More Than You Know (91 page)

“A friend of mine,” said Eliza on the phone to Philip Gordon, “says he saw Matt getting into a taxi with a blond girl very late one night. Apparently they’d been in the same restaurant as him, and they were kissing and so on at the table. Shall I say anything to him, or—”

“Absolutely not. It could be quite a nice little card for us to play. Would your friend be a witness for us, do you think?”

“I … I don’t know. I could ask him.”

She felt very odd at the thought of Matt being with someone else. Which was totally absurd, given her own behaviour, given how much she hated him. But … yes, she was jealous, unbearably hurt at the thought of him being physically—and worse, emotionally—close to someone else.

“And … you’re still all right for Friday, are you?” Philip Gordon was saying.

“Yes. Yes, fine. Looking forward to it.”

She wasn’t, of course. He was taking her to see Tristram Selbourne, the senior QC at Toby Gilmour’s chambers. Philip had told her, very gently, that Toby felt she needed “a very big gun indeed.” That had really upset her. Not just that Toby wouldn’t be handling the case himself—but that he felt her case was pretty hopeless.

“Of course it’s not true. Well …” Eliza faced him across the room; she felt physically weak, realising what she was really up against, the power of his rage and his hatred. It was horrible. “I … that is … she did wander off, yes.”

“And you didn’t even notice?”

“I was … I mean, I wasn’t with her; Anna-Maria was looking after her—”

“So how long did it take before you decided to interrupt your shopping and look for her?”

“Matt, this is so unfair. She went off in the care of the maid, with Anna-Maria, and we all arranged to meet in half an hour. Next thing I knew, there was Anna-Maria panicking—”

“Well, I’m glad somebody was. So Emmie was alone in a foreign city, where nobody speaks English, for … how long? Long enough to be kidnapped, that’s for sure.”

“Matt, stop it.”

“You are disgusting; do you know that? Quite disgusting. Not fit to be a mother. Well, you can be sure you won’t be for much longer …”

“I think it’s time to consider marriage.”

“Marriage!”

“Yes, my dearest love, what would you say?”

“I would say yes,” said Scarlett, leaping out of the bed in excitement, “yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Oh, yes.”

“Right.”

“But … don’t you think it’s a bit soon? I mean, we haven’t known each other properly for very long, and—”

“Scarlett,” said Mark, “tell me some of the things you love. Really love.”

“Oh, now, let me see. Well, you.”

“Apart from me.”

“OK. Trisos.”

“Yes. Very good.”

“Fast cars.”

“Excellent.”

“Champagne.”

“Fine.”

“Um … eggs with Marmite soldiers dipped in them.”

“OK. That’ll do. Anyway, how long did it take you to decide you loved them?”

“No time at all. Instant love at first whatever.”

“Well, then. And have you changed your mind about any of them?”

“No.”

“Then I rest my case. Why should you change your mind about me?”

“It’s a bit different,” said Scarlett, laughing.

“I don’t see why. Love is love. It’s about absolute emotional happiness. Which I believe we have found. Listen,” said Mark, and his grey eyes were very serious, moving over her face with great tenderness, “you are the heart of my life. I want you to be there always. Please say you will. Dear, dear love, say you will.”

“Oh, Mark,” said Scarlett, “I do love the way you talk. So much. How could I live without that? Of course I will. Thank you.”

“And we will be married on Trisos, of course.”

“Of course.”

“In the autumn, after the tourists have gone and before the bad weather arrives. And my mother can write us an epithalamium.”

“What’s that?”

“Wait and see.”

It was wonderfully odd to be so very, very happy.

“Well, my dear, you are going to be very lucky not to lose this case. Very lucky indeed.”

Eliza, close to tears, stared at Sir Tristram Selbourne, QC; everyone
had told her how marvellous he was, including her godmother—“That ghastly old fruit with halitosis? Sheer genius, darling, if anyone can do it he can”—and she had walked to his chambers with hope in her heart. God, she thought, looking at him now, how absurd he would look in his wig, this odious man, with his red, self-satisfied face, his full lips spraying saliva as he spoke—Sir Tristram Selbourne, QC.

