The Collared Collection (15 page)

‘Changing the subject for a minute, Callie, have you told the boys about Ginny?’

A stab of sorrow made her breathless for a beat; Alex and Sam should have her with them to do what she could to soften the blow of such dreadful news – but she couldn’t risk exposing them. Her thoughts drifted to the last time she’d sat at that table with David … Ginny was inside getting up close and personal with Mike and they were four happy adults. Now they were three – and none of them would ever quite be the same again.

Inhaling deeply Callie said, ‘No, I didn’t want to tell them over the phone, so I’ve asked Dominic to do it, very much against my better judgement. I called him when you were dishing out the soup and begged him to tread carefully when he breaks it to them – they have to be told now, because without a doubt it will be in the papers and on the news now her name has been released. Sally had to see off some reporters earlier … The boys mustn’t find out like that.’

‘That’s rough – I hope he astounds us all and uses some tact and compassion.’

She sighed. ‘Me too, David, me too.’

‘We could drive over there now?’

‘No … I don’t want to take the risk of Balaclava Man finding out where they live; I can’t gamble on him having scruples. When I’ve collected the boys from school, Dominic meets us at McDonald’s, to be on the safe side. Remember, he didn’t mind setting fire to the house while they were inside, did he?’

He stroked her hand, ‘No, you’re right.’

‘I’ve decided not to see Sam and Alex until the bastard has been caught – I came so close to losing them …’ She knew she was going to cry.

This time he squeezed her hand and smiled. ‘I understand, Callie. This will all be over soon.’

She so hoped he was right. Pulling her resolve to attention, she asked, ‘You said earlier you’d made some headway, how so?’

‘Ah, the accident. As you can imagine, at that time of day there were a lot of witnesses and several drivers were able not only to tell us the make and colour of the car that shunted Ginny’s, but they also took note of the index. The driver was reported by most as a tall male, slim, wearing the ubiquitous baseball cap and shades. Everyone was unanimous that it was a deliberate act.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Yep. We’ve found the vehicle abandoned and the lab boys have it to play with. It was a 4x4 rental, which probably explains why the number plate wasn’t changed. And we have a detailed description of the person who signed the contract and drove it away.’

‘Brilliant – was it Balaclava Man?’

He held his head on the side. ‘I’m not sure about that. The receptionist described a young white male, tall and slim, wearing large spectacles and a baseball cap. She took particular notice because he looked “a bit weird” – she can’t swear to it, but she thought he might have had a false moustache. She said it just didn’t look right, a bit theatrical.’

‘Maybe he was trying to make himself appear older?’

‘Perhaps. Other than that, he was dressed in jeans, a baggy sweatshirt, and driving gloves – he must have been sweltering. Dodgy licence too, in the name of Raymond Sweet, date of birth 13/07/83. Plus – surprise, surprise – a bogus address.’

‘Apart from the address, how do you know the licence is iffy?’

‘A bit of basic research told us that Raymond Alan Sweet was born on that date alright, in Edinburgh, but unfortunately he died three days later.’

‘Ah, very Frederick Forsyth. Any CCTV footage?’

He snorted. ‘You are getting into the lingo, aren’t you?’

‘Well, was there?’

‘Nothing in the office – we’re not talking one of the major car hire companies here, but I’ve got someone going through all the tapes from the immediate vicinity. We may strike lucky, though the public are generally aware of Big Brother watching them nowadays, and someone who doesn’t want to be scrutinised too closely can take evasive action to hide their identity.’

‘Fingers crossed anyway.’

‘Sure – you never know.’ He stretched, ‘Right, that about summarises today’s developments. Why don’t you grab enough clothes for a couple of days – we’ll collect more over the weekend. It’s time for you to take up your bed and walk.’

‘I’m not exactly Lazarus, although I am beginning to feel like a bit of a nomad.’

He raised an index finger. ‘Oh, one last thing. I almost forgot …’

‘What’s that?’

‘I took advantage of being surrounded by all those legal minds today and got someone to file divorce papers for me.’

‘Have you told Dr Mengele?’

‘Yes, she’s cool with it.’

‘Good … Who’s handling it for you?’

‘Simon Stirling – he told me he doesn’t usually touch Matrimonial, but as I’m such a good friend of yours, he’ll make an exception.’

