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CHAPTER 8

‘Mr Mystern will see you now, Mrs Rothschild,’ the young, raven-haired receptionist said as she ushered Calvary through to the modestly grand offices in Temple where Nikolas Mystern was sitting in his perfectly worn leather chair, hand outstretched in warm acceptance.

‘Calvary,’ he stood, smiling. ‘It’s been too long. You look wonderful. Please, sit down, sit down. Luci, fetch us some coffee, will you.’

Calvary waited until the door had firmly shut behind her before grasping Nikolas’s hand in both of her own.

‘Nikolas, it’s so good of you to see me,’ she said, gratitude audible in her voice. ‘I know it’s terribly short notice.’

‘Never too busy to see an old friend,’ he replied with genuine warmth.

Nikolas Mystern QC was one of the top divorce lawyers in Britain and an old family friend. Having secured some of the heftiest alimony payouts on UK record, including £5 million for a spouse married to her cheating footballer husband for all of eighteen months, he had deservedly earned the moniker, ‘Nik the Great’ and certain others he would rather not have mentioned.

Somewhat of a dandy in his de rigueur braces, perfectly styled hair and Gucci brogues, he looked younger than his sixty-eight years, his soft, rather jovial features belying his fearsome reputation; he was not nearly as frightening in the flesh as he could be in the courts.

‘Tell me. How are you keeping?’ Nikolas asked brightly, detecting her lachrymose mood. He imagined she wasn’t here to catch up on old times. ‘And the boys? Though I say boys … I heard on the grapevine that your eldest is getting hitched no less. Good Lord, I remember that boy in his Moses basket!’ He shook his head. ‘Where do the years go?’

‘I’m fine, Nikolas,’ Calvary said, though both of them knew this to be to the contrary. ‘Tom is all set for Oxford and Hen, well, yes, Henry is planning to tie the knot with his fiancée, Tamara.’ She hissed the girl’s name as though it were blasphemous. ‘Actually, Hen’s the reason I’m here, in a manner of sorts.’

‘Oh?’

There was a brief knock at the door before the beaming receptionist walked in with a tray of refreshments.

‘Thank you, Luci,’ he smiled, pouring them both coffee in a Wedgwood china cup as the young girl withdrew from the room once more.

‘I need your help, Nikolas,’ Calvary said, shocked by the sound of her own desperation.

‘I need a divorce.’

Nikolas sighed. He had heard the divorce word a thousand times over during his career and yet still it continued to provoke a genuine sadness in him.

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Calvary,’ he said softly. ‘Have you thought about counselling?’

Calvary snorted derisively.

‘Douglas at Relate? I hardly think so!’

Mystern linked his fingers together and let them rest on top of his polished desk.

‘I can recommend a terribly good woman …’

Calvary let out a hollow laugh.

‘Knowing Douglas he’d probably be screwing her within the week,’ she remarked dryly.

Over the years, Calvary had fought so hard to prevent her marriage from becoming the ridiculous charade that it was. She had tolerated Douglas’s need to find his jollies elsewhere for nigh on two decades, turning a blind eye to the hastily scribbled numbers on the back of napkins, the scent of another woman on his shirt, little gifts she had found that she would never receive …

Calvary considered it to be her lot in life; most society wives had to turn the other cheek at one time or another throughout their marriage. It was par for the course if you wanted to keep the status and the trappings. Trappings being the operative word. Up until now though, Douglas had stuck to the unspoken rules between them regarding his ‘dalliances’. Discretion was key; as long as he didn’t flaunt it, Calvary could look the other way and console herself with extravagant purchases and luxury holidays. But not this time; this time Douglas had gone too far.

Calvary took a deep breath. What she was about to say was not going to be easy for her but she knew it was necessary if Nikolas was going to secure her the payout of the century. Even a cheating, immoral son-of-a-bitch like Douglas would want this particular indiscretion kept quiet.

‘He’s been screwing our son’s fiancée.’ Calvary fought to banish the image inside her mind of a naked Tamara on top of her husband, her glossy chestnut head thrown back in ecstasy as she rode him furiously, Douglas’s hand grabbing at her pert young breasts as they bounced in slow-motion. She glanced up at Nikolas. If he was shocked by such a revelation he certainly didn’t show it. Perhaps he had seen and heard it all. The thought made Calvary feel deeply depressed.

