In Safe Keeping (5 page)

For long, agonising moments, Laila stood there, staring at the indistinct outline.

Waiting.

Willing
the person to go.

What was he doing? Watching to see if anyone else was in the office?

Checking she was alone?

Laila forced her shaky legs to move. She headed for the door, arm raised, fingers reaching for the lock. She pressed the button in the centre of the handle, then turned and leaned against the door, shoulders lowering as her body went limp with relief.

Whoever was out there, they couldn’t see her now.

She groped in her coat pocket for her phone.

A door banged, and her heart leaped as the sound reverberated throughout the building.

Dragging in mouthfuls of air, Laila tried to bring her heart rate down. She knew the sound of the stairwell door; it banged like that fifty times a day. If the person had gone, there was no need to ring the police and have them race over in a panic.

Eventually, she stepped away from the door and peered through the frosted glass.

The shadow was no longer there.

Another wave of relief rolled through her body as she made her way back to Mike’s desk. Keeping a wary eye on the frosted glass, she reached for the phone and hit the speed-dial number for his mobile phone. Maybe he’d noticed someone hanging around the building. Maybe he
had
copied something onto a flash drive. Either way, she needed to alert him to the break-in.

A few seconds passed before Laila realised the dial tone was still buzzing in her ear. She felt an icy chill at the base of her spine, and she jabbed at the button with a jerky movement.

Nothing.

Just like last night, the pre-programmed settings had been erased.

Laila’s eyes cut to the Blackhawk. The picture had always fascinated her. If she stared hard enough, she could almost see the rotors turning, hear the unmistakeable whump whump whump as the blades sliced through the air.

She lowered the phone and thought of Will, Mike, Eddie and the others.

Had the military learned of the proposed class action and come here, searching for the information she’d gathered?

And if they had, what lengths would they go to — to ensure their cover-up remained intact?

I watched Laila Richards.

Had been for a while now.

She was a creature of habit, one of those disciplined types you could set your watch by.

I liked that.

Made my job easy.

Every morning she was out the door by six, except Sunday, when she’d emerge at ten. She liked to walk, and she always took the same route, along the beach then up through the cemetery on the cliff.

Predictable.

As a lawyer, you’d think she’d be smart enough to vary her walking route — so it must have been laziness that she didn’t.

Last Sunday she’d looked my way, but my eyes were shielded by dark glasses. I’d joined a group of mourners at a graveside funeral, staying on the fringes and clutching my peonies. It was easy to blend in, standing among the others, head bowed, eyes fixed to a spot on the ground.

After she’d passed by, I’d broken away from the group and followed her, slipping between the large Victorian headstones topped with archangels and crosses. I read the names as I went, tossing the pink peonies onto a grave when I found a name I liked better than my own.

After her walk, she always went to the same cafe, sitting at a corner table and reading the Sunday papers.

Yes, Sunday was the best day to watch.

But not today.

She’d skipped her exercise this morning, and the bounce was missing from her step.

I knew why.

From my spot on the park bench, I gazed up at the glowing fluorescent lights in her fourth-floor office.

The newspaper shook between my fingers.

10 a.m. Monday

Laila stood and inclined her head as the judge entered the courtroom. In her peripheral vision she could see Evan likewise deferring. On his left was Duncan Peyton, a belligerent expression on his face. The only other person in the room, apart from herself and Scarlett, was the judge’s associate, seated directly in front of him, on a lower tier.

Laila remained standing as the judge took his seat at the bench. She’d barely slept the last four nights, and it had taken all of yesterday to straighten up the filing cabinets and try to establish if anything was missing. As far as she could see, everything was accounted for — but as Mike pointed out, if the military were behind it, they’d just photograph the documents using a tiny, high-powered camera.

But she couldn’t let any of that affect her now. Depending on the outcome, the Peyton case could make or break her career.

Within moments, the judge was down to business. ‘I’ll deal with the matter of Peyton versus Peyton.’