‘Blimey, David – do you have any idea what Bunter’s fees are? More noughts on the end than an MP’s fiddled expenses – why didn’t you just pick up the forms for a DIY effort? With no children involved, it would be plain sailing.’

‘Only the best for you, Callie.’ He winked.

‘Oh for goodness’ sake … let’s get out of here before I have to puke!’

Chapter Twenty-five

Unsurprisingly, there was an oppressive atmosphere of gloom when Callie went back to the office on Thursday. Work got done, as it had to be, but the mood was sad and sombre. The barristers had to sort through Ginny’s briefs and reallocate cases; a stark reminder that she would never again walk through the door. In the mail came a chatty postcard depicting Sacré Coeur at night from Susan Williams, addressed to ‘Ginny et al, c/o Montague and Brewer Chambers’. Callie made a mental note to ring Susan at home and tell her the news before she returned to work the following Monday. She’d already tried to get hold of her, but Susan didn’t seem to have taken her mobile on holiday.

Chambers also received a pile of condolence letters from people who’d heard of Ginny’s death via the legal grapevine – some of them former clients. It was curious to think she had touched the lives of so many, if only for a short period. As a natural progression, Callie wondered how many folk would feel enough sorrow to put pen to paper if she died. She guessed probably none. Alex and Sam would miss her (she hoped), and perhaps David, but who else was there? Dominic would dance on her grave in hobnails …

This introspection wasn’t helping. She took another stab at making sense of what was written on the piece of paper in front of her … after three words, her eyes drifted over to Bernard. He, dear man, was making an enormous effort to be business-like, but he couldn’t fully disguise his wretchedness.

Elizabeth Lyon-Smith approached her desk and caught her doing nothing. ‘Callie, may I have a word, please, in the interview lounge?’

Callie followed her across the room with her knees knocking, all the while dreading what this could be about – it had to be serious, if she required privacy. Then it dawned on her – of course, she was about to be sacked. Ginny had given her a job without bothering to consult the others – now she was no longer in charge, they could get rid of her … and they’d volunteered scary Elizabeth to do the deed. Shutting the door, she steeled herself for bad news.

‘Callie,’ Elizabeth began, looking every inch a female Albert Pierrepoint, ‘I have something of great importance to discuss with you. Please sit.’

She did as instructed and elected neither to prattle on, nor plead with the QC to reconsider. She simply regarded her in silence, preparing to take it on the chin.

‘You are aware that Ginny had no living relatives?’

‘Yes, I am. Her younger brother Jonathan was killed in a skiing accident when he was a teenager and both her parents have died within the last six or seven years. I don’t believe there’s anyone else. Why do you ask?’

‘As Ginny’s executrix, I am here to tell you that you are the main beneficiary of her will.’ While Callie gawped at Elizabeth, open-mouthed with shock, the QC continued, ‘In addition, there are two small bequests of £20,000 each to your sons, Alexander and Samuel, I believe?’

She nodded mechanically, not really comprehending what was being said.

‘Those bequests are to be held in trust until each boy attains the age of eighteen years.’

She still didn’t fully understand.

‘Everything else – and that includes her mortgage-free home and its contents, plus her controlling share interest in Montague and Brewer Chambers – is bequeathed to you. You are now in effect our boss. There is a short codicil to the will, but that needn’t concern us at the moment.’

Judging by the expression on her face, Elizabeth didn’t relish the prospect of Callie having a say in the company; she’d got that bit loud and clear. Damn, she couldn’t get her head around this at all … Perhaps she hadn’t heard her correctly – did she really mean she not only still had a job, but she actually owned shares in the company? She’d only been there a short while – bizarre didn’t quite cut it.

‘This makes you a very wealthy young woman, Callie – my congratulations, though of course the circumstances are tragic.’

‘Thanks, I … err … had no idea …’

‘And finally, whilst I realise this is hardly an appropriate time to raise the issue, please be advised that my partners and I would be more than willing to buy you out, should you decide your future does not lie with Montague’s.’ She clasped her bony hands together. ‘I think that’s all for now, unless you have any questions, of course.’

Callie couldn’t think of a thing – in fact, she couldn’t think.

