Private Lives Part 35

Jenkins nodded, as if he was considering the point.

'Yes, but Balon is a very unusual surname, isn't it? And I doubt there are many or should I say any any other people with that surname who are qualified to run for the city's mayor. Wouldn't you agree?' other people with that surname who are qualified to run for the city's mayor. Wouldn't you agree?'

Balon opened his mouth as if he were about to deny the fact, then changed his mind. He just sat there, evidently stunned. Helen wondered idly if the judge would understand if she strangled her client there and then.

'This is a b.l.o.o.d.y disaster!' shouted Helen. 'A total and utter b.l.o.o.d.y disaster.'

Anna sat silently in Helen's office, scribbling notes as her boss paced the room. She was certainly glad that it was Jonathon Balon and not her who was currently on the receiving end of Helen's fury. Not that the legal team had escaped her wrath; far from it. Immediately after the judge had called for an adjournment, Helen had taken everyone back to her office and gone ballistic. 'Unprofessional', 'embarra.s.sing', 'criminally unprepared' were just a few of her more generous observations. None of the team had said a thing: what could they say? They had missed a vital piece of evidence that could potentially undermine the whole trial. No wonder Jasper Jenkins had been looking so pleased with himself.

But in truth, it was Jonathon Balon himself who had scuppered their case. He'd had ample opportunity to tell Helen all about his plans to run for mayor, but he hadn't. Certainly Helen would have used a completely different strategy in approaching the libel trial had she known, but now it was too late. They could hardly change tack without looking stupid at best, possibly even dishonest. It was indeed a total disaster, and part of Anna was enjoying the fact that Jonathon Balon was getting it in the neck.

'I can't believe you didn't mention this to us,' said Helen. 'What possible reason can you have had for keeping it a secret?'

'I didn't think it was relevant,' said Balon, s.h.i.+fting in his seat like a naughty schoolboy.

'Not relevant?' snapped Helen. 'It's completely b.l.o.o.d.y relevant, as Stateside Stateside's learned counsel has just ably pointed out. It completely destroys our whole case!'

'But I'm not running for London mayor,' said Balon loftily. He clearly wasn't used to being talked to in such a manner.

'So explain this domain name.'

'It was just an idea I had kicking around.'

Helen picked up the evidence file she had been given by the defence team and leafed over a few pages.

'And who is this "Paul Jones" the site is registered to? Is Paul Jones in any way connected to you? Jenkins and his team clearly haven't established that he is, otherwise they would have brought it up.'

There was a pause as Balon picked at a piece of fluff on his trousers.

'Paul is an acquaintance,' he said finally.

'Oh s.h.i.+t,' whispered Helen.

'He was a freelance business consultant I employed a year or so ago,' continued Balon. 'I wanted to look into new projects outside the core areas of Balon Properties.'

'So less of an acquaintance and more of a close, valued colleague,' replied Helen tartly. There was no point in mincing words. The defence team would say exactly the same thing.

'Paul is Australian and he'd worked in corporate PR over there, where industry is more closely aligned with the legislators. He suggested a move into politics might be good for me good for the business.'

'And London mayor is perfect for an ambitious businessman like you,' said Helen. 'Someone who has no intention of working their way up through the lowly ranks of MPs but who could stand as an independent mayoral candidate and have a good chance of winning one of the most powerful public offices in Europe. Like being PM without any of the ha.s.sle.'

Anna couldn't help admiring her boss. She was talking to Balon as if he was back on the stand. It was the quickest way to break down his defences and get the truth out of him, no matter how uncomfortable the atmosphere in the room, no matter how many millions he was paying her in fees.

'It was only an idea, for Christ's sake!' said Balon. 'It was just one conversation over a round of golf or drinks, I really don't remember. Yes, for a minute I was interested in the idea, but then we won the contract for a huge build in Russia and all those plans for diversification were shelved.'

Helen stood looking at him, clearly trying to process the information, trying to get one step ahead.

'So where's Paul Jones now?' she asked.

'He lives between London and Sydney.'

Helen looked at Anna. 'Paul Jones,' she said. 'Get everything you can on him. Names, dates, inside leg measurement, I want everything: everything everything.'

