Authors: Catherine Hunt
‘The police have rung me,’ Ronnie said immediately, ‘They’ve found sixty-two indecent images of children on the computer taken from your house.’
‘It’s nothing to do with me, I promise you, Ronnie. I can explain,’ he said. It sounded pathetic, he thought, the age-old cry of the guilty man.
‘They were downloaded from two websites on two different occasions. They were paid for with your credit card,’ the lawyer continued, disgust clear in his voice.
I revolt him, Harry thought. He despises me because what he thinks I’ve done is something no decent person could ever excuse. There was a phone on the table between them and Ronnie moved towards it.
‘I have to let the police know you’re here. They want to charge you.’
Charge him. For some reason, probably self-preservation, Harry had never fully contemplated being charged. Now, in a clear, terrifying picture, he saw all the appalling consequences. He was a successful local businessman and the Brighton papers would love it. Maybe the nationals would love it too. He would be a figure of public hatred. Even if, eventually, he could prove it was all a lie, the damage would be done. Some of the mud would stick. He thought the unthinkable. What would it do to Martha?
Before Ronnie could pick up the phone, Harry was on it, snatching it away.
‘For God’s sake, I didn’t do this,’ he roared. ‘It’s Anna. She’s set me up.’
The lawyer said nothing, his eyes sliding away.
It made Harry madder still. He ripped the phone from its socket, pushed Ronnie down on a sofa.
‘Now you’re going to listen,’ he spat, his face taut with anger. The rage helped. It stopped him trying to consider what to say, what would have the best effect on Ronnie. Instead, the words just poured out, straight from the heart and they gave his story a raw, authentic feel.
The solicitor’s harsh expression softened a little as Harry told how he had followed Anna to his house, how she had gone inside, how she had, without doubt, done it before, how he believed she had downloaded the porn onto his computer to frame him.
Ronnie looked sharply into Harry’s face. ‘Why would she want you accused of that?’ he asked.
‘To destroy me, destroy my reputation, to weaken me and strengthen her hand in the divorce. Who knows what’s going through her mind? But if I’m fighting to clear my name, I won’t find it so easy to fight the divorce.’
‘If what you say is true, she’s taking a hell of a risk. She could have been caught out at any time. It’s hard to believe she’d go so far. It’s very extreme.’
‘She is extreme and she hates my guts.’
‘The police tell me they also found the death threats to Anna on your computer,’ Ronnie said thoughtfully.
‘Of course they did. She’ll have sent them to herself when she was logged onto it.’
Harry had been standing over Ronnie as he talked, but sensing that his attitude might be changing, he sat down beside him on the sofa.
‘Come on mate, you don’t still think it was me, do you?’
‘I was surprised when you were accused of it, I must say. It didn’t seem likely, but then, you never know. People are not always what you think they are even when you’ve known them for years.’
‘Amen to that. Do you believe me now?’ Harry pressed.
‘Maybe. People do all kinds of awful things during a divorce. I really don’t want to think you did it.’
‘There’s something else you should know,’ Harry said, and he told Ronnie about his visit from Ben Morgan. At the end of it, he had the impression that Ronnie had shifted a little further in his favour.
‘We need to talk to the police and you need to make a statement to them in the same way you’ve made it to me.’ Ronnie suffered a rare moment of embarrassment. ‘It was, er, very powerful. I think, perhaps, I should have given you rather more of the benefit of the doubt.’
It wasn’t exactly an apology but it meant a lot to Harry. It meant that his old friend had not deserted him. It was a shame, then, that he was going to have to fall out with him again.
‘I’m not waiting around for the police,’ he stated flatly. Harry expected an argument but Ronnie simply shrugged and raised the palms of his hands in the air. ‘I can’t let them charge me. You understand; it’s Martha.’
‘I sympathize, but what’s the good of hiding. You’re going to have to face them sometime, better to tell them what you told me and let them investigate.’
‘No chance. They’ve got the computer and they’ve got the evidence that the filth on it was paid for with my credit card. They’ll charge me, and even if I can clear my name later, people will think it was true. No smoke without fire.’
