The Girl You Left Behind

girl in her empty house,
     still grieving for her husband, sitting up there knowing nothing about what’s
     under her own nose. It’s about
money
, Paul. You and whoever else is
     behind this wants her because she’s worth a fortune. Well, it’s not about
     money for me. I can’t be bought – and neither can she. Now leave me
     alone.’
    She spins round and runs on before he can
     say another word, the deafening noise of her heartbeat in her ears drowning all other
     sound. She only slows when she reaches the South Bank Centre and turns. He has gone,
     swallowed among the thousands of people crossing the London streets on their way home.
     By the time she makes it back to her door she is holding back tears. Her head is full of
     Sophie Lefèvre.
It was the last they had of her. The right thing is for it to
     go back.
‘Damn you,’ she repeats under her breath, as she tries to
     shake off his words.
Damn you damn you damn you.
    ‘Liv!’
    She jumps as the man steps out from her
     doorway. But it’s her father, a black beret rammed on his head, a rainbow scarf
     around his neck, and his old tweed coat down to his knees. His face glows gold under the
     sodium light. He holds open his arms to hug her, revealing a faded Sex Pistols T-shirt
     underneath. ‘There you are! We didn’t hear back from you after the Great Hot
     Date. I thought I’d pop by and see how it went!’

19
    ‘Would you like some
     coffee?’
    Liv glances up at the secretary.
     ‘Thank you.’ She sits very still in the plush leather seat, gazing unseeing
     at the newspaper she has pretended to read for the last fifteen minutes.
    She is wearing a suit, the only one she
     owns. It is probably an unfashionable cut, but she needed to feel held in today;
     structured. She has felt out of her depth since her first visit to the lawyers’
     offices. Now she needs to feel that something more than her nerve is holding her up.
    ‘Henry’s gone down to wait for
     them in Reception. Won’t be long now.’ With a professional smile, the woman
     turns on her high heels and walks away.
    It’s proper coffee. So it should be,
     given the amount she’s paying per hour. There was no point in her fighting this
     case, Sven had insisted, without the proper firepower. He had consulted his friends at
     the auction houses, his contacts at the bar, as to who might best see off the
     restitution claim. Unfortunately, he added, big guns cost big money. Whenever she looks
     at Henry Phillips, at his good haircut, his beautiful handmade shoes, the
     expensive-holiday sheen on his plump face, all she can think is,
You are rich
     because of people like me.
    She hears footsteps and voices outside the
     lobby. She stands, straightening her skirt, composing her face. Andthere he is, wearing the blue wool scarf, a folder under his arm, just visible behind
     Henry, and two people she does not recognize. He catches her eye, and she turns away
     swiftly, feeling the small hairs on her neck prickle.
    ‘Liv? We’re all here. Would you
     like to come through to the boardroom? I’ll arrange for your coffee to be brought
     in.’
    She gazes fixedly at Henry, who passes her
     and holds open the door for the other woman to enter. She feels Paul’s presence,
     as if he actually gives off heat. He is there, beside her. He is wearing jeans, as if
     this sort of meeting is of so little consequence to him that he might as well be out for
     a walk.
    ‘Conned any other women out of their
     valuables lately?’ she says quietly, so quietly that only he will hear it.
    ‘Nope. I’ve been too busy
     stealing handbags and seducing the vulnerable.’
    Her head shoots up and his eyes lock on
     hers. He is, she sees with some shock, as furious as she is.
    The boardroom is wood-panelled, its seats
     heavy and covered with leather. One wall is lined with leather-bound books. It suggests
     years of reasonable legal accommodation, is infused with stately wisdom. She follows
     Henry, and within seconds they are seated, lined up on each side of the table. She looks
     at her pad of paper, her hands, her coffee, anything but Paul.
    ‘So.’ Henry waits for coffee to
     be poured, then places his fingertips together. ‘We are here to discuss, without
     prejudice, the claim made against Mrs Halston through the organization TARP, and to try
     to identify whetherthere is any way we might reach some kind of
     accommodation without recourse to legal measures.’
    She gazes at the people sitting