'I'm on it,' said Anna, with what she hoped sounded like confidence. Helen was already pacing again.

'Thankfully Paul Jones is a common enough name. If he's not still on the Balon payroll' she looked enquiringly at Jonathon, who shook his head 'then maybe the defence team won't be able to make the connection.'

'And if they do?' asked Balon uncomfortably.

'The fact that you're a potential mayoral candidate, however vague those ambitions might be, gives Stateside Stateside a case for publis.h.i.+ng the story in the public interest.' a case for publis.h.i.+ng the story in the public interest.'

Anna raised her pencil.

'Provided they knew about it,' she said, and was relieved when Helen gave her a thin smile of acknowledgement. The magazine could only claim they were reporting in the public interest if they had known about Balon's political ambitions when they published the article. In which case, why hadn't they mentioned it in the feature?

'Precisely,' said Helen. 'And that's what we're going to spend the next forty-eight hours working on.'

35

Matt sat back in the cream leather pa.s.senger seat of Carla's Range Rover and smiled.

'Why are these windows tinted?' he asked, watching as the wide-open moorland outside the car was slowly swallowed by the tall trees of the New Forest. It was Jonas's birthday, and every year they did something as a family, even after the divorce. Usually it was just a meal at a local burger place or a walk around the park, but today Carla had suggested getting out of the city.

'Privacy gla.s.s,' said his ex-wife vaguely as she overtook a Porsche, the speedometer hitting eighty. 'I'm sensitive to the sun and I hate it when people peer into the car as we're driving. It unsettles Jonas.'

'Unsettles Jonas?' teased Matt. 'It makes me feel like a pimp.'

She took her eyes off the road and looked at him with annoyance.

'A pimp?' she huffed, glancing in the rear-view mirror. Thankfully Jonas was watching a DVD and had his headphones on.

'All right, not a pimp,' said Matthew, laughing at her reaction. 'Maybe a rap star.'

'And I suppose that makes me your ho?' she replied tartly.

Four years of marriage and Carla had never quite got Matt's sense of humour. She always took things so literally, he couldn't help winding her up. In her preppy white jeans, navy T-s.h.i.+rt and a silk scarf tied loosely around her neck, she couldn't have looked less like a gangster's moll if she had tried.

She looked particularly beautiful today, he thought glancing at her. Of course he didn't flatter himself that she had made a special effort for his benefit. In fact these days Carla dressed like she'd just stepped off the catwalk: the c.o.c.ktail dresses that cost as much as his car, the little fur coats, the cavernous leather handbags, all very Chelsea, darling. But today she looked just like the girl he had met in a bar in Fulham almost ten years earlier, the girl he'd fallen in love with and who he couldn't quite believe had fallen in love with him.

Obviously feeling his critical gaze, Carla glanced up at him.

'What are you looking at?' she said nervously. 'Is it my hair?'

'No, nothing,' chuckled Matthew. 'Just keep watching the road.'

But his eyes kept being drawn back to her hands, so tanned and elegant on the steering wheel, the milky-white band of skin where her wedding ring had been only a few weeks earlier stirring up a range of emotions he knew he was unwise to dwell on.

'Dad! Dad! Look, we're almost there,' said Jonas, spotting the Beaulieu Motor Museum sign at the side of the road. Carmad, he had been looking forward to the trip for months.

Carla parked up in the Beaulieu grounds and they went into the big hangar that housed one of the most impressive motor collections in Europe. Matt watched with delight as his son darted from one vehicle to the next, spouting impressive trivia on what he had seen.

'Hey, look, Dad, the James Bond Aston Martin!' he cried. 'I think you should buy it.'

'I don't think it's for sale.' Matt smiled.

'Well maybe buy one just like it. You've only got that silly motorbike.'

'My bike is cool,' laughed Matt, leaning over to tickle his son, loving the pure joy of just being with him.

'The motorbike,' said Carla with a touch of disdain. 'And you say you're not having a mid-life crisis.'

He let her comment pa.s.s; he wasn't going to allow anything to ruin the day, especially as their trip to the New Forest had made such a welcome change from the s.n.a.t.c.hed hour in Pizza Express, which was what had happened on Jonas's birthday last year.

