Lynda La Plante: Twisted

Lena had had only one brief phone call and meeting with Mr Henshaw, who was very pleasant and had a quiet unassuming demeanour. He had asked if the divorce was on a friendly footing, and she had said confidently that it was, and doubted there would be any animosity. Henshaw said that a ‘Collaborative Divorce’ meeting with Marcus and his solicitor would be the best way forward so they could reach an amicable agreement without going to court. There was no issue of custody as they had made arrangements for Amy to spend time with each of them. Lena did, however, point out that she paid for her daughter’s education and had been the main breadwinner throughout their entire marriage. Mr Henshaw had enquired about the house and Lena had made it clear that she had maintained the property, and paid the mortgage throughout their marriage, and could see no problems with continuing to live there. Furthermore, at no time had Marcus even brought up altering the living arrangements as it was obviously their daughter’s and her own main home. It was also her main place of work. Henshaw cautioned that it was to be a meeting to discuss how the divorce would proceed, and until they were privy to what Marcus’s wishes were, he advised that she should allow him to broach the subject. To date, he had not been given any more details. The only information he had been able to ascertain was that, like herself, Marcus had acquired a divorce lawyer, a Mr Jacob Lyons, who would also attend the meeting.

The only time she had felt a slight unease was when Henshaw remarked that Lyons was rather a formidable gentleman with quite a reputation, and that he had previously represented rather well-known clients. It had surprised her because that suggested Lyons was not cheap – probably more expensive than Mr Henshaw. She had rather naïvely not given much thought to the fact that her husband would also be represented, but she presumed that Marcus must have been earning enough to hire such a prominent figure. It also dawned on her that she had no idea exactly how Marcus was financing himself, unless one of his ventures had at long last been successful.

Waking later than usual she slipped on her thick woolly rather unattractive dressing gown and went down to the kitchen. She brewed a pot of coffee, made two slices of brown bread toast, buttered and spread them with honey, put them onto a tray, collected her newspapers and returned to bed. She skim-read the Mail on Sunday and The Sunday Times , finished her coffee but hardly touched her toast. It was almost eleven thirty by the time she tried to call Amy on her mobile but it went straight to voicemail. She left a short message to say she hoped she was enjoying her sleepover, sent her hugs and kisses and asked if she would give her a call to say all was well. The rest of the morning she spent having a long leisurely bath and washing her hair. Even though she had not heard back from Amy by early afternoon she was not unduly worried. Heading for her office, she checked her emails, finding none from Amy but a huge number from her business. It took her until almost five to answer them all, sorting out the various collections and deliveries, but finally the paperwork was all in order, the receipts and payments double-checked. Next, she made a list for the grocery shop to be done on Monday by her housekeeper. She made out cheques for the gardeners, and left a memo for them to also clear the guttering as there were a lot of leaves and she was concerned about drainpipes becoming blocked. She was about to close down her computer but hesitated, deciding to Google Jacob Lyons on the internet. Old Mr Henshaw had not specified any of the famous names Lyons had represented, but a quick Google search soon revealed that he was indeed notorious, and an exceptionally tough operator, with millionaire movie stars and rock singers his main clients. He had gained massive maintenance orders and won the unlikeliest of custody battles, and so the press described him as a Rottweiler who never lost a case. She was stunned that Marcus had felt it necessary to hire him, and it was obvious that he was very expensive. It made her feel increasingly uneasy.

Lena opened a bottle of wine; she had still not eaten so she cooked up some eggs and bacon, making another call to Amy as she did so, but her daughter’s mobile yet again went to voicemail. The lack of response was starting to be irritating, but then she reckoned Amy was probably having a good time. She was in two minds whether or not to ring Marcus and ask if he had heard from her, but decided against it.

Lena went through her wardrobe, choosing what to wear for the meeting in the morning. She chose a smart new Jaeger suit, a white silk shirt with bow tie at the neck, and took out her black Louboutin high heels and some fine black ten denier tights. By the time she had hung up everything she was to wear and chosen pearl earrings and a necklace, she was ready to go back to bed. Unusually for her, she broke another sleeping tablet in half and by ten she was almost asleep. The wine had helped – almost three quarters of the bottle of Merlot. She lay there wondering if there was anything else she should have done as she would not be going into work – her appointment was for nine thirty with Henshaw in Mayfair and her driver would collect her at eight thirty to make sure she was on time.

Harry Dunn had arrived earlier than needed as he wanted to valet and wash the Lexus. He remained sitting in the car when it was finished, and at promptly eight thirty Lena walked out of the house. Harry gave her a polite good morning, holding the passenger side door open as she got into the car. She always sat beside him, never in the rear seats unless she was with a business associate.

The offices of Henshaw, Froggat and Co. were in North Audley Street in Mayfair, in a large elegant house on four floors with various other legal companies listed on the brass plate outside. Mr Henshaw was waiting and ushered her into a panelled boardroom. He was immaculately dressed in a pinstriped suit, crisp white shirt and Old Harrovian tie, and appeared the epitome of old-world charm. At just after ten, his secretary tapped on the door to say that Mr Lyons and Mr Marcus Fulford had arrived. Lena was nervous; she had not actually met with Marcus for almost a year, possibly even longer.

Lyons was small, wearing what was probably a very expensive suit, with skinny trousers and five buttons on the jacket, but it looked too tight for him. He had a bright pink shirt, with a matching pink silk tie and heavy gold cufflinks. His hair was slicked back, thinning, and gave his over-large head a gnome-like appearance, and whether or not his suntan was genuine, it had an unattractive orange tinge. This made Lyons’ teeth even more unnaturally white, and he had wet lips that were spread in a wide smile. He greeted Henshaw like an old friend, and then turned to introduce him to Marcus.

Marcus was wearing a navy pinstripe Armani suit she had bought him, but instead of a shirt he had on a white T-shirt, and wore two-toned shoes with no socks and dark glasses. His hair was longer than she remembered, still thick, curly and dark, and his face bore signs of a slight stubble. Handsome as ever, he also gave a wide friendly smile as he was introduced to Henshaw, and then glanced towards Lena.

She wished he had taken the glasses off, as it was obvious that he was taken aback by her new image, and she would have liked to see the expression in his eyes.

‘You look well, Lena, better than ever.’

‘Thank you.’

She was introduced to Lyons, who gave her a wet handshake, not even looking at her as he chose which chair to sit in, and then gestured for Marcus to sit beside him, both of them across the large mahogany boardroom table. Lyons snapped open a brown leather briefcase, took out some paperwork and a notebook which he laid on the table. He removed a gold pen from his inside jacket pocket, unscrewed it and set it beside his notebook.