He realised she was still talking. ‘…And I remembered what it was like to go out and not have people staring at me. Or, rather, at my husband. I hadn’t processed how much I missed the freedom to just be me, and not worry that everything I said and did could end up in a newspaper or online, just because I was the daughter-in-law of a bent politician. Being away from this city made me remember what it felt like to be proud of who I am, to feel the way I did before everything changed…’

  ‘Who you were never changed. Who I was never changed either,’ he replied, not from a need to be confrontational, but more of an instinctive desire to reassure her.

  ‘But the way people thought of me did. The way people thought of us.’

  He wanted to tell her she was being ridiculous, but he knew she was right.

  ‘Everyone just associates us with your dad now and we can’t get away from that. As long as we’re married, what your dad did is always going to haunt us. We’ll always be linked with him. If we have kids, they’ll be thought of as his grandchildren. He’s always going to be everywhere, Rory.’

  His father. His fucking father.

  Years before, when Roger Fieldow had first hired him as a summer intern at Fieldow Financial, Rory had used only his mum’s maiden name on the application, because he didn’t want to land a job on the strength of his father’s name or status. When the internship ended, Fieldow had been impressed enough with him to offer him a junior role on graduation, but even then, Fieldow had no idea that young Rory Brookes was the son of councillor Larry McLenn. His mum and dad weren’t married when he was born, and the smartest thing his mum had ever done was give Rory her surname, because, he had found out later, she had no faith in his father to actually keep his promise to marry her. Even after they made it to the registry office to tie the knot, Alice had never officially changed Rory’s name to McLenn, although he’d been known as Rory Brookes McLenn throughout his childhood. It was her one act of rebellion, but it had been an important one that he’d been grateful for many times in his life, especially over the last two years.

  When he’d gone to university, they’d automatically used the name on his birth certificate, Rory Brookes, and he hadn’t corrected it. He’d had no desire to be connected to the controlling, narcissistic asshole, who was, quite frankly, a shit father but who had somehow convinced the world that he was a decent enough human being and politician to be considered qualified to be a Member of Parliament. On the day he was first elected, teenage Rory had got drunk with Albie, and contemplated emigrating. Years later, their relationship was still non-existent, but Rory didn’t care, because by that time, he had his feet under a desk at Fieldow and was already falling in love with the gorgeous, accomplished, sexy daughter of the boss. The one who was now telling him she wanted a divorce. Given the temporary separation, it shouldn’t have been a surprise, but yet it still was.

  ‘Don’t do this, Julia,’ he said calmly. He wasn’t going to fall apart, or beg or plead, because he knew that she’d hate that, but at the same time, he had to fight his corner. ‘We were so good together.’

  ‘We were,’ she agreed. ‘But that was when we were joining two well-respected Glasgow families, and the whole world still thought that your dad was a stand-up guy.’

  There was no arguing with her point, because even their wedding photos backed her up. The ceremony had been like a who’s who of the city’s politicians and important players. Their parents’ guest lists had been longer than their own.

  ‘I don’t think you realise the shame that my parents felt when your dad was caught,’ she went on, ‘and I caused that pain for them because although you already worked here, it was me who brought you and your family into our world. It was my fault.’

  Wow. Just wow. He couldn’t believe that’s where she was going with this. She knew how much he detested his dad, and she was well aware of the sacrifices his mum had made for them, but she was still acting like they were a package deal.

  His father committed the crimes alone. Just him. They’d only been guilty by association.

  Rory didn’t even want to let his mind go back there. Two years ago, when his dad’s downfall had come about in spectacular fashion, the embarrassment had been huge, but the press had pretty much left Rory and Julia out of it. For a second, they’d exhaled and dealt with the family fallout behind closed doors, but then the inevitable had happened. Months later, when the charges had been dropped against his dad due to his super-sharp lawyers twisting the legal system in his favour, the press had decided Larry would pay, if not with jail time, then at least with public annihilation. When the press had picked the bones of Larry McLenn clean, they’d come for his family, and that meant Rory and Julia. Reporters and photographers began staking out their home and his work. There were completely bogus reports inferring they benefited from Larry’s corruption. Skewed articles painting them as free-loading socialites. Blind pieces dissecting their marriage.

  Julia had struggled and Rory had been furious, but it was his mother who’d taken action. After a particularly brutal hatchet job in a national newspaper, she had asked to meet with them secretly that night. He and Julia had parked in a street near his parents’ new home and Alice had come to them. Just seeing her and everything she was going through had almost killed him. When she’d climbed into their car that night, she was pale, lines etched deep in her face. It had always been her and him against the world, and all he wanted to do was protect her and to protect his wife too.

  His mum had been strong and steady, while Julia was distraught, her eyes bloodshot, mascara tracks down her beautiful face.

  ‘I can’t deal with any more of this, Alice. I’m sorry. I can’t. It’s relentless, and it’s killing Rory, tearing my family apart. What are we going to do?’

  That’s when his mum had dropped the bombshell, with a plan that she’d clearly thought through.

