Page 93 of Behind Frenemy Lines

CG: “I don’t think it’s appropriate to—”

Shaw: “It’s all right. No reason you shouldn’t have your fun. She’s a bit of a porker, but great tits. Just remember to be careful, yeah? No pillow talk about work.” He slapped me on the back. Seemed to think he was being friendly. “You know, I never pegged you as a curry chaser. Got a thing for Indian girls, is it?”

Hard to remember, later, what happened then.

Makes it sound like a red mist rose before my eyes. It wasn’t that. What it was—will sound ridiculous—but in that moment, it was like I was back at school, having the shit kicked out of me by fucking Stafford-Paterson. Third cousin to an earl, favourite of the masters, and unsurpassed slimy little creep.

Difference was, this time, I wasn’t half the size of the other guy. In the intervening years, I’d learned how to punch. So I did it.

There was a dull thud as my fist connected with his cheek,crunching against bone. Shaw staggered back. His foot slipped over the curb. He wobbled, then crashed backwards down onto the road.

A cyclist swerved to avoid him. “Watch where you’re going! Fucking hell!”

Woke me up. I grabbed Shaw and pulled him back onto the pavement before he could get run over.

Shaw shoved me away. “What thefuck,Charles?”

First time he’d ever called me Charles.

Opened my mouth to apologise, but I wasn’t sorry. Wished I’d done it earlier, if anything. If I’d given him a black eye the moment I got out of the taxi on Monday morning, it would’ve given him something better to think about than ogling Kriya.

So I didn’t say anything.

Shaw: “What’s your problem?”

But before he could really get going, a group of people emerged from Swithin Watkins. Farah was among them.

Farah: “Oh, Charles! There you are. I’ve got a call in ten minutes, but are you free after two? I’ll come speak to you then.”

Then she saw Shaw.

CG: “Shaw was around and wanted to talk about the case. I explained it’s best if he doesn’t tell me too much, until we’re cleared to act.”

Farah: “Quite. These processes do take time, I’m afraid. I’m sure Charles will have explained that. We’ll be in touch when we—” She cut herself off, squinting at Shaw. “Oh dear, are you all right? What’s that mark on your cheek?”

Shaw: “It’s nothing. I had an accident this morning. Got a knock on the face.” Looked daggers at me. “I’ve got to go.”

He left without saying goodbye. Farah had been drawn back to her group, was too busy sending off her visitors to notice.

Had a feeling I might have solved the firm’s dilemma about whether to represent Shaw Boey’s associate. Couldn’t imagine he’d want “the boss” to instruct us, after this.

I needed to confess what I’d done to Farah. And possibly to the Solicitors Regulation Authority. Almost certainly a breach of the Code of Conduct to punch a client in the face.

But first, there was someone else I needed to talk to.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Charles

Inbox was teemingwith unread emails when I got back to my desk. Instead of catching up on them, I grabbed my personal phone.

Nipped downstairs and out the back entrance to the alley where I talk to Ma when she insists on calling me during the working day. Stepped over an abandoned coffee cup, the cardboard dissolving in a pool of cold latte, and scrolled down the contacts list on my phone.

Hadn’t rung the number in a while. Wasn’t sure he’d pick up. But he did.

Ba: “Wai. Son?”

Didn’t blame him for being surprised. Couldn’t recall the last time we’d spoken on the phone.

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