Lucy was exhausted by the time she pulled into the driveway at the castle. She'd had a frantic weekend, stuffed full of activities, friends, and socialising. Her dinner the previous night had been fun, although it had gone on longer than expected, and she hadn't gotten back home until nearly two in the morning. Her brunch had entailed even more alcohol, although she'd limited it, knowing that she'd have to make the drive down to Sussex. She fervently hoped that Oscar wasn't going to expect her to be bouncy and alert. She parked her Mini on the drive and grabbed her handbag. Before she'd even had time to reach for the door handle, Jones had opened the car door and was waiting for her to step out. “Lord Golding is in his study ma'am,” Jones said, rather formally.
“Thank you,” Lucy trilled, before handing him her car keys and trotting up the steps to the large front door. She found Oscar poring over the schedule of works his mother had left for him. “Hey you, had a good weekend?” She asked, before kissing his cheek.
“Not bad. Better now that you're here,” he replied. “How did your match go?”
She pulled a face. “Not great. A couple of the team had off days. We came second in the league.”
He pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “Mother's made great progress with the ballroom, and we think there'll be enough bedrooms ready to accommodate everyone.” He showed her the schedule, which she read through quickly.
“She's done jolly well to get all that done on time already. I bet she'll be exhausted by the time the wedding comes around,” She said. “I can't wait to see the ballroom.”
“Let's order a pot of tea for when we get back,” Oscar said. He'd noticed how tired she looked. Her eyes were rimmed with red from lack of sleep. They headed off to the ballroom, pausing only for Oscar to poke his head around the kitchen door and ask for some refreshments to be placed in the snug.
“It's beautiful,” Lucy squealed as he led her into the enormous room.
“It's not finished yet,” he told her, gratified by her initial response. For once, her unwavering enthusiasm wasn't irritating. “It'll look even better once the floor’s freshly polished and the tables all set up. He recalled past events in the grandiose room, parties and balls that his parents had thrown. Oscar recalled peeking through the spindles in the staircase as a small boy, watching all the glamorous ladies and their penguin-suited menfolk arrive to dance and drink. He'd been allowed to attend when he was fourteen, and had been fitted for his first dinner suit.
They'd been heady days, when his mother had been young and fun, and his father had cut a powerful figure. The castle had been a meeting point for tycoons, politicians, and royalty. It had been a place for them to relax, party, and form alliances. They hadn't hosted a ball there in over ten years.
Lucy wandered around the vast room, taking in the details. The low winter sun shone through the large arched windows, making the gilding covering the plasterwork glow with an iridescence that lit the room.
“The chandeliers are still being cleaned,” Oscar said, interrupting her thoughts.
“I hadn't noticed they were missing,” Lucy admitted. She glanced up at the ornate, painted ceiling, to see just bare wires hanging down where the three enormous chandeliers usually hung.
“Are you ok?” He asked, concerned.
“I feel exhausted,” she admitted. “Last night turned into a late one, so I probably drank a bit more than usual. I'm sorry.” She wished that she'd been more effusive about the ballroom. She knew how much the castle meant to Oscar.
“Come on, back to the snug,” he said, taking her hand. “We can have some tea, relax in front of the telly, or you can have a nap.” She let him guide her back down the corridors, through the gallery, and back to the room Oscar reserved for relaxing. Lucy was pleased to see that Jones had left a tea tray, complete with some little sandwiches and tiny cakes.
Oscar settled her on the sofa, poured her a tea, and loaded a plate full of sandwiches for her. “Thank you,” she said gratefully. She loved it when Oscar took care of her. He always seemed like a different person when they were at Conniscliffe than when they were anywhere else, more relaxed and attentive. She kicked off her ballet flats and tucked her feet under one of the sofa cushions.
“All I've organised for next weekend is the bridesmaids’ measurements on Saturday morning,” she ventured after a sip of tea. She felt guilty for being absent so much of the weekend and leaving Oscar alone with just his mother and the workmen for company.