  ‘You’re going to cut us off. They can’t talk about you if there’s nothing to say. They can’t report if there’s no longer a story. I need you to disown us, and go live your lives. But, Julia, I want you to swear you’ll stick by my son, that you’ll make each other happy.’

  Julia had agreed immediately, but Rory had fought his mother, argued, objected. ‘Come with us, Mum. You can live with us. Leave him to deal with his own shit.’

  His mum had cut that one dead. ‘I can’t. He’s already threatened that if I leave him, he’ll drag you into this even more, he’ll burn your whole world down, including Julia and her family.’

  Rory rarely got angry, and he didn’t have a violent bone in his body, but right then he’d wanted to punch out a window with his bare hands.

  His mum had left no room for arguing. ‘The irony is, he can’t even stand me, but he can’t stand the thought of not being in control of me even more. I can handle him. I’ll be fine, just as long as you do this for me. You’ll understand when you have children, Rory. You see, I can deal with this, I can take the abuse and the shame and the disgrace, but watching them tear you apart is killing me. If you love me, then you’ll do it because I need you to. Please. Please walk away.’

  It was an impossible decision and it had smashed his soul, but eventually he’d agreed. It had to be real, she’d insisted. No slip-ups. That was why all contact had ended. No secret meetings. No calls. No texts. Numbers changed, so neither side would be tempted.

  The next day, a report had appeared in the paper, and he’d known his mum was the ‘anonymous source’ behind it. The headline read, SON DISOWNS DISGRACED FORMER MP. It detailed how Rory Brookes, and his wife, Julia, had quite rightly decided that his father, Larry McLenn’s dishonesty and violation of trust was abhorrent to the values they stood for. They had terminated all contact and the situation was considered to be permanent.

  After that, the attacks in the press had stopped, but they’d been wrong to think they could ever go back to normal. Everywhere they went, there were still stares and whispers and judgements. Even when it had overwhelmed Julia and she’d told him she needed time alone, he’d believed in them too much to contemplate their marriage being over.

  Apparently, listening to her now, he’d been wrong about that.

  ‘I don’t want to keep saying sorry, because I need to stand in my truth…’ She’d clearly had a pep talk from her sister, her therapist, or whoever made up those inspirational quotes on Instagram. ‘But my feelings have changed. I can’t separate how I feel about you from how I feel about what happened to our lives. It’s made me look differently at you, and I know that’s not your fault, but I can’t change it.’

  ‘I wish you could,’ he told her gently, thinking even now that she was stabbing him in the chest, she was still beautiful, still his wife. Damn! But if there was one thing that was unmistakable here, it was that she no longer wanted to be with him.

  He tried to let that sink in.

  She no longer wanted to be with him.

  It was over.

  And it wasn’t as if this was a rash decision on her part because she’d been thinking about it for months. Planning it maybe.

  ‘Julia, don’t do this…’ he implored again, hoping there was some way, some tiny chance for them.

  ‘It’s already done,’ she replied, with a finality that made it clear this wasn’t up for negotiation. He considered trying anyway, fighting for her, pleading a case for not giving up, but this wasn’t the place to do it. And that was the point. He saw now that she’d asked to meet him here so that he couldn’t argue. It was one of her father’s tricks for breaking bad news. Public place. Upmarket setting.

  He took in the determined set of her exquisite face, and the unwavering gaze. This wasn’t his fun-loving, rebellious, sexy wife. This was a different Julia, the Julia Fieldow who grew up getting her own way, who never backed down, who wouldn’t be swayed from what she wanted. That Julia had always been part of her personality, but their love had softened her edges. Now they were back and razor sharp.

  No, he wasn’t going to argue, because he didn’t have to be her therapist to understand that she wouldn’t change her mind. Instead, for now, he decided to search for the off ramp.

  ‘So where do you want to go from here?’ he asked, determined to stay calm and dignified. He, or his family, had clearly embarrassed her enough.

  It would seem that, like everything else, she had it all worked out. ‘I want to sell the house. Or you can buy me out if you can get the money together, but that’s doubtful on your salary.’

  She wasn’t kidding. He earned a decent package, but nowhere near the income he’d need to rustle up a mortgage on a home that cost almost three quarters of a million quid. That was Fieldow money. Brookes’ money could probably extend to a nice two-bedroom executive flat in the city centre.

  She took a sip of her drink, then went on, ‘The prenup clearly stated that it was bought for us as a wedding present and would revert to me if we separated. Same with my bank accounts and pretty much everything else except the savings you had when we met and anything you’ve added to that since we married.’

  They both knew he’d added nothing, because, all too aware that she was the wealthier of them, he’d put every penny he earned into their lives together to try to even up the balance.

  ‘Good of you to leave me with that.’ He hadn’t negotiated hard on the terms of the prenup, because he hadn’t thought for a heartbeat that they’d ever divorce.

  ‘Don’t make it difficult, Rory.’ For the first time, he saw a flash of her judgemental sister and her ruthless father and wondered if she’d always been that way and he’d just fallen for a façade.