'Mum knows all about cars; she can help you choose one,' said Jonas.

'You can afford it now,' said Carla, looking as if she approved of the idea.

'Think about it, Dad. Please, think about it. It would be so cool if we went out looking for sports cars together.'

'Maybe,' said Matt, beginning to feel some discomfort.

They left the exhibition hall and went into the sweet-smelling manicured grounds. Jonas walked between his mother and father, holding hands with each of them, so that they formed a rea.s.suring chain.

'I'd love a stately home,' said Carla wistfully, looking at Palace House, home of the aristocratic owners of Beaulieu.

'Really? All those ghosts and draughts?'

Jonas ran off ahead of them. 'I'm just going into that exhibition over there,' he said excitedly. 'It's all about spying in the war. They've got guns and everything!'

'Okay, we'll wait for you here,' said Matt, but Jonas had already gone, his trainers scuffing on the gravel path.

'Well I think the birthday boy is enjoying himself,' he said as they sat on a bench in the shade of a laburnum tree.

'He just loves seeing you, us. Together like this, I mean,' said Carla. 'I think we underestimate how important it is to him. We should have done it more often.'

'I would have been up for it,' said Matt. 'I never got the feeling you ...' He left the comment hanging in the air.

'It was complicated, Matt,' sighed Carla.

'How was it complicated? I'm his dad.'

The twenty-four hours a week he had had with his son since the divorce had never been enough. Every weekend had been an exhausting round of the cinema, football and rugby in his effort to show Jonas a good time, fearing that his son might start comparing him to David. Every weekend they did something together, but there was never enough time to do nothing nothing together. Walk, talk, watch TV. There was certainly never any opportunity to involve Carla, who always used to drop Jonas off at the flat with a polite wave before disappearing back to her Notting Hill life. together. Walk, talk, watch TV. There was certainly never any opportunity to involve Carla, who always used to drop Jonas off at the flat with a polite wave before disappearing back to her Notting Hill life.

Carla looked embarra.s.sed.

'David didn't like it. Didn't like me spending any time with you. He always felt threatened by you.'

Matt looked at her over the top of his sungla.s.ses.

'David? Threatened? By me? Does he not remember that you left left me?' me?'

She laughed. 'I think he was jealous.'

'Of what?'

'About the way you look. Being so good-looking. David's the first one to admit he's no oil painting.'

'You saw something in him,' muttered Matt. He wanted to add, 'the thirty-million-pound bank balance', but decided against it. saw something in him,' muttered Matt. He wanted to add, 'the thirty-million-pound bank balance', but decided against it.

'I told him once that the night I first met you, I thought you were the s.e.xiest bloke I'd ever seen.'

Her compliment caught him completely off guard. She'd always made him feel witty and charming. She was good at that. That knack of making you feel like the most important person in the room. He willed himself to deflect the remark.

'You don't have to be nice to me just because I'm giving you some free legal advice,' he said, trying to make light of it. Carla looked embarra.s.sed and turned away.

'Are you going away this summer?' she asked after a pause.

'I doubt it, what with the new job and everything. I feel like I'm running at a hundred miles an hour just to stand still.'

'So no girlfriend tugging at your sleeves to take her somewhere hot?' She made the word 'hot' sound provocative.

'No holiday. No girlfriend.' He wasn't sure if she was fis.h.i.+ng, and if so, to what end. 'The only woman pulling at my sleeve is Helen Pierce, wanting me back in the office. What about you?'

'Jonas and I are going to Ibiza in a couple of weeks.'

'Really? He didn't mention it.'

'I only just found out. My friend Sara has a villa and she's asked us out there. I think it's a sympathy invite.'

Matthew laughed.

'I doubt that. She'll have some handsome single banker waiting for you at the pool, a rose wedged between his Zoom-whitened teeth.'

She giggled.

'Eww, that's enough to put you off your mojitos.' She picked a flower and began pulling off the petals. 'I'm not looking, anyway,' she said quietly.

'I can understand that,' said Matt.

She nodded, clamping her lips together as if she was afraid they would reveal something.

'I'm sorry, Matt,' she said softly. 'I know what it's like now. I'm sorry I made you feel like this.'

He looked up at her, just as she turned her face away.