Ronnie didn’t argue and he still didn’t argue very much when Harry told him he intended to ‘disappear’ again and try to get evidence to prove he was innocent.
‘I’d prefer that you didn’t, but I can’t stop you,’ was all he said.
He agreed to give Harry a week – after that he would expect him to contact the police or he would do it himself. If, in the meantime, the police asked him if Harry had been in contact, he would have to tell the truth.
Ronnie’s lack of any real protest surprised and pleased Harry, but it worried him too because it showed how serious his position was.
‘I’m grateful,’ he shook Ronnie’s hand with both his own. ‘One thing. I’ll need some cash. I don’t want to risk using a card.’
Ronnie nodded, went to a desk and unlocked a drawer.
‘You know,’ he said, handing Harry a bundle of twenty pound notes, ‘we need to pin down the dates and times when the porn was downloaded onto your computer.’
Harry pulled out his Visa statement. The dates were there but not the times. A Tuesday and Friday of the same week.
‘Do you know where you were then, what you were doing?’
‘I’d need to look it up. Sally at the office will have my diary. Can you check with her?’
‘The dates alone aren’t enough. We need precise times.’
‘What difference does it make?’ Harry asked, but even as he said it, he realized what Ronnie was getting at. His credit card details had been entered into his home computer at certain times on certain dates. Maybe he could prove he’d been somewhere else at the time, maybe he could prove he couldn’t have done it.
He felt a tiny spark of hope.
Joe Greene scowled when he saw the text.
Where are u? x Missing u. Axx
Delete. It was the fifth one in forty minutes and they were irritating him. Didn’t she realize he had to do some work sometimes, had a business to run? He’d told her about today, told her it was important he got it right. Very important, given Saturday’s debacle when he’d missed the meeting with the Americans. Brother Peter had been sour with him ever since.
A Slough software company was looking for a place to hold a few days’ conference in mid-December, hoping the pre-Christmas spirit would help staff bond and come up with bright ideas. Two of the directors were checking out venues and it was Joe’s job to sell them Greene’s. Peter was away on a half-term break with his young family so it was all down to Joe. It would be good business to get, and if things went well, it could lead to recommendations and more of the same, but competition was tough – the south coast was stuffed full of attractive hotels and the directors were spending the day looking round several of them.
Joe very much wanted to strike the deal. He wanted to show he could be a success, wanted to show his brother, wanted, he realized with surprise, to show his wife. He needed it, too, for his own self-esteem because he never could quite shake a feeling of failure.
He’d made a big effort this time, followed all the tips in the manual about how to pitch to prospective clients. He’d read up on the software company and the men he was meeting, thought of questions to ask them to show off his knowledge of their business, worked out examples of value-added services his hotel would provide, which they might not get elsewhere. He’d carefully positioned chairs for them in the conference room to give them the best view, made sure the walls weren’t scuffed and the paintings were hung straight. So now he was nervous because, if he failed, it would be despite his best efforts.
He looked at his watch. 10.25 a.m. The software men were late, most likely their train had been delayed. He’d sent a taxi to collect them from the station and he was waiting impatiently for a text to say they were on their way. His iPhone pinged again.
Room 21 – lunchtime?! Axoxo
He wished she would shut the fuck up and leave him alone.
‘Too busy,’ he tapped out.
The phone rang, Anna’s number, and he dismissed the call, exasperated. She was getting clingy and it was getting on his nerves. He hoped she wasn’t going to keep nagging him about leaving Laura as she had the other day. The time wasn’t right, he’d told her that, and she needed to accept it and chill out. He wasn’t so sure now that the time ever would be right. She was a glamorous, fascinating woman and he loved her, but … did he really want to throw his whole life into turmoil, risk his home and his business, become a stepfather to Martha? How much better, really, would his life be with her than it was with Laura? She was very high-maintenance.
There was the sex, of course, that still sizzled. His actor friends would say that no one could leave someone they have good sex with. You can try, but you always go back. Well, he wasn’t planning on leaving just yet but he should cool things down a little, see less of her.
The text alert pinged and this time it was to tell him that the taxi was on its way. Then the mobile started ringing again. He cursed as he saw who it was, and switched the phone to silent.