“That'll take a while. Twenty-two little ones who won't stand still for more than five minutes,” he pointed out, “I bet the atelier's looking forward to it.” He was glad he hadn't been roped in to attend. He wasn't great with children, although he expected to be fine with his own, especially if they had a similar upbringing to the one he'd experienced. He'd been a page boy at age five for his aunt and had been forced to endure a whole day wearing tights, britches, and a stiff, uncomfortable velvet coat. It had been an unseasonably hot day, and the sun had shone directly on him through the large windows of the synagogue, rendering him a hot, sweaty mess, close to collapse. Despite that, he hadn't dared leave his post standing behind the happy couple, nor had he cried or otherwise made a fuss. He hoped the bridesmaids and page boys that his mother and Lucy had picked would be similarly disciplined.
“I'm sure it'll all be fine,” Lucy said, “although the Prost-Winston children can be quite a handful. Marina doesn't believe in discipline, says it stifles their creativity.”
“They'd better not play up at the ceremony,” Oscar warned. “The Rabbi won't stand for children running around during all the different parts of the service. You might need to warn Marina that they'll be expected to play their parts quietly and respectfully, especially when we're in the synagogue.
“I already told her. She just brushed me off saying that the children will have a wonderful time and that was all that mattered. I didn't have the energy to argue.” She sighed loudly. “I'll see how they are at the studio on Saturday. If they behave like feral monsters, I'll just have to face up to telling Marina that they can't be part of it.”
“I'll tell her if you can't face it,” he offered. Marina was an old friend who had embraced the 'Earth mother' concept a bit too much. Her children, while wildly photogenic, were hideously behaved and dramatically over-entitled. They'd run amok the last time they'd visited the castle, almost knocking Jones over while he had a tea-tray in his hands and spilling squash on the Aubusson carpet. Oscar was certain his own children, when they came, wouldn't be so ill-mannered.
“Might take you up on that,” she said, a weak smile playing on her lips. When it came to her job, Lucy was perfectly capable of being assertive, yet the idea of tackling a tricky social situation left her with clammy hands and a large dose of anxiety.
They'd just finished their tea, when Lady Golding came in to say hello. “The ballroom looks marvellous,” Lucy told her, “The bedrooms too. You've been busy.”
“Still a lot more to do yet,” she trilled. “Now that I've got you both together, the Rabbi needs to meet you both and talk you through the service and marriage rituals.” She looked at them both expectantly.
“I've been to enough weddings to know how it all goes,” Oscar said.
“So have I. Half my family are Orthodox, so I've attended some very devout ones,” Lucy added.
“I'm sure you have,” Lady Golding soothed, “but the Rabbi insists on it. Now, if you're both here next weekend, I'll invite him down. We can get it over with.”
“Lucy's out Saturday morning, but I'll be here,” Oscar said. The last thing he wanted was to attend the bridesmaids’ measuring. Even entertaining the Rabbi would be infinitely better. “I might even come down on Friday.”
“Super. Well, I'll leave you two to it. I take it you're leaving early in the morning?”
“We'll be gone by seven. Lucy's got to be in work by nine-thirty and the traffic might be bad.” As soon as he'd said it, he noticed Lucy's shoulders lift and the now familiar look of tension creep across her face. When his mother had left, he asked; “Are you having a rough time at work?”
She nodded. “It's that case, Penfold versus Penfold. The woman's deranged and the judge wouldn't listen to the father's fears regarding the children. I'm back on it tomorrow.”
Oscar patted her hand and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. She may not have been the great love of his life, but he was fond of Lucy and hated to see her natural exuberance and happiness stifled. At that moment, he swore to himself that he would never be the one to cause that look of anxiety. It was like seeing a small, happy child told off in public, hanging their head, the joy beaten out of them.
The next morning came way too fast for both of them. Lucy sighed as the Range Rover passed through the gates, away from the sanctuary of Conniscliffe. She remained silent during the journey, mentally counting down the days until she could live full time at the castle and start planning her family. She really hoped that the Penfold case would be over by then. “You ok?” Oscar asked, concerned by how quiet she was. He noticed that she hadn't even glanced at her phone, which she was normally glued to. He suspected that she'd switched it off.
“I'll be fine,” she said. “It's nothing you've done, it's just work,” she added, worried that he might think he'd upset her.
“I know that,” he replied, amused that she felt the need to explain herself.
“It's ninety-one days till I live at Conniscliffe,” she blurted out. “I can barely wait.”
