombing, but in every other respect the scene was unchanged. Maggie had arrived a good half an hour earlier so that she could park her anonymous Golf at the first unrestricted spot just where the School Zone hatching began, the location being slightly elevated affording a clear view of the gate. In an attempt at disguise, she had thrown on a grey hooded sweatshirt and wore large designer sunglasses to conceal her features. It was a risk, but on previous occasions the swarms of mothers and child-minders streaming past on the pavement had paid her no attention, and today was no different.
Soon the children began to emerge from the school, at first a trickle and then a steady flow. She scanned the pavement looking for the comfortably rotund figure of Marta, Philip's new au pair - but she was nowhere to be seen. This was not in itself unusual, since Marta's time-keeping was not of the first order, and Maggie pictured her at that moment sprinting down North Street, terrified that she would miss the ten-minute deadline that the school imposed on pick-up time.
But then at last, there he was. Maggie's wonderful, beautiful, precious Ollie. He stopped at the gate, looking right, left and then right again, and then with a broad smile of recognition, ran excitedly to where Angelique Perez was waiting, throwing his arms round her in a loving embrace, before slipping his little hand into hers.
Chapter 11
It was well past eleven when Maggie finally made it into the office, after yet another sleepless night and another futile stupid attempt to drink herself into a pain-numbing stupor. For the first few hours, her brain had played over and over and over again the heartbreaking scene she had witnessed outside the school, only this time their hugs were more intense, their hands gripped tighter, their laughter louder. Later in the night, she became a fly on the wall of a dark depressing interview room, where Ollie was telling a nice social worker that he had a really nice new mummy now and he didn't want his old one back.
'No offence, but you look rough,' Jimmy said, raising an eyebrow. 'Big night, was it? Let me get you a coffee, you look like you could do with one. Elsa showed me how to work the machine, it was the first thing she did when I got here this morning.'
'Thanks Jimmy, I really could do with one.'
'And you can tell me what's wrong if you want to. After all, we've only known each other three days and already we know all of our deepest emotional traumas, so a few more won't hurt. And on that subject, take a look at this.' He passed her his phone.
It was the Facebook page of Astrid Sorenson. Astrid Sorenson. The beautiful star of country music, the genre-busting singer who was now famous all over the world. She had uploaded a photograph of herself striking a lascivious pose with her lips pressed against the sculpted cheek of an unidentified man who could easily be mistaken for a male supermodel. They looked like they were in an advert for an upmarket aftershave. The caption below read New Man, New Band, New Life, followed by ten smiley emojis.
'I didn't think you were a country music fan,' Maggie said, puzzled as to why he was showing it to her.
'So you've heard of her then? Astrid Sorenson is the woman who ruined my marriage. Correction, the woman who caused me to ruin my own bloody marriage.'
'What, the Astrid Sorenson? I'm sorry, I didn't even know you were married,' Maggie said, even more confused.
Jimmy shrugged. 'Aye, I was. Until Astrid bloody Sorenson came into my life. Maybe one day I'll tell you the story.'
That was going to be quite a story, she could tell that already. Captain Jimmy Stewart and the Swedish queen of country music. But she sensed now wasn't the time.
'Don't take this the wrong way,' she said gently, 'but if it hurts so much, why don't you just unfriend her?'
'Aye you're probably right.' It didn't sound as if he meant it. 'So, what about you, do you want to talk about what's eating you? No worries if you don't.'
She hesitated. 'No, not at the moment.' In fact there was nothing she wanted more than to share her agony with this strangely comforting man, a man she had known barely seventy-two hours, but instead she forced a smile. 'No, business first. Let's see if we can make anything of the Saddleworth case, shall we?'
She saw he had spread the meagre pile of documents that Asvina had given them across Maggie's desk. 'So where do we start?' she asked.
'Good question. I've been working on that for the last couple of hours, whilst you were having a lie-in.' He shot her a warm smile. 'Ha-ha, and to be honest we've got bugger all to go on. A fancy estate agent's brochure, a few receipts, an old letter from a Swiss bank. As I said, bugger all...'
'I thought as much.' She tried not to sound too despondent.
'...but,' Jimmy continued, 'so, I went on a cyber warfare course at Sandhurst a few years ago, and they taught me that data only comes alive when you draw a picture of it and attach it to a timeline. It was the only thing I remember from it actually, but it stuck in my mind. And I know it sounds like bullshit, but it actually works. Data visualisation, that's what they call it. Helps you see patterns and connections that you might not otherwise see. So that's what I've been doing. Here, take a look.'
On a sheet of A4 copier paper, he had drawn a table with four columns, headed 'Work', 'Relationships', 'Associates' and 'Other Information'. There was a row for each year going back about thirty years.
'So you see Maggie, although we don't have much hard data at the moment, we already can see some interesting connections. If for example we go back eight years or so to when that private deposit box letter was written, we can see under 'Work' that he was at that time MP for Sheffield South. And in oppositi
on, not in government. We go back twenty years, and he was an official with the miner's union, and a local government councillor.'
'That's interesting,' Maggie said. 'And I see you've not got anything much earlier than that, but we know he was at Oxford with Philip and Hugo, and with Julian Priest too. A right little gang of pound-shop revolutionaries they were by all accounts. That's when Philip and his brother started up their Action for Palestine pressure group, with our much-loved Prime Minister Julian Priest.'
Jimmy smiled. 'I didn't know that, I'll stick that on the chart right now. And your husband is still heavily involved with the group, isn't he?'
'That's right,' Maggie said. 'He is. His brother Hugo too, at least he was before he got sent down. But Gerrard Saddleworth was never really into it all, as far as I know. He likes to cultivate the image of being solid working-class, warm beer and pigeon racing and all that. So he's always tried to distance himself from metropolitan liberals like Priest and his mates.'
'Mates like your Philip.'
'Exactly. Pretentious arseholes like my ex.'
Jimmy evidently decided against making a comment. Instead he said, 'Well, the web's stuffed with info about guys in the public eye like Saddleworth so it should be a doddle to get this chart fattened out.'
Maggie laughed. 'I'm not so sure about that, but at least it gives us something to go at. Anything else you've been doing this morning, or have you spent all the time chatting up Elsa?'
'Being chatted up more like. She's...'
They were interrupted by Elsa herself poking her head around the door.
'Do you want coffee Jimmy? I put fresh brew in machine just one minute ago. Just for you.'
Maggie was amused to see his face reddening. 'What?' he said distractedly. 'Oh, yes that would be great.'
'I go get it now. Oh, and your face, it is very strange colour,' she said, closing the door behind her.
'She's in love with you already,' Maggie teased, 'and such a pretty girl too.'
