Ms is Lucy’s invention, Mr Hewitt,’ Clare broke in swiftly, annoyed again by the odd little emphasis he seemed to place on it. ‘She thinks it gives me some kind of mysterious status but I myself prefer to be known as Clare Montrose, unmarried—never married for that matter—and I don’t mind who knows it.’
‘I see,’ he said, and grimaced. ‘To be honest, Ms as a title always makes me think of women in limbo and I’d much rather call you Clare. I’m Lachlan, by the way, married but soon to become unmarried—and that’s why I’ve come to see you.’
Clare’s eyes widened incredulously.
‘Have you ever handled a divorce settlement, Clare?’ he asked.
‘Yes. A few. But—’ She couldn’t go on.
‘You’re amazed?’ he suggested. ‘Because I’m divorcing my wife or because I’ve come to see you about it?’
‘Both, to be honest,’ she said a touch feebly, and swallowed.
‘Do you know my wife, Clare?’
‘No, I’ve never met her, but...well, she—that is to say, I’ve seen photos of her in the local paper and—heard mention of her.’
She stopped abruptly as images of Serena Hewitt, stunningly beautiful even in black and white, swam through her mind, and then remembered seeing Serena in the flesh one day, in the village, and realizing that her photos hadn’t done her justice.
‘And you can’t imagine anyone wanting to divorce her, no doubt,’ he said dryly.
‘I didn’t say that but—yes, I guess I’m surprised. Sorry. Uh—why me, though? I would imagine you have a family solicitor who... might be more appropriate.’
‘I do. I’d rather have fresh blood in this case, however.’
Clare looked at him narrowly. ‘If I took this on,’ she said slowly, ‘I would act in your very best interests, Mr Hewitt, but if you’re looking for someone you could hide some of your assets from with a view to cheating your wife, then I have to tell you you’ve come to the wrong person.’
‘On the contrary, Ms Montrose,’ he returned coolly, ‘I’ve come to you because you appear to have a remarkably clear brain and excellent legal skills, whereas my family solicitor is getting old and doddery, although we hold him in great affection. He also happens to hold my wife in great affection.’
‘Oh.’ It was all Clare could think of to say.
‘Furthermore,’ Lachlan Hewitt said, ‘while I’m prepared to hand over to my wife everything she’s entitled to by law, I am not prepared to be taken to the cleaners, which is exactly what she has in mind,’ he finished gently but with unmistakable satire.
‘I see.’
‘Are you a feminist, Clare?’ he asked lazily then.
‘No more than most women,’ she replied coolly.
‘That’s not quite as your father sees you.’
She bit her lip to stop the crushing retort that rose to mind and said instead, ‘How well do you know my father, Mr Hewitt?’
When he spoke it was gravely but she couldn’t miss the lurking little glint of humour in his grey eyes. ‘Well enough to know that he holds extremely sexist views but, even so, can’t help being very proud of his brilliant, though uncomfortably feminist, daughter—although it’s something he may never have been able to convey to you, Clare: how proud he is.’
She coloured slightly and looked away. ‘I’m afraid my views of feminist and his don’t agree,’ she said. Then she asked, ‘How do you know him, Mr Hewitt?’
‘He and my father were great friends. They served together in the same regiment in Vietnam, didn’t he tell you?’
‘Yes, but I didn’t know he knew you. I believe your father died some months ago?’
‘It was at his funeral that your father mentioned you.’
‘I see. Then you mustn’t have minded the feminist tag he labelled me with.’
‘I didn’t say I was sexist,’ Lachlan Hewitt drawled. ‘And I did happen to know that your father saved my father’s life once.’
Clare breathed deeply with some frustration. ‘Thus the world turns—on the head of a pin. I have to confess I would far rather have earned your conveyancing fair and square but—’ her lips curved into a reluctant smile ‘—I know how petulant and ultra-feminist that would make me.’
Unbeknownst to her, during the short pause that ensued as they traded rather wry glances, Lachlan Hewitt was discovering himself unwittingly intrigued...
Not, on first impressions, drop-dead gorgeous, he thought, apart from those wonderful eyes. A thin, intelligent face, pale, smooth skin and a tall, very slender but elegant figure. Otherwise nothing stood out; well, he amended, there was that shining mass of dark hair and lovely hands—but no, what was intriguing was her air of composure, uncompromising ethics and intelligence even when she was annoyed.
He said, as the pause drew out, ‘You’ve more than earned it with the way you’ve handled it, Clare. No matter how many times your father may have saved my father’s life, you wouldn’t have still been acting for us if you hadn’t proved your worth.’
‘Thank you,’ she said simply.
‘And have I reassured you to the extent that you feel you could handle my divorce?’
‘I...’ Clare hesitated then drew a yellow legal pad towards her. ‘Yes. I presume you know that you have to register a separation which has to stand for twelve months before the divorce can be finalized, although financial settlement can be—’
‘Yes. We have actually been living separate lives for at least that length of time and we have also been through the required marriage counselling.’
Clare absorbed this. ‘Are there children involved, Mr Hewitt?’
‘One son. He’s six—nearly seven.’
‘Will you be contesting custody?’
‘Not unless my wife proves to be unreasonable in the matter of access.’
Clare bit her lip.
‘You have reservations about that?’ he asked coolly.
She put her pen down and clasped her hands on the desk. ‘Only to the extent that legal battles over custody can most harm the person they’re designed to protect—the child, who may become involved in a tug of war between his or her parents. And, whilst it’s no concern of mine, I always feel morally bound to point out that this is one area where both parties should act honourably and preferably between themselves.’
‘I certainly intend to,’ he said dryly.
‘Good. Then if you’re really sure about this, Lachlan, this is where we start trying to carve everything up—to be blunt.’