He glanced at her and smiled. “You can move there any time you like. Just say the word.” It made him happy to hear how much she was looking he forward to married life. A lot of girls would've been horrified at the thought of living full time in an old castle, with just his mother for company throughout the week.
Eventually the trees turned to buildings, and they got closer and closer to London. Oscar leaned over to switch off the CD they were listening to and put the radio on. He wanted to hear the eight o’clock news. The press had quietened down about the chancellor, and Oscar wondered what else Darius would pull out of the bag. They listened in silence to the presenter reading out the usual tales of fires, murders, and robberies that epitomised life in a busy capital city. Each event got barely a line read out, just a line for a life snuffed out, the main worry being the place and if it would affect traffic flow.
Oscar dropped her off outside her building in the city and headed over to the docklands to begin his week. Outside the grey-fronted building which housed the ancient law firm, Lucy took a deep breath, before steeling her shoulders and striding into the lobby. She greeted Roger, the security guard who stood like a sentinel in the lobby, and made her way up to her floor.
Gingerly, she switched on her computer and clicked onto the mail logo. She perused the list of unopened emails, scanning for anything ominous. When it became clear that there wasn't anything from either Mr Penfold or his ex-wife's lawyer, she breathed an audible sound of relief before working her way through the list. The only matter that required her immediate attention was an email from an elderly client who wished to add another charity to the long list of beneficiaries in her will. Lucy quickly typed a reply, inviting her to come in and review everything. As Monday mornings went, it was a promising start.
Unfortunately, the calm didn't last long. The phone on her desk began to ring. Even the sound it made was ominous and gave her a chill of foreboding. It was a rather hysterical Mr Penfold. “The children aren't in school today,” he yelled. “She's done something to them, I just know it. They were both fine yesterday.”
“Have you called the school?” Lucy asked, her spine prickling. “They might be unwell or something.”
“They've not heard a thing. She's not answering her phone either,” he babbled, “besides, it wouldn't be both of them at the same time.”
“Have you informed the police?” She asked.
“I didn't know if I should,” he said.
“Yes, I think you should. They can go round there and check up on them.” Lucy sounded more decisive than she felt.
“I went past the house just now. There's lights on and the car is in the driveway. This bloody court order… I could have knocked and made sure they were alright,” he said.
“You can't,” she soothed. “It would be contempt of court to visit on any day apart from the court-appointed Sunday session. If you're in prison, you can't be a father.” It was harsh, but true, and Lucy needed to remind him that there'd be consequences for marching up to the house he used to own and knocking on the front door. “Let me make some enquiries, and I'll call the police if needed. I need you to stay out of this,” she said sternly.
The first thing she did was call the school to find out if the mother had been in touch. She spoke to a sympathetic receptionist who confirmed that no, the children hadn't arrived, and Mrs Penfold hadn't phoned in to say what was wrong. Lucy then called Mrs Penfold's lawyer, a strident, feminazi-type of woman who, if she had her way, would have Mr Penfold castrated as part of the deal.
“I've not heard anything,” she snapped. “Besides, it's none of your client's business if my client makes decisions for the children. She's no longer beholden to him and his hysterical anxieties. We still maintain that he's suffering from mental illness.”
“He's their father,” Lucy snapped back. “As a co-parent, he should be kept informed of any matter that pertains to the children, or have you forgotten how the law works? Anyway, in the absence of any meaningful insights from you, I'll go ahead and call the police.” She slammed the phone down and took a few deep breaths. Just dealing with Jessica Sandown, Mrs Penfold's lawyer, made her heart rate rise to heart-attack levels. There was something about the woman's sneering voice and arrogant demeanour, as well as the ridiculous demands that rubbed Lucy up the wrong way.
An hour later, two policemen knocked on the shiny, black-painted front door of Mrs Penfold's home in Kensington. After a few minutes, she answered, looking a touch harassed. “Can we come in please madam?” The first policeman asked. “There's a matter we need to discuss with you.”
She stepped aside to let them in. They wiped their feet on the mat and followed her into the hall. “Please tell me there's been an accident and my ex-husbands dead,” she said brightly.
“No madam, we've been instructed to find out where your two children are. Apparently, they didn't go to school today and you're not answering your phone.”