  A silence fell between them, and he wasn’t sure what else there was to say. If he stayed, there was the possibility that the conversation could degenerate into insults and blame, so he decided the best thing to do was to leave.

  He took twenty quid out of his wallet and placed it on the table.

  ‘It’s okay, I’ll get it,’ she said immediately.

  ‘It’s fine. By the sounds of things, you’d get it in the divorce anyway.’ A low blow, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was gutted. Devastated. And so disappointed, he could barely breathe. This woman that he hardly recognised was tearing his life apart, so he felt that one barbed dig was allowed.

  ‘Take care, Julia. Tell your lawyers to send the paperwork. I’ll sign whatever you want.’

  With that, and as much dignity as he could muster, he got up, walked away from the table, through the lobby and out into the May sunshine.

  And he had absolutely no clue what to do next.

  His first instinct was to call his mum, but that was off the table. He didn’t even have a number for her now. Instead, he texted Albie.

  She wants a divorce.

  The reply was almost instant.

  Is the correct response to sympathise or to throw random insults in your defence?

  Both.

  Ah, I’m sorry, mate. And her eyes are too close together (it’s the best I could come up with at short notice). Come home and we’ll drink until we come up with something better.

  Need to go to work. Can I reserve a spot in your spare room for the foreseeable future?

  Only if you pay me in Friday night kebabs.

  Even in the depths of hell that made him smile.

  Done.

  Rory put his phone in his pocket and started walking the mile or so across town to the office, replaying the conversation with Julia over and over, looking for threads he could pull on to unravel the arguments she used for breaking up. He wanted to remind her how great they’d been. How much they’d loved each other. He wanted to reassure her that despite everything, they could still have the future that they’d planned. But for any of that to land, he’d need someone who was prepared to listen, and today, her cold hard gaze had made it clear that she wasn’t. Right now, her mind was set. He saw that. Maybe time would change… He stopped that train of thought dead. No. Julia wasn’t one for changing course on anything. Her stubbornness had been one of the things he’d found sexy when they’d met. That was now biting him on the arse of his best suit trousers.

  As he approached the headquarters of Fieldow Finance, he felt a tiny glimmer of comfort. At least he still had his job. He’d had his career before Julia, and he’d have it long after. He wasn’t even sure that Roger would be aware of Julia’s decision but even if he was, then Rory was confident that they’d maintain the invisible line between work and personal life.

  When he got there, he took the stairs instead of the lift, as he’d done every working day for almost ten years. The enthusiasm he’d had on his first day here had never diminished. Although, back then, if anyone had told him that he’d marry the boss’s daughter, he’d have been resolutely against it. Growing up, he’d seen so much cronyism and political climbing in his father’s life and that had made him want to succeed entirely on his own merit. Meeting Julia had changed his mind. For better and now for worse.

  As he entered the office, he thought he caught a couple of strange glances from the receptionists, but he just gave them his usual grin and walked on by. Just because his personal life was now going to shit, didn’t mean that he had to ruin everyone else’s day.

  He went through the glass doors, into the ultra-modern, polished offices. Now that he was a senior member of the team, he had a private office, directly across the other side of the open-plan expanse that housed the junior teams, the assistants and the secretaries.

  As he crossed the room, he was still deep in thought about the conversation with Julia, so it was only when he got close to the glass floor-to-ceiling partition in front of his office that he noticed there were people already in there. Strange. He had no meetings in the diary for this morning.

  When the hammer dropped, it came with a sinking feeling in his gut.

  The men in his office were security. And they were emptying his desk.

  ‘Rory, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop them. They wouldn’t listen to me.’

  He saw the distraught expression on his secretary, Mandy’s face, and he understood even before she said it. They both knew what was happening here.

  ‘Mr Fieldow wants to see you in his office as soon as you get in,’ she blurted. ‘And, Rory, I don’t think you’re getting a promotion.’

  9

  VAL

  I still couldn’t quite believe we’d made it, but only a few hours after I’d arrived at Carly’s house in Chiswick, I was back in Glasgow, this time, with Carly and Carol in tow. Today had consisted of two flights, a devastating loss, a heart-stopping panic, many frantic phone calls, a London taxi driver who drove like he was in a high-speed chase, and an act of generosity so great it made me well up and thank the stars that I had these two wonderful women in my life – and it wasn’t even dinnertime yet.

  Before we got on the plane at Heathrow, we’d returned to the area Carly had parked in earlier, and, eyes down, scrutinised the ground all the way back to the terminal. We did the same thing at Glasgow. As soon as we’d got off the flight, at the same cluster of gates where I’d boarded this morning, I’d gone into bloodhound mode, retracing my steps, searching every corner and under every seat, even asking at the coffee bar and the passenger services desk if anything had been handed in. It hadn’t.

  We’d taken our time walking up the long corridor towards the baggage reclaim, all three of us scanning the floor, to the irritation of blokes in suits with sour expressions who were having to break their very important strides by going around us. I couldn’t remember if I’d popped into the toilets halfway up the walkway on my way to my first flight, but I checked anyway. No joy.