‘I am sorry, Calvary,’ Mystern said finally, his tone one of fatherly concern and causing a lump as hard as granite to form in her throat. ‘That must’ve been a dreadful shock.’

Calvary nodded, unable to speak for fear of unravelling like a ball of wool. ‘Are you sure I can’t offer you a drink? A real drink, perhaps?’ Nikolas stood, straightened his braces and made his way over to a huge antique globe that stood proudly by the large sash window like a prop from a James Bond film set. It was a little early to start on the hard stuff but today he felt like making an exception.

‘Care to join me? A G&T perhaps?’

‘What the hell,’ Calvary sniffed.

‘That’s a girl,’ Nikolas said, pouring her an exceptionally large measure.

Calvary gulped back half the contents of her glass and hoped it wouldn’t be long before she would feel the warming effects of the alcohol.

‘I want half of everything,’ she announced, her change of tone causing Nikolas to look up from his glass. ‘All of it. The houses, the cars, even his beloved bloody jet! I want to keep the jewellery and, of course, the dogs – definitely the dogs …’ Calvary was animated now, almost up out of her chair, years of hurt and anger emanating from her like radiation. ‘I want to nail that bastard so hard to the wall he really will think he’s bloody Jesus Christ!’ she spat. ‘I deserve to be handsomely rewarded for the years I’ve put up with him sniffing after anything in a skirt, Nikolas. Humiliating me, robbing me of my self-esteem and dignity. But above all, above everything, I want him to pay for betraying our son; his own son, for God’s sake!’ Tears were stinging her eyes now and she sniffed them back.

Nikolas Mystern drained his glass. He was up on his feet now too, pacing behind his desk, his brow furrowed in thought.

‘Did you tell Douglas you were coming to see me today?’ he enquired earnestly.

‘Of course not!’ Calvary laughed incredulously. ‘I’ll be the first to admit that I have been foolish over the years, allowing that bastard of a husband of mine to continue to make a mockery of our marriage, but even I’m not that stupid!’ The look on Nikolas Mystern’s face was beginning to trouble her. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘It’s odd,’ Nikolas said, continuing to pace the room, ‘but it seems as though Douglas may have pre-empted your moves.’

‘What do you mean, pre-empted my moves?’ Calvary felt the first flutters of fear inside her stomach.

‘Well,’ Mystern began, ‘I figured when you called a few days ago and said you wanted to see me that it might be prudent, if a little premature of me, to start looking into Douglas’s affairs – financial affairs you understand,’ he felt the need to clarify.

‘Go on,’ Calvary encouraged him, her heart beating a song in her chest.

‘Taking into account the businesses and his portfolio of properties, Douglas must be worth in excess of £200 million, would you agree?’

Calvary nodded.

‘Tell me, why do you ask?’ she repeated shakily.

Nikolas took an audible breath, sat back down into his chair and fixed Calvary with a watery-eyed stare. In the most part he enjoyed his job, always had done, but there were times, like this, when he wished he was retired and enjoying his twilight years out on his yacht somewhere on the French Riviera.

‘Well, according to my well-placed sources, Douglas Rothschild is worth a big fat sum of nothing.’

Calvary met his gaze. The room suddenly felt hot and airless.

‘That’s ridiculous,’ she snorted dismissively after a long moment. ‘Douglas is the walking epitome of “filthy rich”.’ She laughed then, a hollow, bitter sound.

‘That may be,’ Mystern said solemnly. ‘But according to my sources whatever fortune he may have amassed over the years, it’s gone.’

‘Gone? Gone?’ Calvary repeated the word as though it were foreign. Her first flutters of fear had now rapidly escalated into full blown panic. ‘But I … I don’t understand,’ she said. The room had begun to spin and she placed a hand on the walnut desk in a bid to steady herself.

‘It’s very odd,’ Mystern continued, picking up his Mont Blanc ink pen and stabbing a fresh clean sheet of notebook paper. ‘But the day after you called to make an appointment here, large sums of money were withdrawn from various bank accounts belonging to your husband and an application was made to liquidate his business. It’s as if he somehow knew, or suspected that you were coming to see me.’

