Page 123 of Someone Else's Shoes
‘But this is not even five per cent of what you would owe me in a proper settlement.’
‘It’s perfectly fair. If you look at the company accounts you’ll see we’ve had a very tough few years. We’ve had to sell all sorts of property to pay our debts. This – it’s half of what I have left. The judge apparently thought it was perfectly equitable.’
She thinks of what the lawyer had told her, that Carl would have been busy hiding his assets in all sorts of secretiveoffshore places. She thinks of the house in London he had sold without telling her. He has been planning this for months.
‘This is not a fair settlement, Carl, and you know it.’
‘It’s a hundred per cent more than you’d have got in Hicksville, Ohio.’
He leans back against the sofa cushions. ‘Anyway. You seemed perfectly happy signing it all when we were in St Tropez.’
She thinks back suddenly, to a night at the Hôtel du Cap. He had insisted they drink cocktails, even though he knew she couldn’t hold her spirits. That evening, just when she had said she really needed to go to bed, her head spinning, he had told her he needed her to sign a pile of papers, had stood over her as she worked her way through them without looking. This was not unusual: she was used to signing documents that helped him with his business. She had been a director, a spouse, a company secretary, a tax dodge. Roles that came and went according to what his accountant said was needed at the time. It was what she did. The perfect company wife.
‘You tricked me into signing my own divorce papers?’
He checks his watch. ‘The offer is on the table for ten minutes. After that you can fight me for whatever you think you’ll get. I’m going to take a piss.’
He gets up heavily, and Ari appears suddenly at his side, walking him the twenty yards to the foyer lavatories. Jasmine, who has clearly been waiting while slowly dusting the surfaces in the lobby, rushes around the sofa and sits down beside her.
‘What’s happening?’ She picks up the sheaves of paper, ignoring the mild protestations of Alistair, who cannot work out why a maid has just grabbed his highly confidential financial document.
‘Nope,’ says Jasmine, scanning it and putting it down. ‘No, babe. That’s not even what he pays in retainers to this placeto keep the penthouse. I saw the figures once.’ She shrugs when Nisha stares up at her. ‘You can’t let him fob you off with this.’
‘But if I don’t I might end up with nothing. He’s clearly planned it all.’
‘You can’t sign these. That’s it. Right?’ Jasmine turns to Alistair. ‘If she signs the rest of the papers she can’t claim for anything else?’
Alistair blinks. ‘Ah, yes. That would be correct. They will be technically divorced from that point.’
Jasmine and Nisha stare at each other. Nisha sits, her thoughts whirring.
Jasmine puts a hand on her arm. ‘Babe. You can’t do this.’
‘He’s done me up like a kipper,’ Nisha says quietly.
Carl is making his way back from the Gents, listening to something Ari is saying. He starts laughing, looking as relaxed and cheerful as if he had just come back from a good lunch. Charlotte emerges from the lift and skips after him. She says something urgently to him and he lets his hand rest briefly on her belly and nods. As Nisha stares, registering this, Charlotte follows him back to the table, a smile already on her lips.
He has outmanoeuvred her again, Nisha realizes. In so many ways. She never stood a chance. She lifts her chin and remains composed as Charlotte arranges her extravagantly long legs alongside Carl’s.
Just then, her attention is drawn to a faint commotion in the foyer. She glances to her right and there is Sam, running towards her, slipping slightly on the marble floor.
‘Nisha! Nisha!’ She is holding up her hand. As she sees Carl, she stops, and motions frantically.
Carl looks at Sam, at her anorak, her mom jeans and scuffed trainers. He smirks at Nisha.This is who you mix with now?
‘Nisha.Please. I need to speak to you.’
Nisha looks at Sam’s pleading expression. ‘Give me a minute.’
‘We’re leaving in five,’ Carl says, and sits down, waving to Ari to fetch him some water. Charlotte runs a manicured hand over his thigh, letting it rest there.
‘I recognized him,’ Sam says breathlessly, dragging Nisha to the side of the foyer. ‘I recognized him. Your husband. I’ve put the original in a safe place, but I got Phil to download it onto my phone.’
Nisha stares at her, trying to work out what Sam is telling her. She looks down at Sam’s phone as Sam, fingers stumbling on the keys, clicks a little video into stuttering life. And there he is: Carl, stark naked in black and white in a tiny pixellated form, Charlotte crouched over him.
‘What’s this?’ says Jasmine, peering over her shoulder.
‘Oh –oh.’ Nisha is briefly transfixed. ‘Ohhh. Oh, no.’ She blinks, then pulls a face. Then looks up at Sam, who is watching her intently.