Toby Gilmour sat in on the interview, a slightly disturbing presence, face an aloof blank as he looked at his master.

She had managed to stay calm, not to rise to the occasional bait: “Surely you must have been aware of the dangers of feeding information to the press … Of course you do realise admitting adultery is all very well, and you don’t seem to have an alternative, but it won’t be considered responsible behaviour, you know …” and even, unforgivably, “That must have been difficult for you, losing your baby.”

Not difficult, she had wanted to scream, but hideous, horrible, unbearable.

“And would you say you became—shall we say—unstable at that point?”

“No,” she said. “Distressed, of course. It would have been very odd, I’m sure you would agree, to have been otherwise.”

She heard Gilmour rustling papers at this point and turned to look at him; his brilliant dark eyes were fixed on her, and she thought she could read some slight degree of approval. For the first time she felt she might grow to like him.

She stood out in the sunshine, when they had said their good-byes to him and to Selbourne, breathing in the fresh, warm air, and feeling closer to despair than she had been since the whole dreadful business began.

“You did awfully well,” Philip Gordon said.

“I did?”

“You did. Held your own, refused to give any ground. And he’s on your side: imagine what he must be like across a courtroom …”

“Ye-es.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about what he said, that you might lose. They all do that; it’s to make them seem even more impressive when they win. If he will take the case, and if your … your funds will meet
his very high charges, then you will certainly have the very best hope of winning.”

“Yes. Yes, I see,” said Eliza, thinking about snide, slithery, spluttering Tristram Selbourne fighting her case, based as it was on such virtues as integrity and courage and love, and thinking then of Toby Gilmour and that flash of approval, and she suddenly heard herself saying, “You know, Philip, I don’t think I want him to take my case. I think I want Toby Gilmour to. In fact, I’m quite, quite sure I do.”

Tristram Selbourne would distort and destroy what little she had to offer; she wanted Toby Gilmour and that was all there was to it.

At home she went into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea and heard the phone ringing in the hall.

She went out and picked it up and said, “Hallo?” It was Toby Gilmour.

“I just rang,” he said, his quick, impatient voice making her nervous again, “to say thank-you. Obviously I am pleased and flattered. And I will do my utmost for you. But I do feel nonetheless that you should know it won’t be easy.”

“I realise that. As Sir Tristram said, I would be lucky not to lose it.”

“Well, if you don’t lose it, Mrs. Shaw, luck will have very little to do with it. If you don’t lose it, it will be because we, and I include you, will have done an extremely good job.”

“Oh … right. Yes. Well … I’m sure we will. Good-bye, then, Mr. Gilmour, and thank you for ringing.”

He was a bit … odd. But really very, very nice.

“I’ve got some very good news, Matt,” said Ivor Lewis.

“What’s that?”

“They’ve dropped Selbourne.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I imagine his fees were too high. They’ve gone for the junior. Toby Gilmour. Very bright, but none of Selbourne’s substance. Obviously.”

“As you said before.” Why did he feel like this? Uneasy? Uncomfortable?

“So Hayward will slaughter him. We’ll win. It’s a foregone conclusion.”

“Well … that’s good. That’s very good.”

“You OK, Matt?” Louise looked at him across the table. “You seem a bit … distracted.”

“Of course I’m bloody distracted. I’ve got a bid in on a ten-million contract, and a divorce case starting in earnest on Friday.”

“Yes, OK. It’s not my fault.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Listen—I’m … I’m sorry.”

“You’re what?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I thought that was what you said. God, Matt. That’s a first. How long have I known you?”

“Too long probably,” he said, then: “I just got punched very hard below the belt by my own family.”

“What’ve your family done?”

“Only my sister, really. She’s turned traitor in a big way. She read me a filthy great lecture about how I was hurting Emmie, and told me it wasn’t too late to stop the whole thing …”

“Ye-es …”

“Don’t tell me you agree with her?”

“Well … I … do worry about Emmie. Quite a lot.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he said.

“But … go on. I won’t say any more. Yet.”

It had shocked and hurt him beyond anything when he heard: Scarlett was going into the witness box for Eliza.