He watched her crumple.
“He took them to school this morning,” she whispered.
“Who did?”
“Antony. My ex-husband,” she clarified. “I was looking for my phone before you knocked. I couldn't find it.” Her skin turned pale with fear. “He came yesterday, said he wanted to make peace for the sake of the children. I wasn't keen at first, but he promised me he'd changed… calmed down.” She was babbling. The policeman, who's name was Colin, sat her down at the kitchen table, while the other one went back out into the hall to speak into his radio. Within twenty minutes, all ports and airports would be on alert.
Colin was taking notes, asking where the ex was living, did he have a car, descriptions of the children, and the like. Pete, his partner, relayed information to the control centre to get a car sent out to the father's place.
“Was your husband a violent man?” Colin asked.
She nodded. “Only to me though, not to the kids. Well, he only punished me physically. He'd verbally abuse the children though. It's why I'm divorcing him. They're only babies, they can't take his temper.”
“Have you got a recent photograph of them?” Colin asked. She thought for a moment.
“Only on my phone,” she said, realisation dawning. “He took all the photographs when he moved out. Said that I saw the children every day. I tried to object, but...” She trailed off.
“Are there any on your social media?” Colin asked.
“Yes! Oh, good thinking,” she exclaimed. She jumped up and went into a study room, which, Colin noticed was largely bare except for an IKEA desk and an old Dell desktop. Marks on the walls denoted places where pictures had been recently removed. They had to wait a few minutes for the computer to boot up. When it finally sprung to life, Mrs Penrose logged into her Facebook and Colin saw picture upon picture of two cherubic blonde children.
“This one was taken about a week ago,” she said, a photo of a girl and a boy dressed in party outfits filled the screen. “It was their friend Curtis's birthday party.”
“They're very close in age?” It was more a statement than a question.
“Only a year between them. Sebastian is five, Emily four.” She gazed lovingly at the photograph. They were interrupted by the crackle of Pete's radio. He went back into the hallway. All Colin could make out was “bodies found.” His spine prickled. He'd dealt with a child murder before.
Lucy's phone rang approximately an hour later. She answered as she always did. “Hello, Lucy Elliot speaking,” even though it was a bit redundant given that the switchboard knew who they were putting the call through to.
“Jessica Sandown is on the line,” came the disembodied voice of the switchboard. Lucy's heart sank.
“Are you sitting down?” Ms Sandown began. “The bodies of two children have just been found at your client's address, along with your client and a knife covered in blood. I'm sure you'll get a call from him soon, as he'll need someone to represent him on his murder charge.”
She felt sick. Bile rose in Lucy's throat as she tried to take in what Jessica had just told her. “He called me this morning,” she muttered.
“I'm on my way to Notting Hill station to assist Mrs Penfold,” Jessica spat. “I suggest you contact them as well seeing as you're a witness. Did you really not realise the man was a sociopath?” She was scathing. “Mrs Penfold and I did our utmost to keep him away from those kids, but you fought a dirty game to get him back in there. Hope you're happy now.”
“Perhaps if your ridiculous demands had been a bit more realistic, this highly-adversarial divorce would have been settled a lot more amicably and maybe this wouldn't have happened,” Lucy shouted. The line went dead.
She let out a loud sob, then threw up in her waste paper bin. Shaking, she dialled through to her supervisor. “Something terrible has happened and I need some help,” she said. Within a few moments, the head of family law was in her office. He took one look at her and pulled up a chair, before sending a trainee out for some strong tea.
Taking big gulps, Lucy recounted the events of that morning. “Did you record the calls?” Evan, her supervisor, asked. She nodded before finding them on her system and pressing play. Even with the benefit of hindsight, there was nothing in his voice to suggest he'd just committed murder. Evan nodded at the point where Lucy had told him to stay away from the house. “There's nothing there that could've alerted you,” he said after the recording had finished.
“I know, but still,” she said quietly. “What if he calls to ask us to represent him?” She wondered if he'd already killed his kids by the time he'd called her.
“Then we pass him to a criminal defence lawyer,” Evan said.
“I just can't believe I didn't spot this,” she said quietly. “Am I really that bad a judge of character?”