Elizabeth turned to leave, but spun back on her heels before she’d opened the door. Dispensing with lawyer-speak, she said, ‘Oh, bollocks, I almost forgot,’ and handed over a sealed envelope. ‘This is for you, from Ginny. Stay here and read it in peace, if you like.’

In Ginny’s dreadful handwriting, the envelope was inscribed, ‘For Callie Ashton, to be opened in the event of my death – hopefully not before I’m at least a hundred and ten’.

That made her smile.

Elizabeth silently left the room and pulled the door closed behind her.

She slit open the envelope and took out two pages of A4 paper, each with a picture of Homer Simpson eating a doughnut in the top right hand corner. The letter was dated the beginning of April that year, which was not long after Dominic had walked out.

It read,

Dearest Callie

Since you are reading this, my plans for longevity must have seriously backfired. As Elizabeth Lyon-Smith (whom you will have met by now, as she’s entrusted with my will) would say, ‘Bollocks!’

I sincerely hope I didn’t shuffle off this mortal coil in any prosaic fashion? Perhaps I broke my neck abseiling down the Empire State Building? No? Then how about heart failure AFTER a four-in-a-bed romp with Brad Pitt, Robert Redford, and Ewan McGregor? (That’s with Tom Cruise on stand-by.) Third choice would be a coconut falling on my head, on the last day of a six month holiday in the most exotic location in the world – to date I’m not sure where that would be, but I want to have been there with a gorgeous, virile man.

Whatever, just as long as I didn’t trip over a paving stone in the High Street and crack my head – if I did, please ensure that one of my partners sues the local authority for an obscene sum in damages.

Down to business, the boring bit. I’ll try not to get mushy here, but some things need to be said.

Callie, the minute I met you, I knew we’d always be friends – and I’m pleased to say I was right, for once. I am not one of the good guys, but you are – you are a brilliant person and a great mum. Lousy cook, but you can’t have everything! Seriously, that moron Nic the Prick has recently abandoned you and the boys for the infant whore Freckle Face and I think he’s crazy – anyone after you can only be second best. But he’s a terminal dork – you can do so much better for yourself and I hope you will. If I’m looking down on you from Heaven (fat chance, I know), I’ll see what I can wangle for you.

Apart from the wazzock you are married to, I envy you your life very much. You’ve got two great kids, whom I love dearly – I’ve given them each a bit of dosh to fool around with when they reach eighteen. Of course, I’m counting on them both being in their eighties and millionaires in their own right by the time I peg it …

Money can’t buy happiness, it’s true, Callie, but it can bloody well help. I’ve inherited cash and assets from both my parents, so along the way, I’ve accumulated a tidy sum in the bank. It hasn’t made me happy, I admit, but it has enabled me to be independent and to do as I like, within reason.

Now everything I have is yours – may it give you the freedom to please yourself and do whatever you want with your life.

Just think of me now and again when you’re spend, spend, spending!

Thank you for being my friend, Callie. Have fun and be loved.

Ginny x

She read it through three times – and then she wept.

Chapter Twenty-six

David stared at her, bug-eyed, ‘And you didn’t know? Not even an inkling?’

Callie shook her head, ‘Absolutely no idea. I truly thought Elizabeth was inviting me to the interview room to give me the elbow. The prospect of a will never occurred to me … I don’t even have one. Of course, I don’t have anything to leave …’

‘Well, you do now!’ Ever practical, he asked, ‘How are the potatoes coming on?’

In a weak moment, she’d volunteered to peel the spuds for a dinner of roast lamb with all the trimmings that David was going to cook. ‘Almost there – I think I’ll do one more for luck. What time is Mike coming?’

‘In about half an hour.’

‘OK, that’ll just about give me time to finish this and slip into something comfortable.’

‘That sounds promising …’ He walked over and slid his arms around her waist from behind, nuzzling her neck. ‘Need any help undressing?’

She did her best to erase the freshly-laid glow from her face when David showed Mike in. He’d brought a bunch of red roses and a bottle of Australian Shiraz – and he looked a wreck.

When he handed her the wine, he said, ‘Sorry, I don’t know much about plonk, the chap at the off-licence said it was drinkable. I’m more of a Guinness or lager man myself.’

She reached up to kiss his cheek. ‘It’s great, and thanks, Mike. The flowers are gorgeous; you shouldn’t have, but I’m glad you did. Let me get you a tinny out the fridge and put these in water.’