Laila took a deep breath, nerves pinpricking her stomach. ‘Richards, solicitor, Your Honour. I appear today on behalf of the applicant wife.’

It was natural to be a little nervous representing a person of Scarlett’s standing, but Laila had appeared in this courtroom many times, and she knew the disposition of the judge well. Their relationship was one of mutual respect, and she was confident he’d treat her application with the gravity it warranted

‘Barclay, solicitor, Your Honour.’ Evan’s baritone voice projected around the room and Laila’s heart gathered speed. ‘I appear on behalf of the respondent husband.’

The judge looked up from his papers and peered at Evan over the top of his narrow reading glasses. ‘I don’t believe I’ve seen you in my court before, Mr Barclay.’

Evan’s dark head dipped a fraction. ‘No, Your Honour. I don’t often have the privilege of appearing before this honourable court.’

Laila smothered a smile. She had to hand it to him. He was smooth, controlled and charming, with an undeniable aura of confidence that gave the impression he would be as comfortable addressing a United Nations summit as he was addressing the Family Court.

With a half-smile, the judge turned to Laila. ‘Ms Richards. I’ve read through the application. Do you have any other documents for me?’

‘I do, Your Honour.’ Laila came out from behind the table and handed a document to the judge’s associate. ‘I have an affidavit sworn by my client last Saturday. A copy has already been provided to my friend.’

Her eyes cut to Evan as she returned to her seat. He was watching her, lids hooded, the corner of his mouth upturned, as if he too were thinking they’d been a whole lot more than friends.

While the judge took his time reading, Laila watched time tick by on the analogue clock. Every now and then she could hear the deep tonal notes of Evan’s hushed voice as he clarified something to Duncan Peyton, her body so attuned to his dulcet tones that the muscles in her lower body clenched. How many times had he whispered hushed words to her, sexy words, while threading his fingers through her hair?

Did Evan’s client know of their affair? Evan didn’t strike her as the kiss and tell type, but it was possible. They’d been best mates since high school.

Heat gathered in Laila’s chest and rose slowly until it warmed her face and neck. Her nerves were exacerbated because Evan was on the other side of this matter — the man who’d seen her in all her naked glory, the man who’d given her more orgasms than she could have believed possible.

Oh god!

Forcing another deep breath into her lungs, she focused on the judge. She needed to rein in her wayward thoughts or they were going to sabotage her. If there was ever a time to perform well, it was now.

To her relief the judge set aside the document. ‘Are you seeking any orders today, Ms Richards?’

Laila rose again. ‘Yes, Your Honour. I’m seeking interim orders to ensure the status quo remains, until a full hearing of the property application can be dealt with by the court.’

The judge gave a solemn nod. ‘Then I’ll address the matter of the assets first. Go on.’

Laila glanced at the opposition. Evan was writing on his legal pad, a black Mont Blanc pen — which had once slipped from his shirt pocket and landed on her bedroom floor — grasped in his right hand. His face was impassive, left elbow propped on the desk, chin cupped in his hand. He looked unconcerned, in control, as if he graced this particular courtroom every day with his presence.

‘My client is seeking orders from the court that the husband be restrained from further mortgaging any asset of the parties, any associated companies, and of any trusts of which the parties have an interest.’

‘Is there a significant likelihood of that occurring?’ asked the judge.

Laila looked at the document in front of her. ‘As deposed to in my client’s affidavit, Your Honour, you will note that paragraphs twelve to eighteen are instances where my client alleges her husband has acted inappropriately.’

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Evan look up.

‘On one occasion, there is an allegation her signature was forged. My client alleges her husband is constantly in discussion with a multitude of parties regarding different business ventures.’

Laila paused for a moment and looked at Scarlett. ‘My client is in court today, prepared to give personal testimony, if Your Honour so requires.’

Beside her, Scarlett lifted her chin, shoulders straightening under the judge’s scrutiny. But his next question was directed at Evan.

‘What does your client have to say in response, Mr Barclay?’

Laila sat, and it was Evan’s turn to stand.