Evan regarded her carefully before speaking. “I think you expect others to be as honest as you. Perhaps you could have been more circumspect, less willing to believe everything you were told.”
The phone began to ring. Lucy picked it up rather gingerly. “Hello, Lucy Elliot speaking.
“Hello Lucy, it's Antony Penfold. I seem to be having a spot of bother after saving my children from that woman. Could you nip down to the station and sort it out for me please? They won't listen to me.” His voice was chillingly cold, as though he was asking her to get him off a speeding ticket. There was no emotion in his voice. She put him on speakerphone so that Evan could hear.
“I'm afraid I can't help you, I'm not a criminal defence lawyer. I practice family law,” she said.
“Oh. I just thought that you could speak to the policeman, tell them how awful my wife was and sort this mess out. It's just a misunderstanding.”
“Mr Penfold, did you murder your children this morning?” Lucy asked. She glanced nervously at Evan.
“I saved my children,” he insisted. “She's a nutcase. They were in terrible danger staying with her. At least now she can't hurt them.” His voice was smooth, silky, almost seductive. If you took away what he was saying, he would've sounded plausible.
“Mr Penfold, I'm Evan Williams, Ms Elliot's supervisor and head of Family Law. I'm afraid we can no longer assist you. I suggest you ask the police for a duty solicitor.” He pressed the button to end the call.
It was at that precise moment that Lucy decided that she didn't want to carry on as a lawyer. As soon as she was alone, she called Oscar. Just his calm, soft voice soothing her as she tearfully recounted the events of that morning made her realise that she had options. Remaining at work until after the wedding may have been the wisest thing to do, but knowing that she'd assisted a child murderer hung heavy on her conscience. When the police arrived at her office to take a statement and a copy of the call recordings, she was more in control and able to assist them as much as she could.
When the sombre policeman had left, she sat and typed up her resignation letter. She prayed that Miss Pearson would take pity on her and place her on gardening leave. If nothing else, she'd have to get her doctor to sign her off work for the notice period. All she knew was that she didn't intend working so much as another day.
At four o'clock, she placed her letter on Ms Pearson's desk and stood while she read it. “Evan told me what had happened this morning,” she said, “you really shouldn't blame yourself.”
“I should have spotted that the man was unhinged,” Lucy pointed out. “I really don't want to handle his divorce or deal with that Jessica Sandown again.”
“I quite understand. It must have been a dreadful shock. What did the police say?”
“They've charged him with the murder of his children. He's being held in the psychiatric wing at Pentonville for evaluation. I've given a statement, plus copies of the calls he made to me.”
“If you need to speak to someone about this, the company will pay for professional trauma counselling.” Ms Pearson looked sympathetic.
“I just want to go. This really isn't for me. I'm sorry.” Lucy began to cry. Large tears slipped down her face. In another life, crying in front of the boss would be horrifying. At that precise moment, Lucy couldn't have cared less. All she could think about was those two little ones, how scared they must have been. How hard she'd fought to get him access. How much she'd treated his ex-wife as an adversary to be beaten. Winning had been the most important issue, and she'd been so blinkered that she'd ignored the warnings his ex-wife had given.
“I think you need to give this some thought and consideration,” Ms Pearson began. Lucy interrupted her.
“No. I want to go. Now. If you don't allow me to, I'll go sick for the remainder of my contract.”
“Lucy, this is just an incident. You cannot allow it to dictate the rest of your career.” Ms Pearson took off her glasses and stared at her. In normal circumstances, Lucy would have said she was right.
“I want to leave today,” she repeated. She was unusually immovable. There was no sign of the fluid, persuadable Lucy who could often be convinced to change her mind by reasoned argument.
“As you wish. I'll put you on garden leave with immediate effect and we'll meet again in two weeks to discuss a way forward.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said, before turning and walking out. She made her way straight to her office where she filled a bag with the personal detritus she'd accumulated over the three years she'd been there. She felt shocked, numb. Whether from the news of the children's deaths or from walking away from her career, she wasn't sure. As soon as she stepped outside, she called Oscar to tell him she was on her way home.
