Free Bloody Mary by Ricki Thomas

back in the office?”
    “We have no idea, at present. Her colleagues are also very good.”
    “No!” I realised I’d said it far too quickly, and took a deep breath. “No, my friend specifically named Mrs Delaney. You see, I want a divorce and…”
    “Well, if you let me stop you there, because Mrs Delaney doesn’t deal with divorces, she’s our contracts solicitor.”
    I was thinking on my feet here, I had to get into those offices. “Yes, I know, but if you’d heard me through, I also need somebody to arrange the purchase of a house I’m desperate to get, I need somebody who can get me through some awkward problems.”
    Her tone was less harsh now. “Ah, I see. Well, in that case, perhaps you could leave your number and I’ll get her secretary to give you a call to arrange an appointment when we know when Mrs Delaney will be coming back.”
    I was getting there, but not quite enough. “Well, if I could see somebody else about the divorce today, I can give you my number in person.”
    She certainly wasn’t the friendliest of receptionists, by any means, but finally I managed to persuade her to let me see someone this afternoon, and she gave his name as Mr Gordon. I’d never been to the offices, and was clutching at straws, but I’d make it up as I went along!
    I finished my tea, had a quick wash in cold water, and put my smartest clothes on. A quick glance in the mirror I tried to avoid showed me still to be scruffy and unkempt regardless, with rolls of fat spilling over the waistband, and messy grey hair reluctant to stay where the comb placed it. I sighed, briefly remembering a long gone time when I had been pretty and desirable.
    I decided to make the most of the bus ticket to town and buy some necessities whilst there, so before leaving I jotted a quick shopping list on a pad, and locked up just in time to get to the bus stop.
     
    Hodgekinson, Neville, and Barton Solicitors was on the outskirts of the town centre, occupying an imposing building that must have been a couple of hundred years old, with tiny windows at the top which showed it would have once been the residence of an affluent family who could afford servants. With several carrier bags full of food surrounding my bulky frame, I awkwardly pulled the door open, the sticky heat of the building hitting me. The receptionist’s overly powdered face broke into a practised smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
    I explained who I was, and Barbara, her name was displayed on a tag pinned to her blouse, remembered my call, she told me to take a seat. I stayed by the desk. “Just out of interest, where is Mrs Delaney’s office?”
    She glanced at me, frowning at the odd question, and pointed to a door nearby. I hastily dropped the bags on the laminated floor, and leaned against the reception desk, lightly puffing, out of breath. She enquired if I was okay, nonplussed, and I nodded, explaining I was a little asthmatic. That wasn’t a lie, but the ‘attack’ I was having right now was an act. I laboriously lifted the carriers, and shuffled to a seat in the waiting area, ensuring my wheezing could be heard.
    After ten minutes, an affable man bounced down the stairs leading from the reception area and called my name. I stood, taking my bags, breathing heavily, and walked towards him. Concern spread across his face. “Are you alright, Mrs Miller?”
    “A slight asthma attack, that’s all, I didn’t bring my inhaler. I just hope I can manage it up those stairs without it getting worse. Unless you have a downstairs office we could use?”
    Mr Gordon glanced expectantly at Barbara, who was issuing me a filthy glare. “Mrs Delaney isn’t in today, I’m sure we could talk in her office. Have you got the keys, Barbara?”
    My plan worked, because now I was in Sophie’s office. Mr Gordon took Sophie’s chair, and I sat on the other side of the desk. It was a pleasant room, the sun flooding through the huge, frosted window cast a brightness over the