‘My client strongly denies any suggestion of alleged wrongdoing, but of course I’ll need more time to get full and proper instructions in order to adequately respond to the wife’s affidavit, Your Honour.’

Evan sat down, and the room turned silent while the judge deliberated.

Laila held her breath and tried to relax her tense muscles.

After a few minutes, the judge looked up.

‘Ms Richards. At this stage, I’m going to make an interim order in accordance with your application, but the order will apply to
both
parties.
Neither
party will further encumber the assets until further order of the court.’

‘Your Honour.’ Evan’s voice reverberated around the room. ‘I strongly object to the proposed orders on the basis that their effect would prohibit my client from engaging in his day to day business.’

The judge looked unimpressed.

‘That may well be the case, Mr Barclay, but you’ll have to convince me that there is good reason for the orders to be varied. This application involves a division of the parties’ matrimonial assets, and it is proper that they not be jeopardized until the proceedings are resolved.’

Beside Evan, Duncan Peyton shook his head as if the whole thing was beyond ridiculous.

‘Your Honour.’ Once again, Evan’s voice filled the room. ‘I request an urgent return date.’

The judge hesitated, his eyes shifting between the two of them.

‘Very well, Mr Barclay, I’ll grant an order to that effect. I’ll adjourn this matter for further mention two weeks from today.’ The judge glanced at the pile of papers to his left. ‘Now, if that’s all, I’ll call the parties in the matter of Quinn versus Quinn.’

‘That’s a good outcome,’ Laila said to Scarlett as they packed up and prepared to leave the courtroom.

‘What happens now?’ Scarlett asked.

Laila led the way, pushing through the crowd and speaking over her shoulder. ‘We wait until they file their affidavit in reply. I’ll need to see you after that, to take more detailed instructions. As I said before, conversation and compromise works best. But for now, we’ll just have to wait and see what their response is.’

A posse of press surrounded them as they left the court. Sound booms were thrust in their faces, and camera shutters clicked. Laila pressed her lips together and walked on as if they didn’t exist.

‘Don’t speak to them. And expect a twitter storm. Whatever you do, don’t be goaded into replying or making any kind of statement on social media.’

Out on the pavement, Laila waved to Scarlett’s driver, watching as the black Mercedes pulled out from the curb and came to a stop beside them.

She held the door open while Scarlett climbed inside. ‘I’ll be in touch when I hear more from Evan Barclay.’

Laila slammed the door closed, then crossed the road, dodging between the cars to avoid the press as the Mercedes sped away. She always walked through Hyde Park on her way back to the office, and she needed the fresh air more than ever today. She craved a little exercise, and a few quiet moments to reflect on her first-round win.

And coffee — to keep her going.

The temperature was about five degrees cooler when she stepped into the park, the leafy oasis providing the perfect antidote after the frenetic tension of the courtroom. The bells of St Marys Cathedral rang out over the city as she passed by the Captain Cook statue and placed an order for a skim latte at the coffee hut.

It was strange speaking Evan’s name aloud — even in a professional sense. She’d never spoken about him to anyone before. In fact, up until now they’d hardly had a serious conversation that lasted more than five minutes.

He’d been honest with her from the start though, admitting he was so time-poor he was in no position to sustain a relationship. She hadn’t felt like it was an excuse. Poole Greenwood had shown faith in him, given him a great opportunity, and he was grabbing it with both hands.

His career was his priority.

She understood. The big firms extracted their pound of flesh but the rewards were astronomical. If that was the lifestyle Evan aspired to, he was entitled to go after it.

Her own priority was clearing Will’s name; that and the class action.

And if she were honest, she’d been simply enjoying Evan Barclay. She hadn’t been looking for the whole ‘serious’ thing again. Not yet. She’d
been
married, done the coffee and dinner dates, the engagement, the wedding, the coming together of two families. At thirty-four she was at her sexual peak, and Evan Barclay had proven himself capable of stoking her libido into a raging fire on all fronts. Still, it would have been nice to have gone out a few times.