‘I bet they’re offering you an awesome day rate, right?’
‘Twenty percent on top of what I get now.’
‘See? And you’re already on mega-bucks!’
Alexa cringed, not daring to look at Leonie.
‘So.’ Kate pressed her face right up to Alexa’s and looked her in the eye. ‘Are you going to agree to take the job yet, or do I need to get a round in?’
Alexa gave a reluctant smile. ‘Go, Kate. Your lover’s waiting by the photocopiers.’
Chapter 3
Alexa rounded the corner and waited impatiently to cross the road, squinting in the half-darkness at the lone figure at the top of the marble steps. He looked like a movie star, leaning casually against the floodlit pillar, the glow illuminating his blond hair and casting shadows across his chiselled jaw.
‘Hi,’ she called breathlessly, hitching the black silk dress a little higher as she darted across the road and mounted the steps, two by two. Kate’s kitten heels were wearing holes in her ankles, but she put the pain to the back of her mind. ‘Sorry I’m late.’
Matt didn’t reply immediately. He just pulled away from the pillar and stood for a moment, appraising her heaving chest and flushed cheeks, smiling.
‘It was worth the wait,’ he said eventually, pulling her towards him and kissing her hard on the lips.
Alexa felt something inside her lurch. His suit was a perfect fit across the shoulders and the crisp, white shirt set off his tan. She looped an arm around his and stepped onto the dark red carpet.
‘I think we’re supposed to have gone through to the ballroom,’ he said, ‘but let’s grab a drink on the way.’
He led them into a giant, echoing hallway flanked by two spiral staircases. A solitary waiter stood in the corner, holding a circular tray of champagne flutes – evidently the last remaining member of a troop of serving staff. Alexa cursed her poor time management. If she had just put down her work at six-thirty, as planned, she could have arrived on time and enjoyed her allotted quota of pre-dinner bubbly. There was always just one more feature to work on, one more financial report to check.
‘Shall we?’ Matt paused by the entrance to a vacuous ballroom. It sparkled with chandeliers, expensive watches and diamond earrings. Alexa took a deep breath, glancing down at her own attire. It was probably a good thing that Kate had insisted on taking her shopping, she thought. The dress was racier than anything she would have dared to buy on her own and, out of context, the jewellery had seemed over the top – but judging by what she could see here, it was exactly right for the occasion. Cut from black imitation silk, the dress clung to her waist and hips, its neckline plunging to reveal a cleavage she usually kept hidden away.
Suddenly, Alexa found herself being whisked to the centre of the room at a disconcerting pace. She gripped Matt’s forearm, ignoring the pain in her feet and focusing on keeping her champagne glass upright. Through the blur, she spotted the reason for the urgency. On the stage at the far end of the hall, an ancient-looking man was tapping a microphone, indicating the start of a speech.
‘Ladies . . . and gentlemen!’ The shaky voice was amplified across the room. ‘May I first say how grateful I am . . .’
Alexa crept into her chair and quietly tucked herself in. On her left was a middle-aged man with a ring of greying hair around a largely bald head, who was nodding gently as though enthralled in the speech. Matt took his place on her right, next to Dickie, a friend and colleague at his law firm, Fothergills.
Alexa was nursing her ankle under the table when she caught sight of a frantic waving gesture from three seats along. It was Dickie’s girlfriend, whose name Alexa had already forgotten from the previous black tie event. Clarissa? Loretta? Alexa’s memory was hazy. Conversation had involved skiing, horses, red wine . . . but she couldn’t for the life of her recall the girl’s name.
The speech droned on. Alexa tuned in and out, her heart still recovering from the rushed entrance, her mind still working on Dickie’s girlfriend’s name. She wasn’t entirely clear on the purpose of the evening, but then, she never was. Law must have been one of the few remaining industries in which career progression was partially dependent on attendance at elaborate dinners throughout the year.
She looked around the room. In the far corner, by the speaker, an all-female string quartet sat, looking very bored. Around the edges, waiters stood, staring straight ahead like foot soldiers on parade. The guests, of which there must have been four or five hundred, varied in their composure. Some were pretending to listen, others surreptitiously poured themselves glasses of wine and a small number of people, mainly older gentlemen, were nodding off.
It quickly transpired that Dickie’s girlfriend was very drunk. Her eyes were rolling around in their sockets and every time the speaker paused for breath – sometimes after a joke’s punchline, often not – she would let out a loud, throaty chuckle as though the man had said something exceedingly funny.
‘I always look back to something that someone once told me . . .’
‘Mwahahahaha!’ cried the girl.
‘. . . that if you want to know the difference between a good lawyer and a great lawyer . . .’
‘Mwahahahaha!’ she cried again. People were starting to stare. ‘. . . then it is this. A good lawyer knows the law. A great lawyer knows the judge.’
‘Mwahahahahahahaha!’ yelled the girl, this time accompanied by a polite murmur of appreciation from around the room.
Alexa sipped her champagne, trying not to catch the girl’s eye in case the hysterics became contagious. Fenella. That was it. Fenella’s interjections were clearly not winning her any favour with the balding man on her left. Dickie was making a halfhearted attempt to shut her up, but short of physically restraining or removing her, there was little he could do.
Eventually, the speaker stepped down, amid a trickle of light applause. Predictably, Fenella clapped and whooped like a winner at the races. Alexa smiled as Dickie tried to explain that wolf-whistling was not an appropriate form of celebration.
Matt laid a hand on Alexa’s thigh under the table, pressing his lips to her ear. ‘The guy next to you is Dickie’s boss,’ he whispered.
‘Oh dear,’ replied Alexa, softly.
‘He’s also my boss,’ added Matt, with a meaningful look.
‘Right.’ Alexa nodded, understanding what was expected of her. Matt didn’t want a Fenella on his hands tonight.
Matt smiled, leaning back as a waiter swooped over to pour the wine. ‘Oh,’ he said, his mouth returning to her ear. ‘There’s one thing you should know about David Wint—’
‘DAVID WINTERBOTTOM,’ boomed the voice on her left.
Alexa jumped. The balding man was offering his hand.
‘Nice to meet you,’ she said, wondering what Matt had been about to say.
‘The pleasure,’ he declared theatrically, ‘is all
