This Could Change Everything(20)

And now Conor was the one who found himself unable to speak. He couldn’t break down, he mustn’t. But for several seconds he had to duck his head and pretend to be busy writing things on his notepad so she wasn’t able to see his face.

Then a single giveaway tear plopped onto the notepad and Jessica reached across the desk to pull yet another tissue from the box. As she handed it to him, she said, ‘Sorry to be putting you through this. I’m a right laugh a minute, aren’t I?’

They worked on through Conor’s lunch break and got the preliminary paperwork planned out, because Jessica was keen to complete it as soon as possible. By two o’clock they’d done as much as they could, and his next client was waiting outside in reception.

‘Thank you so much. You made it easier than I thought it would be.’ She reached for her pink canvas handbag and took out a small denim purse. ‘Now, how much do I owe you so far?’

Conor had already decided not to charge her for the work he’d done during his lunch break. In fact, he planned to carry out the rest of the paperwork in his own time too. As long as he squared the situation with Margaret and reimbursed her for lost business, that would be OK, surely? He shook his head. ‘Oh no, there’s no need for any of that.’

‘I’d rather pay it now, though.’ Jessica was taking out notes, counting them under her breath. ‘Please, I want to get it out of the way. I’ve always hated owing money, but now it’s even more important to make sure everything’s sorted. Just tell me how much, please. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened before . . . Well, you know what I mean. I’m not going to land someone else with my debts.’

He knew exactly how much – or rather how little – Jessica had in the bank; they’d just been over her finances in detail. He saw the look of utter determination on her face as she waited to hand over the amount she owed.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘there isn’t going to be any invoice.’

‘What?’ Jessica was confused. ‘Why not?’

And that was the clincher: she genuinely didn’t think she deserved to be treated any differently. But how, given the situation, could he possibly take her money? Sometimes you encountered someone – for just a few minutes, or maybe a couple of hours – and knew you’d remember them for the rest of your life.

Jessica Brown had touched his heart and he wouldn’t forget her.

He also knew that she had plenty of pride.

‘OK, now don’t go telling everyone about this, but here at Kale and Grey we have a private . . . arrangement. Each of us in turn is allowed to waive the fee for a client who deserves a break. Well, this week it’s my turn.’ He shrugged. ‘And I’d like it to be you.’

‘Oh! Are you serious?’ She looked pleased but also surprised, bordering on suspicious.

‘Completely. If you refuse, I’ll just have to choose someone else. And I’d rather not.’ He grimaced at the imaginary prospect. ‘They could be some awful person who’d just splurge the money down the bookie’s instead.’

Jessica’s blue eyes were fixed on his. Then she reached for her walking stick and rose carefully to her feet. ‘In that case, it would be crazy of me not to accept. Thanks so much.’ She broke into a grin. ‘That’s incredibly kind of you, and it’s going to be a real help.’

‘That’s good.’ Conor wanted to give her a hug, but couldn’t. He was the solicitor and she was the client. Instead, they shook hands and he explained that the paperwork would be sent to her to be signed and returned. As he was showing her out of the office, he said, ‘Evie has a mother to be proud of.’

Jessica turned to look at him. ‘Thank you, but if you knew her you’d understand why I’m the one who’s proud.’

The next client, impatiently pacing in reception and speaking on her mobile, rolled her eyes as Jessica made her way carefully past with the aid of her walking stick.

‘Mrs Barker?’ Conor turned politely to address her once Jessica had left. ‘Hello, I’m—’

‘I know who you are, your photo’s on the website.’ Without pausing, Yasmin Barker continued to speak into her phone. ‘OK, babe, I’m being seen, finally. Shall we meet for drinks later? I’ll catch you up with all the goss, ha ha. Champers on me if all goes to plan! Call you in a bit . . . Ciao, ciao . . .’

With the passing of every minute in the company of Yasmin Barker, Conor despised her more. She was a twenty-six-year-old with a trout pout that made her look much older. Her top was cut so low that if the cosmetic surgeon who’d installed the breast implants had signed his work in the lower right-hand corner, the signature would’ve been visible. She wore tight pink PVC shorts and five-inch platform boots. She had two-inch false eyelashes. She was also hell-bent on divorcing her husband.

‘I call him Three B,’ she explained with a cackle of laughter. ‘He thinks it stands for Beautiful Babe Brian, but it’s really Boring Bald Bastard, ha ha!’

She was utterly poisonous. Conor marvelled at her openness, but then that was what happened when people engaged you as their solicitor: they felt able to tell you everything. You were working for them, therefore no pretence was necessary. Yasmin had married Brian for his money, and now that enough time had passed – ‘Two and a half years, and every day felt like a month!’ – she was ready to stake her claim on everything he owned. ‘Because I’ve bloody earned it, haven’t I? God, all that man ever does is moan at me for going out with my mates and complain about how much I spend on clothes. Ha, wait until I tell him I’m off! Then he’ll find out how much I can cost him when I put my mind to it. Serve the stupid bastard right.’