Joe looked at himself in the large mirror in his office and smiled at his reflection. It always boosted his confidence. Tall, square jawed, a natural for the part of thrusting, successful entrepreneur. He brushed the shoulders of his suit jacket and realized his palms were sweating. He’d have to be careful with the handshakes.
From his office window he could see the car park and he watched the taxi drive in and park. Two people got out. One of the men he’d been expecting – he recognized him from the company website – and a woman he didn’t recognize. As she left the taxi, he noticed her long, shapely, legs. He waited a few minutes, no point in appearing too eager, then set off to the lobby to meet them. When he got there he found Ellie the receptionist, as instructed, doing her best to welcome the visitors and make them feel special.
The woman introduced herself as Amy Walker. Her colleague, who’d been due to come, had taken some last minute leave so she’d replaced him. She was glad of a day out of the office, she smiled.
Joe looked at her and flashed back a smile. She was young and blonde and wearing a blue dress. He thought it fitted her very nicely. He’d imagined these guys would be a couple of geeks: the man, George, some kind of software development boffin, had more than a trace of geekiness. But Amy who, it turned out, worked in HR, was totally free of it and perfectly charming. The day was looking up; he always felt at an advantage with women.
Two hours later his hopes were higher still. It had all been going very well indeed so he asked them if they’d like to stay for lunch. George hesitated, said there were other places they needed to see and they’d already got behind, but Amy gently intervened saying they had to have lunch somewhere so it might as well be here.
She seemed in no hurry to move on and George, having made his one effort to keep to the schedule, made no further protest. He had a few glasses of wine and began to enjoy himself, explaining the details of his company’s new pet project, developing video conferencing.
‘Ground-breaking stuff. World class. Gonna change the way business is done.’ he said proudly, waving his wine glass in their faces.
Joe politely nodded agreement and refilled George’s glass.
‘This technology is top secret. You understand, yeah?’ George hissed in a loud whisper.
‘Your secret is safe here,’ he grinned across at Amy and wondered if he should risk a conspiratorial wink. She grinned back at him.
‘We should go, I guess,’ she said at last, reluctantly, standing up and smoothing out her skirt over her long legs. It was almost 3 p.m.
George took his time getting to his feet. His mobile was beeping and he was having trouble locating it. He sat down again heavily, flummoxed.
‘Come on, George.’ She began to leave the dining room and Joe followed, rolling his shoulders as he walked, filled with new confidence.
‘I’ve really enjoyed it,’ she said, stopping in the corridor by the door leading out to the car park. Rain was spattering on the glass and she started to put on her coat.
He helped her into it. ‘Me too. I hope we’ll be seeing you again.’
‘I’d like that.’ Joe noticed that she’d ignored the corporate ‘we’. She touched his arm as she spoke, moving closer to him. Her lips were inches away and getting closer all the time. She kissed him and he kissed her back.
The glass door shuddered as two tremendous blows hit it accompanied by a scream of fury. They sprang apart. There, staring in at them, face contorted, yelling abuse, was a crazy woman. In his surprise, it took Joe a few seconds to register that the woman was Anna.
She was yelling at Amy, yelling at her to leave him alone, calling her a slut and a fucking whore. She was coming out with every cliché in the book and if it hadn’t been so shocking, Joe might have found it funny. But it wasn’t funny, not funny at all. Amy’s face was white. Another blow hit the glass and she jumped a foot backwards.
Joe mumbled an apology, opened the door and took hold of Anna, pinning her arms to her sides. He couldn’t stop her yelling though, and as he wrestled her away from the door and over towards her car, he caught a glimpse behind him of Amy’s pale, stunned face, joined now by George’s, gawping in amazement. This sure beat video conferencing.
‘Anna, please, calm down,’ he said, desperate.
‘No!’ she screamed at him. ‘No! No!’ Then she started sobbing.
He managed to get her into her car and to get her to promise to stay there. He went back to the others and guided them out to the hotel taxi which was waiting, fortunately, some distance away on the other side of the car park. He couldn’t quite meet Amy’s eye and there was nothing he could think of to say to her. She shot into the back of the cab, looking grateful for the escape, and, without another word, slammed the door.