Oscar was contemplating attending a Narcotics Anonymous meeting that evening, when his phone rang. After speaking to Lucy, he decided that he needed to go home and be around to listen and soothe her. As he waited for the lift, it struck him that he wanted to be there for her, even though he knew she'd be a tearful mess. It was progress, he felt.
All the way home in the taxi, Lucy held it together. Years of training that the upper classes receive from nursery school onwards kicked in. Looking back, she was horrified at her behaviour in Ms Pearson's office, making demands and refusing to compromise. As soon as she exited the cab outside their building, it was as though the floodgates opened. Great heaving sobs broke free, echoing in the mirrored lift up to the twelfth floor. Oscar was in the lounge when she arrived, hauling her heavy bag through the hall. He jumped up to take it from her, carefully peeling the strap off her shoulder, where it had left a deep indent. “I could've picked you up,” he said in an accusing tone.
“I didn't think… I just wanted to get out of there...” She wondered if she'd upset him too. He pulled her into a hug. Lucy rested her head on his shoulder and breathed in his wonderful scent. It reminded her of home, of safety. He felt strong and steadfast as he held her tight, as though he could absorb her pain. Eventually he let her go.
“Have you eaten?” He asked, his voice quiet and serious. She shook her head. “Fatima left some steaks. I'll throw them under the grill.”
“I can do it,” she protested. She wasn't hungry, but regarded it as her job to prepare and cook food for them, at least when they were in town.
“I want you to relax, have a glass of wine and tell me what happened,” he said as he led her into the kitchen and pulled out one of the stools which was tucked under the lip of the island. Obediently, Lucy perched herself on it and watched as he pulled the biggest two glasses out of the cupboard and expertly opened a bottle of red. He poured her a huge glass, nearly half a bottle's worth. Lucy hoped it wasn't a Petrus, or something similarly expensive as she needed to glug it.
While Oscar was tending to the grill, Lucy described the events of the day. As she recounted the call telling her about the children's bodies being found, fresh tears began to fall, landing heavily on the cream marble in front of her. She took a large slurp of wine, and seeing how Oscar narrowed his eyes, decided that it was probably some rare, exquisite vintage that should be sipped and savoured. She took a more ladylike mouthful.
“As upsetting as the situation is, I can't see how you could've prevented it, or done anything differently,” Oscar said when she'd finished talking. “You couldn't possibly have known he suffered from mental illness, given that he had a good job. His employers didn't spot it.”
“True. He was a fund manager, pretty successful given how much he was earning.” She took another sip. “Maybe he wasn't mentally ill, just a psychopath.”
“Sounds that way,” Oscar said absently as he concentrated on their steaks, prodding them to see if they were done. Satisfied, he pulled two plates out of the cupboard and split a ready-made salad between them, before flipping the meat on top. He placed it in front of Lucy. “There you go. You'll feel better once you've eaten.”
Despite her earlier protestations about not being hungry, the smell of the steak made Lucy's mouth water. She picked up her steak knife and cut into the meltingly soft Wagyu beef. Oscar pulled out another stool, perched himself on it, and began to eat. “Have you spoken to your mother yet?” He asked.
Lucy swallowed. “Yes, I called her earlier. She was sympathetic, more understanding than I expected.”
“Really? What did you expect?”
“She kept saying I shouldn't give up work until after the wedding. I thought she'd be cross with me.”
“Hardly like you gave it up for fun, is it?” She shook her head. “So are you going to stay in London this week or head down to Conniscliffe?”
Lucy thought about it for a moment. She had nothing pressing until the bridesmaid's meeting on Saturday. The thought of the safety and peace at the castle was appealing. She could help Oscar's mother with the redecoration too. “Unless you need me here, I'd quite like to drive down tomorrow,” she said.
“I'll call my mother after we've eaten and let her know,” Oscar said. He genuinely felt sad for her, for the shock she'd had. Her career, which had begun so promising, had fallen in flames. “Why did the father alert you to the fact that the children were missing?” He asked. It was bothering him.
Lucy shrugged. “I suppose he thought that if the police were looking at her, they wouldn't be looking at him. I don't know really.” She paused. “Why would a man murder his own children? Hardly the actions of a sane, rational individual.”
