you’re only here temporarily?’
His mouth twisted. ‘Yes, Mrs Carson. A few months at most.’
Thank God. ‘And do you intend for your law firm to be general—I mean tackling company law, fraud, divorce ...?’
He gave an almost imperceptible nod of the head as if acknowledging that now—at least—she was beginning to speak some sense! ‘Oh, no, Mrs Carson. Like you, I have a specialty.’
She got the strangest feeling of foreboding. ‘Which is?’
‘In America we call it “palimony”. I specialise in establishing the nature of common-law relationships, and negotiating a corresponding financial settlement. That’s one thing I do. My main interest, though, lies in the welfare of children.’
Some protective instinct deep within her stirred, powerful enough to keep her face poker blank. ‘Children?’ she echoed.
‘Yes, indeed. You see—I specialise in child custody cases.’
With an effort, Elizabeth only just prevented her mouth from falling open in sheer, disbelieving horror. ‘Child custody cases?’ she queried, and for one wild moment terror invaded her. He knows, she thought desperately. He wants Peter.
‘Sure.’ He shrugged big, powerful shoulders. ‘I’ve represented a lot of fathers contesting cases in the States. We’ve managed to break a lot of new ground.’
She swallowed, twirling the gold pen between her fingers like a drum majorette, so he wouldn’t see that her hands were shaking. ‘Oh? How’s that?’ She saw his big frame relax as he warmed to the subject.
‘Society’s changing. Women no longer have the right to assume that they are the child’s best custodian.’
Elizabeth felt slightly sick, her vision a little blurred, and her hand reached up so that she could rub her finger inside the rim of her shirt collar, the cool air to her neck making her vision thankfully clear again. ‘But a mother surely has a much stronger right than the man,’ she argued, her voice a hoarse whisper. ‘A biological right—given to them by nature, by the fact that they were the one who carried the child, gave birth to it, cared for it——’
He stared at her. ‘Nature over nurture?’ he queried. ‘But nature is often indiscriminate, is it not? A child’s future shouldn’t be governed by something as haphazard as the laws of nature.’
‘So you discriminate against women, do you, Mr Masterton? Use your trained lawyer’s silver tongue to buy your rich clients their child’s future?’
He frowned, as if momentarily puzzled by the reappearance of her aggressive stance. ‘On the contrary—I judge each case on its particular merits, and I pride myself on acting in the child’s best interests. But for too long fathers have suffered bad deals meted out to them by sentimental judges—giving them limited access which is laughable. At the very least there should be joint custody; unlimited access.’ He seemed to take in her unsmiling mouth. The dark eyes flicked to her left hand.
‘Are you married?’ he queried. ‘You are a Mrs, and yet you don’t wear a ring. Your husband must be a very liberated man.’
‘I—was married,’ she said slowly, the normal evasion she used when speaking of her past automatically shaping her answer.
‘Ah! No doubt why you speak with such fervour on the subject of child custody.’
He had assumed, as most people tended to, that her marriage had ended through divorce, rather than death.
His eyes narrowed with interest as he continued. ‘A fervour which goes against that very——’ and the eyes flicked now to the severe lines of her suit ‘—cool exterior.’ He smiled at her, a smile which could conquer all. ‘I trust I haven’t opened up any old wounds. Do you have children, Mrs Carson?’
She put her pen down on top of the folder, and gave him a chilly smile. The chilliest in her repertoire. ‘Mr Masterton,’ she said, her slightly condescending manner not lost on him, ‘fascinating as I’m sure you find it, my personal life really has nothing to do with why you’re here, does it? So perhaps if we could turn to a few salient points about the size of your prospective law firm ...?’
He didn’t like that, she realised. Not at all. He was not a man women would usually put down like that, not unless they had been hurt by him, of course—and he was ignorant of the fact that she belonged to that no doubt large band of women who had been hurt by him. And he must, she decided, that fiercely protective instinct coming to the fore once more—he must remain ignorant of the fact. For Peter’s sake.
She asked her questions, and he answered them, but there was an underlying tension which crackled in the air like electricity for the rest of the interview, and she saw that brief look of puzzlement cross his face once again.
You must make an effort, a voice urged silently. Stop antagonising him—for she recognised that he could be a dangerous adversary if aroused. He’s your client, the voice insisted, so drop the spiky manner. Ooze charm and he’ll probably run a mile. But she also knew that she wasn’t going to be able to keep up this dangerous farce for much longer.
She straightened the pile of papers on her desk, and looked at him expectantly—a polite if somewhat prim smile on her lips. ‘Well, Mr Masterton——’ And with an effort she increased the wattage of the smile. ‘That all seems to be fairly conclusive—I’ll have my secretary type up details for you first thing.’ And she need hardly meet with him again after today, thank God. Most of their communication would be by letter, maybe the occasional phone call.
Her words were intended as the precursor to a conclusion of the meeting. He knew it and she knew it, but he remained unmoving. Watchful, yet relaxed—a man totally at ease with the world, and his highly privileged place in it. She could see his forehead creased in concentration, as if he was trying to work out something in his head. Was he sensitive enough to have picked up anything from her behaviour?
In an effort to distract him, she spoke again. ‘Was there anything else you wanted, Mr Masterton? Anything you wanted to ask me?’
‘Yes.’
His next words filled her with both elation and horror.
‘Have dinner with me tonight.’
The laugh she gave was hoarse, and her voice cracked with the effort of it. The irony was not lost on her. For years she would have given everything she owned for just such an invitation, but now, in view of what he’d just said on the subject of custody—the reality of it was far too threatening even to contemplate. She put her hand over her breastbone. ‘Dinner?’
Still watching her closely, he smiled. But it was a cold smile, a smile which stayed light years away from his eyes. ‘Don’t look so shocked,’ he murmured. ‘Surely a man has asked you out to dinner before? You’ve been married too, so why sit there, your hand over your heart, as if I’ve suggested something which is in some way indecent?’
She gave him a chilly smile. ‘You’re a client,’ she pointed out.
He shrugged. ‘Nothing in the rule book to say we can’t eat together. Let’s call it a business dinner.’
‘But I thought we’d discussed
