Page 33 of Conviction
I’ve answered the usual stuff, like name, age, occupation and address while on auto-pilot. I must’ve then zoned out as thoughts of sex with Nathaniel Attwood, preferably on or over his desk enter my head. I don’t know why my thoughts have turned in such a sexual direction, I’m not usually like that. I’ve only ever slept with two men in my life, and they both let me down massively.
“I’m sorry Mr Attwood. It’s been a stressful couple of days, I zoned out a bit there for a minute.” I can feel a blush creep up my neck and over my cheeks as his eyes don’t leave mine. I hear Sophie clear her throat from beside me as I realise we’re just staring at each other in silence.
“I totally understand. Would you both like some coffee?”
“Coffee would be great,” I tell him.
He lets out a long sigh, still not taking his eyes from mine and presses the intercom on his desk and asks someone to bring in coffee for the three of us.
“So, Mrs Newman—”
“Please, Mr Attwood, can you not call me that? My name’s Nina, Nina Matthews. I stopped being Mrs Newman in the early hours of Saturday morning when my husband punched me in the face.”
His smile and the sparkle in his pretty blue eyes is gone in an instant.
“Your husband hit you?”
I nod my head, yes.
“Did you report this to the police?”
I shake my head, no.
“I took photos of her face,” Sophie adds, “but she refused to get the police involved.” She turns toward me. “You need to tell him the rest. You need to tell him what happened Friday night and you need to tell him what happened at the park on Saturday.”
The secretary knocks on the door at that moment and comes in with the coffee. She sets the tray down and leaves.
“Ms Gardner is right. You need to tell me everything, Nina, even if you don’t want us to use it, we still need to know.”
We sit quietly for a few seconds while sipping on our coffee. Nathaniel puts his cup back in its saucer and says, “This interview is just meant to be a preliminary meeting where we take down your basic details and decide if we can work together.” He tilts his head from side to side. “I think we’ll get along just fine, Nina. But ultimately, it’s your call on whether you want to retain us to represent you.” I look over at Sophie, and she nods. Nathaniel continues, “This shouldn’t really be about anything personal, on my part at least, so I’m going to remain as impartial as possible. But given what you’ve just revealed Nina, Iwantto represent you, and I really want to kick this fucker’s arse and achieve the best outcome that we can for you.”
“Fuck yeah,” Sophie says from beside me.
“I would also like to achieve this as quickly as possible.” He looks at me, eyebrows raised, expecting an answer.
I take a deep breath. “I just want to be able to draw a line under this and not be married to him anymore. If he wants to be an arsehole about things, then let him get on with it. I just want a divorce, and I want it as quickly as legally possible.”
He keeps staring at me, blinks a couple of times and asks, “Do you have time to go through all of the paperwork now, or shall we make another appointment and get things finalised then?”
Nathaniel cancels his next appointment, and we spend the following hour going through everything I need to be able to submit my divorce petition to the courts. If Marcus agrees and doesn’t contest anything, I could be divorced within the next eight weeks.
Nathaniel is confident that he can lodge the papers within the next couple of days so, hopefully, a copy of the petition and something called The Acknowledgement of Service should be with Marcus by the beginning of next week. I leave his offices feeling a little less stressed about the whole thing and confident in his ability to push my divorce through quickly. I was worried beforehand that because of what Marcus does for a living, no one would want to represent me, but Nathaniel seems to see Marcus as a challenge. I like him, under different circumstances, we could probably have been friends.
We leave the offices of Attwood, Chalmers and Co and head for the nearest pub. Discussing the various ways we had imagined Nate with the big nob, as Sophie has christened him, could take us in his office. Against the wall and over his desk being the two most preferred methods. We end up on the last train back to Surrey, a little worse for wear after the three bottles of wine we consumed.
Sophie has a client booked in at ten-thirty on Wednesday. Actually, it was originally my client, but Soph offered to cover me for all of this week, allowing me to take some time off. I can hear her cursing me as she crawls out of bed on Wednesday morning though.
I have a local builder coming at midday to put a shade sale and kennel up on the roof garden. The parapet wall is about six feet high, so I don’t have to worry about Duchess escaping, and as the space isn’t shared with anyone else, I don’t have to worry about where she craps.
By Friday, having heard nothing from the solicitors, Marcus or my family, I’m feeling upbeat. My divorce is underway, the salons are all doing well, Duchess has had no problem adjusting to her new home and considering it’s been less than a week since my life swerved off course, I’m feeling happier about myself than I have in a long time.
On Friday night, Sophie, myself, Donna and Maria, a couple of our salon managers, head across the road to the wine bar opposite our flat. It’s a beautiful summer’s evening, and we buy a couple of bottles of wine and find a table outside in the courtyard. We sit in the late evening sun, talk shit and generally chill out. Until my phone rings, at the same time as my husband and brother arrive.
I watch them at the bar from my chair in the courtyard while answering my phone. I can see from the display that it’s Nathaniel Attwood and my stomach churns – I think I can guess what he’s about to tell me.
“Hey Nina, sorry for calling you so late on a Friday, but I’ve been in court all day.”
‘Not a problem, what can I do for you?”
