‘But if you tell them . . . then I’ll be in trouble.’

‘You are in trouble.’

‘Please . . .’ Joel snuggled against him. ‘I’ll never lie to you again.’

‘Do you promise?’

‘On my mother’s life.’

Will lay in silence for a while, stroking Joel’s thick black hair.

This is probably a mistake.

‘Okay. I’ll believe you – this time. We’ll tell the police it was just a lovers’ tiff. They think we’re all fucking mad anyway. Let’s just hope they’re too busy to take it any further. Rivelli’s off the hook – but so are you.’

‘Thanks, Will. You won’t regret it.’ His hands moved south again.

‘I’d better not.’ This time, Will did not push him away. ‘But you must promise me, Joel, that if Rivelli ever gets in touch with you again, about anything, you tell me immediately. Right?’

Joel made a noise that probably meant ‘yes’, but his mouth was full.

Part Three - London, Los Angeles, Tokyo, Milan

Part Three

London, Los Angeles, Tokyo, Milan

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

It was a bitter January morning, the plane trees in Lincoln’s Inn Fields bare and brown. The lawns, which in summer were crowded with the younger members of the legal profession eating sandwiches and loosening ties, flirting and gossiping and soaking up the sun, were empty but for a few hungry blackbirds pecking hopefully at worm casts. Christine sat on a bench, warming her hands round a takeaway coffee. She was shivering, and not just from the cold.

The phone call came when she was on her way to chambers, bracing herself for another day of putting on a brave face. It was months since the collapse of the Rivelli divorce, but the profession had not forgotten. Nobody was briefing her.

Keep your head down. It will blow over. This time next year . . .

‘Chris, it’s Linda.’ Her voice was slurred. Christine checked her watch; it was nine o’clock in the morning. Surely to God the old fool wasn’t still pissed from last night . . .

‘Oh hi, Linda. Look, I’m just on my way into . . .’

‘I’m in hospital.’

‘What?’ She’s fallen down stairs again, perhaps broken something this time.

‘Guy’s Hospital. I wondered if you could . . .’ She broke off to cough. Christine held the phone away from her ear, and swore under her breath. ‘Sorry, Chris. I wondered if you could come in and visit me.’

‘Of course,’ said Christine brightly. ‘I’m a bit tied up today, but tomorrow . . . Well, I’ll have a look at my diary when I get to chambers. It’s a busy week, but . . .’

‘I’ve got cancer, you see.’

Christine stopped in her tracks. A man walked into her.

‘You’ve . . . got . . .’

‘Cancer. Of the bowel.’

‘Oh, Linda.’ So that’s why she hadn’t called over Christmas.

‘So I wondered if you could . . .’

‘Of course. Of course. I’ll come today.’