Free Tess Stimson - The Adultery Club by The Adultery Club Page B

David
    is the first to slither up to the plate. He could save Fisher
    a fortune in proctology examinations were he medically
    qualified. It’s hard to believe he’s the son of one of the
    most gifted and charismatic divorce lawyers I
    have ever
    met. Losing Andrew Raymond to leukaemia at the age
    of just fifty-four was a tragedy on both a personal and
    professional level; that this oleaginous, talentless squirt
    should be his genetic legacy verges on the criminal.
    The door opens behind me, and I tense at the faint
    scent of ‘Allure’. I was at the Chanel counter in Harrods
    buying Mai’s favourite - ‘No 5’ - for our wedding anniversary
    last week, when a salesgirl near me sprayed
    another fragrance onto a nearby customer’s wrist. I recognized
    it instantly as Sara’s scent. On some insane impulse
    I added a large bottle to my other purchases; even now
    it is delighting the ladies of Oxfam, to whom I donated it
    in panic on my way home.
    ‘Ah, the lovely lady herself!’ Fisher cries, leaping up to
    usher Sara to the table. ‘Have a seat, my dear, have a seat.
    Joan, if you wouldn’t mind moving along - there we are,
    young lady, that’s right, next to me.’
    Joan glares, but shifts to the next chair. As Sara takes
    her seat, her skirt rides a couple of inches up her thighs,
    revealing a tantalizing glimpse of lace stocking top.
    I don’t return her pleasant smile, busying myself with
    my case notes.
    Joan launches into her usual polemic on the subject of
     
    I
     
    client credit; more precisely, our over-extension thereof.
    A mediocre lawyer but stridently efficient manager, she
    recognized early in her legal career where her true talents
    lay and planned accordingly. A hefty legacy from her
    father enabled her to harness herself to two able, but
    impoverished, young lawyers, Will Fisher and Andrew
    Raymond, who founded the firm with the happy combination
    of her money and their talent; I came on board a
    decade later. Effectively a sleeping partner, Joan rarely
    interferes in client matters, but she is as abrasive in
    manner as Fisher is genial. None the less, under her
    watchful stewardship, Fisher Raymond Lyon has become
    one of the most profitable small niche firms in the country.
    Joan voted, unsurprisingly, against employing Sara.
    However, with David so far up Fisher’s arse that he could
    kiss his tonsils, and the old man chronically smitten by
    Sara’s charms, it was evidently a case of two votes to one.
    I don’t care to ask myself how I might have voted had
    I not been detained by that case in Leeds. Such a dangerous
    absence that is turning out to have been.
    ‘—no choice but to go to Court, then, Nicholas?’
    I jump. ‘Sorry, Will. Miles away. You were saying?’
    ‘Will was talking about the Wainwright case in Manchester,
    Nicholas,’ David says helpfully. ‘I believe he’s
    correct in saying there’s been no response from the other
    side to your last offer?’
    ‘None, unless we had something in this morning that I
    haven’t seen yet—’
    Sara shakes her head. ‘I called them first thing. Claire
    Newbold’s out of the office, but when I spoke to her
    Ni’iTftary, she said off the record that Claire thinks our

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    offer’s more than generous, but the wife simply won’t
    budge.’
    ‘Damn.’ I frown. ‘I was hoping this wouldn’t have to
    go to Court. The assets just aren’t there to justify it. Two
    or three days of wrangling in front of a judge and they’ll
    both be lucky to end up with the cab fare home.’
    ‘As long as there’s enough to pay us,’ Joan interjects
    sharply.
    The thin toffee silk of Sara’s blouse tautens across her
    breasts as she leans forward to reach for the file, grey eyes
    intent. Her nipples jut against the fabric. Good God, is she even wearing a bra?
    “The husband’s not going to get much change out of
    thirty thousand if it ends up in Court,’ she says, scanning
    her notes, ‘and that’s on top of the forty he