Andy Chambers was enjoying a soak in the bath, having dispatched his daughter, Mia, to the park with a friend and her au pair, when his phone rang. He wasn’t often at home during the week, but a trial had run two days short and, for once, he had decided to gift himself a day off. He listened to the ringtone once, twice, three times before he decided to grab it – one of the occupational hazards of being a criminal lawyer was fearing the worst whenever the phone rang – sloshing soapy suds onto the floor and leaving wet patches on the landing carpet, as he hurried to his room.
‘Hello?’ The call ended just as he picked it up and he cursed himself for his earlier indecision. He who hesitates, he declared to his phone and then, as he turned to return to his water therapy, he caught sight of himself in the bedroom mirror. He straightened up, drawing his shoulders back and puffing out his chest. He didn’t look bad for thirty-three years old, he thought, probably not much different from his wedding day eight years ago.
Halfway back to the bathroom he paused. All was quiet in the house. Still with his towel clutched around his nether regions, he tiptoed to the door of Mia’s room and pushed it open. The room was tidy, the bedclothes neat, some clothes folded on the chair, ready for someone to return them to their rightful place, a pile of colourful picture books stacked from largest to smallest in the centre of the floor. When he saw the room like this, it was hard to believe that his life was anything other than peaceful and harmonious. The truth was that Mia, his whirlwind of a daughter, following close on the heels of her twin brothers, had almost beaten him into total submission. He had often appeared in court short on sleep or ill-prepared, because of his lively offspring. He and Clare, his wife, had hung on in there these last five years and were, finally, poised on the threshold of Mia starting full-time school in September, clinging desperately to the prospect of some modicum of normality returning to their lives.
As he smiled to himself and padded back to enjoy at least another ten minutes of unadulterated pampering in the bathroom, his phone went again. This time he grabbed it on the second ring.
‘Andy Chambers,’ he announced in a deep baritone, to compensate for the fact he was almost naked and dripping. Instinctively, he grabbed a jumper from the nearby chair and held it up to cover his chest.
‘Andy, my name’s Phil Ash,’ said the caller. ‘You don’t know me, but I’m assistant to Graham Hendricks. You know who Graham is?’
Andy sat down heavily on the bed. Graham was CEO of Horizon, one of the largest independent broadcasting companies in the world and a personal friend of Nick Major, his head of chambers. Andy had been introduced to Graham only a few days before at a garden party, held to celebrate the retirement of one of their most senior barristers.
‘Yes, of course,’ he stammered. ‘How can I help you?’
‘Graham wants to see you about something. Are you free to come over to his office this afternoon?’
‘Yes, certainly,’ Andy lied. He had arranged to meet a friend for a squash game, yet another neglected hobby of his, but a meeting with Graham Hendricks could not be passed up. ‘Can you tell me what it’s about?’ he asked, partly from curiosity and partly to assist him when he tried to extricate himself, with as little grovelling as possible, from his prior arrangement. ‘Is there anything I should read in advance?’
‘No. He’ll tell you when you arrive. I’ll send you the office location. Come at three. Oh and don’t tell anyone you’re coming.’