Mine: The hot new thriller of 2018 - sinister, gripping and dark with a breathtaking twist. J.L. Butler

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      ‘Guilty as charged,’ she said, raising a hand.

      Conversation flowed on with the wine, some delicious orange-scented white that filled my head, and I began to feel glad that Martin had invited his friends along on our date. The modern, chichi restaurant, Alex’s easy intelligence, Sophie’s knowing asides: it was a heady mix of the chic and metropolitan, and I ached to be part of this. I could see the admiring glances we were getting from couples at other tables; we were the beautiful people, sophisticated and urbane, and for once I was one of them, right at the beating heart of London.

      ‘So you haven’t really told us about you,’ said Sophie, when she’d finished telling the waitress what she wanted for dessert. ‘In another life, I’d like to have been a divorce lawyer. I got wooed by a few commercial firms on the milk round, but it seemed way too dull. Family law, on the other hand, must be fascinating.’

      ‘Fascinating sometimes,’ I said honestly. ‘Often difficult and emotional. We tend to find that, when it comes to divorce, feelings take over. People waste huge amounts of billable hours arguing over the smallest things because they don’t want the other side to win. I recently had a couple at loggerheads for six months over the ownership of a teapot.’

      ‘A teapot?’ said Alex.

      I nodded. ‘Quite a nice teapot, but probably only worth a hundred pounds, tops. They’d bought it on their honeymoon and they’d each have given up the entire contents of their Kensington house to get it away from the other one.’

      They all laughed, but it was an awkward moment, like breaking the spell, reminding everyone who I was and how Martin and I had met.

      ‘Actually, Fran, I wanted to ask you something. A professional query …’

      ‘Is there something I should know about, darling?’ said Alex, his eyes comically wide, but she ignored him.

      ‘Obviously, Martin’s getting divorced, and we’ve all been wondering …’

      ‘Crapping ourselves, more like,’ said Alex.

      ‘… how it’s going to affect the business,’ said Sophie. ‘Could Donna come after us? I mean, we’ve always been friends, but as you say, people do funny things when they get in a courtroom.’

      I looked around, feeling horribly exposed and duped. I’d thought this was a date, but it was looking as if I had been brought here as part of a fact-finding mission.

      ‘We were worried that Donna might go after Martin for future earnings.’

      I glanced at Martin. ‘We’d fight that, of course,’ I said, gripping the stem of my glass.

      ‘So?’ pressed Sophie.

      ‘It’s true that divorce can have some corporate ramifications. But the Gassler Partnership doesn’t trade on the stock exchange so I expect that any impact will be limited. To be on the safe side, I can recommend a PR who specializes in deflecting negative attention – but, honestly, I don’t think it will be necessary.’

      I looked at Martin, who smiled back at me reassuringly. I could tell my assessment was largely what Sophie and Alex had wanted to hear.

      ‘Speaking of divorce, did you hear about Mungo Davis?’ said Alex. ‘Caught his wife in bed with their driver – and do you know what she said?’

      I never did hear what Mungo Davis’s wife said, because I excused myself and headed for the loos.

      When I reached the sanctuary of the bathroom, I put both hands on the side of the basin and inhaled deeply. As I gazed back at my reflection I wondered what I needed to do to be happy. I liked Martin Joy. I’d thought he liked me, but clearly I had misread the situation.

      I took my lip gloss out of my handbag and applied it carefully in the mirror. The overhead lights made me look paler than usual and I raised my hand to touch my cheek.

      You can do this, I told myself as I prepared myself to go back into the restaurant. Keep your dignity.

      Martin was paying the bill when I got back and Sophie was slipping on her coat.

      ‘The gatecrashers are going,’ she smiled.

      ‘We’ll see you out,’ said Martin.

      I stood awkwardly on the pavement as we said our goodbyes. When Sophie and Alex disappeared into a taxi, I pulled my coat further around my body, ready to start walking home.

      ‘That was great,’ I said tightly. ‘They’re really good fun.’

      ‘I’m still sorry,’ he said, shuffling from one foot to the other.

      I felt my shoulders relax.

      ‘Alex called me in Switzerland. He was feeling jumpy about my divorce and was talking about getting his own legal representation. When I mentioned I was seeing you, he asked if they could come along. I didn’t think they’d stay for three courses.’

      I shrugged and smiled. I didn’t want to make myself vulnerable and suggest what we do next.

      ‘The night’s still young,’ he said, gazing at me from under his dark lashes.

      My heart gave a little leap, although I tried to stay cool.

      ‘What did you have in mind?’ I shrugged.

      ‘Don’t you live around here?’ he said, taking a step closer.

      ‘Just down there, if you want to walk me home,’ I said.

      As he threaded his arm through mine, my whole body relaxed.

      ‘Was that true?’ I said after a moment. ‘The story about Sophie fixing you and Alex up.’

      ‘She organized the trip, allocated the rooms, so I guess so. I owe Sophie a lot. She even sorted out a bursary for me to go to New York. I wouldn’t have been able to afford it otherwise.’

      I looked at him in surprise. He’d hinted that we had similar backgrounds, but I’d assumed it was just talk.

      ‘My parents died when I was five. I was brought up by my grandparents. They valued education, did everything they could to support me through school, university. But there wasn’t much money to go round.’

      He looked straight ahead as if he didn’t want to talk about it any more.

      ‘So tell me about Switzerland,’ I said as we walked, enjoying his heat through the sleeve of my coat.

      ‘We were in Verbier.’

      I vaguely remembered Tom Briscoe mentioning Verbier once in chambers; it sounded like a Sloaney hotbed of black-runs and après-ski and I couldn’t help but think of Martin with a bevy of blonde chalet girls in some outdoor Jacuzzi. After all, I didn’t like the use of the word we.

      ‘I had some meetings in Geneva first, but I managed a couple of days on the slopes. It was good to get away from all this.’

      ‘Thanks,’ I laughed.

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