Page 75 of The Way We Are Now

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘You’ve got to stop saying sorry.’ He took my hand with his good one, caressing the palm with his thumb.

‘Where are you living this year?’ I asked.

‘Anna.’ Theo continued to hold my hand. ‘I’m not coming back.’

‘But you’re here! Your degree…’ I felt my heart shift to somewhere in the pit of my stomach.

‘I don’t need a degree to run the estate.’

‘Well, no, but…’

‘I leave for New Zealand at the weekend,’ he said.

‘For a holiday? In the sunshine. To recuperate?’ I was clutching at straws.

‘I’m moving back there. I was just at the admin office clearing everything up, telling them I wasn’t coming back.’

‘But why? Why, Theo?’ I knew tears were falling, but I was powerless to stop them.

He moved his hand to my face, catching a tear with his thumb. ‘Anna, don’t. Please. It tears me apart to see you like this.’

‘Then stay. Stay. Stay with me.’

‘I can’t, Anna. I just can’t.’

PART III

24

LONDON, MARCH 2003

‘Coffee, Anna?’ Gemma, my PA, stuck her head round the door as I stretched my arms up in the air, yawning loudly. ‘You look as if you need one. Late night? Out on the town?’

‘I wish! And yes to coffee! Please!’ I stifled another yawn, closing my eyes against the amount of work that never seemed to diminish. The minute I was bringing one case to its conclusion – another mistreated woman getting some sort of closure often after months or even years – others were waiting in the wings. And while, in a perfect world, it would be wonderful not to have to fight for justice for any woman abused either physically or sexually, it was my job to do just that and, for the main part, I loved it. I didn’t like hearing the graphic details of what so many women had suffered at the hands of controlling men, but there was no point in taking on a case without delving deep and hearing every pernicious detail the claimant would much rather erase from her memory.

‘Have you given any more thought to the invitation to speak at the Women’s Association AGM? I’ve just had the head honcho back on the phone. She’s nothing if not persistent…?’ Gemma gave me one of her looks, demanding a decision.

The pair of us had worked together for more than fifteen years. Gemma was not only my right-hand woman, she was also my best mate. It had been questioned, by the senior partner, when I’d first started at Brampton Sawyer, that maybe it would be more in keeping with my professional standing to keep my office and social life separate – Gemma and I had been witnessed howling with raucous laughter over a bottle of wine one evening in a local restaurant – but, despite being new and naïve as I was in those days, I wasn’t willing to accept what I saw as antediluvian protocol set down by a man more than ready for retirement. Now that I was a senior partner in the London law firm, and the company’s name adjusted to Brampton, Piasecki and Sawyer, I could perhaps understand more the nuance behind his suggestion.

‘Oh, gosh, I’m sorry, Gemma,’ I said now. ‘I meant to check dates… Tell me again when it is.’

‘Birmingham, 3 July.’

I riffled through my personal diary – July seemed such a long way off, but dates were already pencilled in for law society dinners, invitations to speak and, since my being awarded Freedom Human Rights Lawyer of the Year, requests to appear on Question Time with David Dimbleby, and to join the panel on Any Questions.

‘Yes, that’s fine,’ I said.

‘You don’t think it’s slumming it, then?’ Gemma laughed. ‘You know, after all your media appearances?’

‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘There was a Women’s Association in Yorkshire near where I grew up, and my Aunty Sandra was a member. She used to go and take her knitting while she listened to the speakers on flower arranging and cake decorating.’

As my phone rang, Gemma left the office, returning ten minutes later with a cafetière of coffee for the pair of us, as well as a couple of Penguins.

‘Close the door.’ I nodded towards the open office door. ‘Then come and tell me what’s bothering you.’

‘Bothering me?’