“Yet he was managing a large investment fund? Figures,” Oscar muttered. He had scant regard for the city boys. In times gone by they'd been drawn from the quick-witted but sly barrow-boys of the East End, as well as the well-heeled aristocrats in need of something to do with their time, who fronted the institutions, giving the impression that it was a chummy boy's club. Nowadays it was all rocket scientists and maths nerds, drawn from the top universities. They could write a trading algorithm, but didn't have the natural cunning of their predecessors. It was relatively easy for a well-trained financier, such as Oscar, to get one over on them, except for the psychopaths he'd encountered, usually tasked with running the big funds. They were prized for their lack of emotion, their cold, fearless approach to investing and the analytical way they viewed the world. Oscar had met many Antony Penfolds in his time at the bank. The men with sharp, inhuman eyes, who noted every detail to try and use it against you at a later date. He shuddered at the thought of Lucy near a man like that.
Oscar called his mother after dinner to let her know that Lucy would arrive in the morning. His mother sounded shocked at the turn of events, but promised to keep Lucy busy and her mind off of her problems. He spent the rest of the evening half-watching TV while Lucy relayed the sorry tale to multiple friends, her phone glued to her ear. One of those friends was Elle, who listened quietly, tutting at the appropriate moments, before agreeing that family law was totally harrowing.
“Someone at Mishcon had a similar thing happen if I remember rightly. Fought for access only to have the dad kill the three little boys. Mind you, in that case the father at least had the decency to off himself afterwards,” Elle said. “I can’t believe your one was mad enough to think it was a ‘misunderstanding’.”
“I wish I’d worked a bit harder and gone into corporate now,” said Lucy.
Elle was silent for a moment. “Are you forgetting I got shot in New York? It’s not all shiny offices and well-mannered clients, you know.”
Lucy gasped, “I’m so sorry, I wasn't thinking.” She was relieved when Elle giggled. “Touché.”
“Well, at least we’ll be neighbours down in deepest, darkest Sussex,” Elle said, “Ivan’s had his offer accepted on the estate on the other side of Conniscliffe. The architects are coming over this evening to discuss preliminary ideas.”
“Super,” Lucy exclaimed, “will it be a modern glass cube?”
“No idea. I don’t know if Ivan even knows yet. I know it won’t be a fake Tudorbethan monstrosity, but that’s about it. I doubt it'd be a glass box either, given how obsessive His Nibs is about privacy. All I know is that it’ll be big.”
Ivan strode into the room announcing the imminent arrival of the architects, before noticing that she was on the phone. “Sounds like you're needed,” said Lucy. “We’ll speak again soon.”
Nico brought the two architects into the penthouse. They were very clearly brothers and introduced themselves as Oliver and Christian Allan, from the famous Allan partnership. “We design and build legacy houses,” Oliver explained as they were invited into the drawing room. Christian glanced around the room.
“I like your style,” he commented. Elle smiled at him, before offering them a drink. Oliver, the more serious of the two, asked for water, while Christian happily accepted a glass of the wine that Ivan had just opened.
Elle listened as Ivan outlined the project, describing the land, the view, and the access. She quickly worked out that Oliver took care of the technical aspects while Christian was the more creative of the two. He threw in ideas that neither she or Ivan had even thought of, such as excavating a large basement for both wine and staff quarters as well as a security hub and bunker.
“Far more effective than just a panic room,” Oliver chimed in. “We can even make it thick enough to withstand a nuclear attack, if that’s what you want.”
They looked at the drawings the council had granted planning on, which Ivan spread out over the dining table. “These are pretty good,” said Oliver, “but you’ll find the pool house way too hot facing due south with a glass roof. We need to put that on the West side of the house. No point having the cinema room on the south side either. That can go on the north.” he sat back and sipped his water. “It just needs a bit of tweaking, nothing major. When do you complete on the purchase?”
“A few days time,” Ivan replied. “How long would a house like this take to build?”
“That depends on your budget,” Christian answered, “and the type of finish you require.” Elle looked quizzical. “It takes longer to lay marble than it does carpet or tiles,” he explained. “Depending on accessibility to the site, demolition of the existing house, and the shell of the new one would be around nine months. The interior fitting has too many variables to guess on a timescale.”
Ivan decided he liked Christian's honesty. “It would be ultra-high end fittings. No expense spared.”