Mine. J.L. Butler
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confidence of someone who had spent her life on skis.
‘I’m happier with a hot chocolate and viennoiserie down at the bottom,’ I said, not wanting to admit that the only time I’d spent rushing down snowy slopes was tobogganing in the park as a child. It took a strength of will not to grill him further, desperate to know who he had been in Switzerland with – no one went heli-skiing alone, surely? – but knowing it looked needy to ask.
‘So you work alongside Martin?’ I asked as we sat down at a table tucked away at the back of the restaurant.
Alex nodded, but Sophie pursed her lips and gave a tight shake of the head. ‘Not me. Not any more. I’m sure you know better than most people that working together does not always make for a happy home life. We tried it in the early days, but ended up wanting to strangle each other, so I’ve stepped aside and taken on a more’ – she sucked her teeth – ‘advisory role.’
‘Meaning she tells us both what to do,’ smiled Martin.
‘He likes to make it sound like I’m some sort of nag,’ said Sophie. ‘But without a woman’s eye for detail, I dare say the lights would have been turned off years ago.’
Alex took her hand and kissed it.
‘There – your reward, darling.’
She tapped his cheek playfully and I felt a pang of jealousy. They’d probably been married, what?… at least a decade, and she obviously still adored her husband.
I slowly began to relax and enjoy myself as the three joked and teased each other the way only old friends can do. Martin held forth about his recent trip, ‘coming out of the powder looking like Frosty the Snowman’, while Sophie told me about a disastrous skiing holiday she and Alex had been on to Courcheval, where a complete lack of snowfall had turned the resort into ‘the seventh ring of hell’ where there was nothing to do for the Russian tourists but show off. ‘The only place I’ve seen more fur was in San Diego Zoo!’ she laughed.
‘So where did you all meet?’ I asked, envious of their tight bond.
‘University,’ said Alex.
‘Economics Society.’
‘It was that trip to New York, wasn’t it? To Wall Street. We were room-mates in that crappy hotel in the East Village.’
‘I like to think of myself as a matchmaker,’ said Sophie. ‘I knew they’d get on, so I fixed it.’
‘I thought she became president of Econ Soc to get on, but really she just liked playing Cilla Black.’
‘Guilty as charged,’ she said, raising a hand.
Conversation flowed on with the wine, some delicious orange-scented white that filled my head, and I began to feel glad that Martin had invited his friends along on our date. The modern, chichi restaurant, Alex’s easy intelligence, Sophie’s knowing asides: it was a heady mix of the chic and metropolitan, and I ached to be part of this. I could see the admiring glances we were getting from couples at other tables; we were the beautiful people, sophisticated and urbane, and for once I was one of them, right at the beating heart of London.
‘So you haven’t really told us about you,’ said Sophie, when she’d finished telling the waitress what she wanted for dessert. ‘In another life, I’d like to have been a divorce lawyer. I got wooed by a few commercial firms on the milk round, but it seemed way too dull. Family law, on the other hand, must be fascinating.’
‘Fascinating sometimes,’ I said honestly. ‘Often difficult and emotional. We tend to find that, when it comes to divorce, feelings take over. People waste huge amounts of billable hours arguing over the smallest things because they don’t want the other side to win. I recently had a couple at loggerheads for six months over the ownership of a teapot.’
‘A teapot?’ said Alex.
I nodded. ‘Quite a nice teapot, but probably only worth a hundred pounds, tops. They’d bought it on their honeymoon and they’d each have given up the entire contents of their Kensington house to get it away from the other one.’
They all laughed, but it was an awkward moment, like breaking the spell, reminding everyone who I was and how Martin and I had met.
‘Actually, Fran, I wanted to ask you something. A professional query …’
‘Is there something I should know about, darling?’ said Alex, his eyes comically wide, but she ignored him.
‘Obviously, Martin’s getting divorced, and we’ve all been wondering …’
‘Crapping ourselves, more like,’ said Alex.
‘… how it’s going to affect the business,’ said Sophie. ‘Could Donna come after us? I mean, we’ve always been friends, but as you say, people do funny things when they get in a courtroom.’
I looked around, feeling horribly exposed and duped. I’d thought this was a date, but it was looking as if I had been brought here as part of a fact-finding mission.
‘We were worried that Donna might go after Martin for future earnings.’
I glanced at Martin. ‘We’d fight that, of course,’ I said, gripping the stem of my glass.
‘So?’ pressed Sophie.
‘It’s true that divorce can have some corporate ramifications. But the Gassler Partnership doesn’t trade on the stock exchange so I expect that any impact will be limited. To be on the safe side, I can recommend a PR who specializes in deflecting negative attention – but, honestly, I don’t think it will be necessary.’
I looked at Martin, who smiled back at me reassuringly. I could tell my assessment was largely what Sophie and Alex had wanted to hear.
‘Speaking of divorce, did you hear about Mungo Davis?’ said Alex. ‘Caught his wife in bed with their driver – and do you know what she said?’
I never did hear what Mungo Davis’s wife said, because I excused myself and headed for the loos.
When I reached the sanctuary of the bathroom, I put both hands on the side of the basin and inhaled deeply. As I gazed back at my reflection I wondered what I needed to do to be happy. I liked Martin Joy. I’d thought he liked me, but clearly I had misread the situation.
I took my lip gloss out of my handbag and applied it carefully in the mirror. The overhead lights made me look paler than usual and I raised my hand to touch my cheek.
You can do this, I told myself as I prepared myself to go back into the restaurant. Keep your dignity.
Martin was paying the bill when I got back and Sophie was slipping on her coat.
‘The gatecrashers are going,’ she smiled.
‘We’ll see you out,’ said Martin.
I stood awkwardly on the pavement as we said our goodbyes. When Sophie and Alex disappeared into a taxi, I pulled my coat further around my body, ready to start walking home.
‘That was great,’ I said tightly. ‘They’re really good fun.’
‘I’m still sorry,’ he said, shuffling from one foot to the other.
I felt my shoulders relax.
‘Alex called me in Switzerland. He was feeling jumpy about my divorce and was talking about getting his own legal representation. When I mentioned I was seeing you, he asked if they could come along. I didn’t think they’d stay for three courses.’
I shrugged and smiled. I didn’t want to make myself vulnerable and suggest what we do next.
‘The night’s still young,’ he said, gazing at me from under his dark lashes.
My heart gave a little leap, although I tried to stay cool.
‘What did you have in mind?’ I shrugged.
‘Don’t