And, Saffron, you have been so kind to me lately. You have forgiven me for plying you with drink and kissing you. Your face lights up every time I call at the house. When I tell a joke you laugh with me. Last week you sat on the bed next to me, while I read a goodnight story to the boys. The boys stayed awake, but you drifted off, head on my shoulder. Just lately, my beautiful Saffron, you have been so relaxed with me. Relaxed and loving towards me. Are we on the road to love?

124

Saffron

I knew this would happen. I knew the Law Society would send an investigating team to check our books. As I feared, a lawyer and an accountant arrived unannounced at 10.30 this morning.

The accountant, Tony Waterford, is sitting at Ted’s desk, frowning at Ted’s computer screen, Ted hovering nervously behind him. Tony Waterford is a solid man, with a bald head and round eyes. His suit is too tight and too shiny. His shoes look as if he has been up all night polishing them. He taps his fingers on the computer keys. Neck stretched, he leans forwards and his frown tightens. I cannot bear to watch him any longer. I worry because even I couldn’t explain how Ted keeps his accounts. I pull my eyes away and stand up to close my office door so that I cannot see him.

But just as I am about to shut the door, Siobhan McConnaughey, the Law Society’s solicitor, appears in front of me. A woman of a certain age, with bushy hair and a curvy figure. A faded soft blonde who I suspect once had flaming red hair. She smiles at me. I try to smile back, but my lips don’t move.

‘Can I help you?’ I ask.

‘Yes. I need access to your email account. I’ll sit at your desk and use your computer if that’s OK?’

But I know she’s not really asking my permission. It’s what she’s going to do whether I agree or not. I have no choice. The letter of intended investigation they handed to me as they entered the premises made that abundantly clear.

I nod my head limply. ‘Yes. Do you want me to log in for you?’

‘No thanks. Just give me your email addresses, all of them, and your passwords. I will log in and run certain interrogatory checks on the system.’

She sits at my desk looking crisp and cool in her navy floral-print dress. My hand trembles as I write my email address and password on a Post-it sticker and hand it to her. I take a deep breath and bite my lip, in an attempt to calm myself.

‘Is this the only email address you have?’

‘It’s my office email. I have a private one.’

‘I need access to that as well.’