Part 26 (1/2)
'Yes,' Gwen said with more conviction than she felt. 'You can do anything you want.'
Marilyn got up to leave. 'You're being very nice today.'
'I'm always nice,' Gwen said. 'I'm a nice person.'
'Mmm. This was on your mat.' She pulled an envelope from her coat pocket. 'Doesn't look like it's been posted.'
Gwen glanced at the plain white envelope, then hustled Marilyn out of the house.
Once she was alone, Gwen slit the envelope. Please be from Cam. Please be from Cam.
It wasn't.
Gwen read the contents with a sense of disbelief. She paced the room a few times, weighing up her options. Then read the letter again. She could either apply for legal aid and hope it came through some time in the next six months, conjure some cash out of thin air to pay somebody, or she could ask Cam. Her stomach swooped as she pictured his horrified expression. He thought she was a lunatic.
Gwen paced through the downstairs of the house, going round in circles in her mind. So, he'd never want a relations.h.i.+p, that didn't mean he couldn't be a friend. She knew that she couldn't feel any worse about him than she already did. She was at rock bottom. She picked up the phone to make an appointment with Cam.
At two o'clock the next afternoon, Gwen arrived at Laing & Sons. He'd squeezed her in on short notice, so she ought to be grateful, but looking around at the oak panelling, the leather desk chair and the tastefully worn oriental rug, she felt nauseous instead. It was the mirror image of his grandfather's office; the one she'd sat in on her last visit to the firm. It smelled of cigar smoke, leather and paper, and looked like it had been outfitted by a set designer with no imagination. And it still had more warmth than Cam's flat.
'Drink?' Cam opened a cabinet and revealed an impressive range of bottles.
'Um...' Gwen hesitated. Mixing proximity to Cameron Laing with hard alcohol might have disastrous consequences. She needed to keep a clear head. And control the wild hope that had begun fluttering the moment she'd seen his face. The hope that maybe he'd come to terms with magic. Her magic.
He leaned down and opened another anonymous wooden door. There was a small fridge and ice compartment. Gwen glimpsed juice, cola and bottled water.
'Water, please.'
Cam pa.s.sed her a bottle with a professional smile and Gwen felt it like a slap.
The light brush of his fingers as she took the water still sent a bolt of electricity up her arm though.
Stupid hope.
He retreated back to his chair, looking instantly more serious behind the imposing desk. She guessed that was the idea.
'I brought the letter. Hang on.' She dug in her messenger bag and retrieved the evil A4 envelope, pus.h.i.+ng it across the smooth surface of the desk like it was radioactive.
'I've got five minutes.' Cam opened out the paperwork and began reading.
Gwen unscrewed the water bottle and wandered around the room, sipping from it and trying not to look impatient. The pictures on the walls were dark oil paintings. They were traditional, representative work a the kind of thing that couldn't offend anybody, but still exuded a certain strength.
'Right,' Cam said after a surprisingly short length of time. 'This is fine. Nothing to worry about.'
'Really?' Gwen crossed the room to Cam's chair and perched on the desk. She didn't feel that Christopher Brewer threatening to sue her for defamation of character was 'nothing to worry about'. Especially when she'd only told Helen the truth. Christopher had terrorised the family dog, and he deserved whatever consequences his mother had dished out.
'Yes. It's a nuisance suit.'
'That's easy for you to say. It's not like he took my parking s.p.a.ce.'
Cam smiled briefly. 'That would be far worse in this town. This is the kind of thing that is meant to annoy. The solicitor who drafted this letter knows it, but-' He broke off. 'Could you not do that?'
'What?'
'Sit on my desk. It's antique.'
'Right.' Gwen stood up and circled back to the client side of the desk. 'Is this better?'
'Thank you.' Cam looked marginally happier now that a tree's-worth of wood was separating them. 'I'm sorry to be uptight, but it's my dad's desk.'
'No worries. This is better anyway,' Gwen lied, sitting in the client chair a long, long away from Cam.
'Right.' He still looked distracted for a moment, but then snapped back to the matter in hand. 'The complaint is slander and the witness to the slander is a family member of the plaintiff.'
'But slander is if you say something that isn't true. I didn't do that.'
'That's a matter of opinion.'
'Isn't everything?'
'It's immaterial here. The point is that he would have to prove that what you said wasn't true and I don't see how he can prove what a dog did or didn't think.' Cam laughed without humour. 'Like I said, nuisance suit.' He shoved the papers back into the envelope with brisk efficiency. Gwen felt like a real client, being hustled out of the door as her time ran out. She realised a moment after she'd done it that she was standing.
The door swung open. 'Your one o'clock is here.' The trim secretary made no attempt to hide her curiosity as she looked at Gwen. 'Shall I tell them you're running late?'
'No, we're done here, thank you,' Cam said. He was opening a new folder and didn't look up.
'Right,' Gwen said. 'Bye, then.'
'I'll call you,' he said.
'Fine,' Gwen said, suddenly furious. It was probably irrational, but she couldn't help herself. 'Don't go to any trouble.' She marched out of the office, unable to slam the door in a satisfying manner because his secretary was standing in the way.
Gwen went straight from Cam's office to the Red Lion. She had never been so happy to see Bob. 'I need a drink.'
'Care to be specific?' Bob paused in the act of wiping down the bar with a cloth.
'Sorry. Yes. Beer. No, lager. No, wine.'
'I'll get you a Becks. It's on offer.'
Gwen picked up the frosty green bottle and took a long drink.
Bob eyed her. 'You want something to eat with that?'
'No. Yes. Maybe.'
Bob heaved a put-upon sigh. 'I'll get you a sandwich. Don't want you keeling over.'
'It's one beer, Bob. I'm not a child.' Or a teenager, she thought, the crossness back in force.
Bob shrugged. 'You look tired, that's all.'