Chapter Thirty

Wearing a grey mackintosh and dark green headscarf, Helen had purposely dressed down for her visit to the offices of Mr Emery on the Hendon Road. This part of the east end was probably the poorest and she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. It helped that it was now dark. She’d left the car parked in town and jumped on a tram that had brought her within a short walking distance of her father’s solicitors. Mr Emery did not know the woman he had an appointment with was in any way connected to his client, Jack Crawford. Helen had not wanted to divulge anything over the phone and had made the appointment under the pseudonym of Mrs Parker. She knew there was something terribly sad about pretending to be John’s wife, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t as if anyone would know who he was.

Arriving at a dark blue door with a plaque to the left telling her she had arrived at the right place, she pulled on an old-fashioned brass bell pull.

An elderly woman wearing a pinny, a duster in her hand and curlers peeking out of a tatty headscarf, opened the door. Were it not for the plaque, Helen might have thought she had the wrong address.

‘Yer come for Mr Emery?’ the woman asked, opening the door wide.

Helen nodded and the rotund little woman stepped aside.

‘First door on yer left.’

She looked at Helen’s feet.

‘And if yer dinnit mind …’ She cast her eyes down at the doormat.

Helen wiped her feet and walked down the short hallway. The smell of polish was strong and the tiled floor had clearly just been scrubbed clean.

Helen knocked on the door, which was part varnished oak and part frosted glass. Mr Emery, Solicitor had been inscribed in gold lettering across the pane of glass.

‘Come in!’ a man’s voice called out.

Helen opened the door and stepped into the office.

Mr Emery scratched his head.

‘So, you’re not Mrs Parker?’ he asked.

‘No, I’m Jack Crawford’s daughter.’

‘And you’re here on his behalf?’

‘I am indeed.’

‘Although he doesn’t know you are here – and you don’t want him to know either?’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Helen said.

‘And your purpose being to help your father, Mr Jack Crawford, divorce your mother, Mrs Miriam Crawford, née Havelock?’

‘That’s correct.’

Mr Emery smoothed back his thinning hair, momentarily resting his hand on the back of his neck.

‘So, neither of your parents knows you are here?’

‘They don’t and that’s the way I want to keep it,’ Helen said.

Mr Emery put both hands together on his perfectly organised desk. Helen was impressed with how well ordered his office was.

‘This might seem an odd question, but it is one I need an honest answer to.’ He looked at the young woman sitting opposite him, her legs crossed, her green eyes intent.

‘Yes?’ Helen asked, intrigued.

‘Does your grandfather, Charles Havelock, know anything about your visit here today – or will he be in any way involved in any work you wish me to carry out?’ He needed to know what he was letting himself in for.

Helen looked at Mr Emery. His tone told her that he did not find her grandfather endearing.

‘My grandfather does not know I am here, nor will he be involved with any work I wish you to carry out on my behalf. I am here purely to help my father.’

‘Right,’ Mr Emery said. ‘If that’s the case, you’d better tell me exactly what it is you would like me to do. And I shall tell you if I am able to do it.’

Ten minutes later, there was another pull on the front doorbell.

Helen heard the woman she’d presumed was Mr Emery’s cleaner say, ‘If yer dinnit mind …’

There was the sound of feet being wiped on the mat, followed by the sound of light footsteps, then a gentle tap on the glass.

Mr Emery looked at Helen, who smiled.

‘Come in, Georgina. We’re expecting you.’

It took an hour and a half to complete what needed to be done, which was why Helen had booked a two-hour appointment. They had saved a little time thanks to Georgina’s efficiency and the fact that she had typed up her reports, so it was just a case of Mr Emery writing them up on the appropriate headed paper to be witnessed and signed.

Georgina left first.

Helen paid the bill in full, in cash.

‘Hopefully,’ she said, getting up to leave, ‘I shall see you soon.’

Walking her to the door, Mr Emery wished her luck.

Helen patted the file she’d just slipped inside her mackintosh.

‘Hopefully, I won’t need luck and this should suffice.’

After her departure, Mr Emery sat for a short while in his high-backed leather chair and did something he rarely did at this time of the day: he poured himself a small whisky from the decanter on his desk. He took a sip and savoured the burn.

Interesting. Very interesting.

Unlike all the other solicitors in the area, he’d had no qualms about taking on the Crawford v Crawford case. The other firms in town would never go up against anyone connected to Charles Havelock, never mind his daughter. They had too much to lose.

He didn’t.

Mr Havelock had already seen to that many years ago.

Mr Emery had learnt over the years that having nothing to lose could be liberating. Silver linings and all that.

He had another sip.

There was a quick rat-a-tat-tat on the door.

‘I’ll be getting myself off then, Ethan.’

‘Thanks, Mrs Evans. I’ll see you on Friday.’

The housekeeper’s ruddy face disappeared and a few moments later he heard the front door close.

He looked out of the window and watched the old woman hurry across the road.

He would have liked to be able to tell her about the case.

Finishing his whisky, he got up and prodded the fire.

What he’d heard today should really have shocked him – but it hadn’t. Not really. This was the Havelock family, after all.

Nothing about that family could surprise him.