Calvary’s jaw loosened and she began to feel a little faint.

‘But … but that’s impossible …’ she stammered.

‘Calvary, are you alright? Here, have some water,’ Mystern said, pouring her a glass.

Douglas Rothschild was a hugely successful property tycoon and was what was known as a ‘fixer’ to the wealthy. If someone needed a house, Douglas would get them a house. If they needed a nice car, he’d get them a car. His main business was peddling expensive properties though, which he largely sold to Russian oligarchs and European billionaires.

‘My guess is that somehow he’s got wind of our meeting,’ Mystern said. ‘He suspects you’re looking into divorcing him and he’s squirrelled all his cash away somewhere. Somewhere you can’t get your hands on it.’

Calvary’s mind was racing in time with her heart. Douglas would never suspect her of seeking a divorce from him, such was the extent of his inflated ego. He’d betrayed her a million times before now and she had never so much as threatened him with the ‘D’ word, not once. So how had he got wind of her intentions?

‘You’ll have to find the money!’ Calvary shrieked, standing now, the full force of what she had learned piercing her mind with vicious clarity. ‘It has to be somewhere! He can’t … oh God, that bastard! He can’t do this to me!’

She finally started to cry then. Big fat sorrowful tears streaking her carefully made-up face.After everything he had done to her, Douglas would have the last laugh; he would cut her off financially, see her penniless on the street!

‘I assure you, Calvary,’ Nikolas Mystern said, his tone low and reassuring, ‘that I will find what has happened to your husband’s money and, assuming you wish to appoint me and follow the divorce route, ensure you receive what you’re entitled to.’ In fact, Nikolas Mystern would rather look forward to it. ‘In the meantime,’ he said authoritatively, ‘I urge you not to panic. I will get my people onto this straight away.’

Calvary nodded, glad of his reassurances. It was what she needed; someone to take control, tell her it would all be alright. The fact was, she would rather be dead than have to scrimp and scrape by after everything she had put up with over the years.

‘I’ll have more to tell you soon, I promise,’ Nikolas said, his voice settling into the kindly fatherly tones of earlier. ‘In the meantime I suggest you mull everything over. Maybe even talk to Douglas. You don’t have to tell him any of what we’ve discussed here today. In my experience a holiday together sometimes helps put things on the right track. You’re welcome to take a trip out to my place in Mustique. It might do you both the power of good.’

Calvary smiled at Nikolas but it was an empty gesture and he knew it.

‘You really don’t have to follow the divorce route, Calvary,’ he added in a last ditch attempt to dissuade her. ‘It can get awfully messy – and very expensive.’

‘Thank you, Nikolas,’ she replied, her tears dried and her demeanour back to businesslike. ‘I really do appreciate it.’ Calvary stood to leave. It had been a draining conversation and she needed time to get her head around it. In short, she realised that dissolving her marriage meant risking her status as a prominent Chelsea wife and everything she owned.

After saying her goodbyes, Calvary walked soberly through the plush reception area of Mystern’s office. The smiling, raven-haired receptionist was sitting behind a large ornate desk, admiring a huge, impressive bouquet of the most beautiful blood red roses, Calvary’s favourites and she couldn’t help but give a small smile as she passed.

‘They’re beautiful,’ she commented, suddenly wishing she too was young again and in the first flushes of love. Oh, how she would do it all so differently, given the chance.

‘Aren’t they just?’ the girl said, looking terribly pleased with herself.

‘Whoever he is, he obviously thinks the world of you,’ Calvary remarked.

The receptionist smiled.

‘You really think so?’

‘Oh yes,’ Calvary replied before stepping into the lift. ‘A man who sends you flowers as beautiful as that shouldn’t be kept waiting too long. Mark my words!’

As the lift doors closed behind Calvary the receptionist inhaled the scent of one of the roses and sighed as she read the accompanying card; ‘To Luci, thanks for everything. Dinner tonight? Douglas. X’

She smiled smugly as she picked up the phone and began to dial.