Someone to love, p.1
Someone to Love, page 1
Someone to Love
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by Tracy Crobett
Copyright
Cover
Table of Contents
Start of Content
For my funny, loving, and wonderful daddy,
Love and miss you every day x
George Frederick Corbett 22.06.1934 – 09.10.2021
Chapter One
Monday, 25th March
Beth Lawrence had always prided herself in being the ultimate professional. She often stayed up late into the night, studying the latest family law legislation or reading numerous legal publications detailing complex case law. Nothing less would suffice. After all, her services didn’t come cheap. Her hourly fee made her wince, adding pressure to an already stressful job. Her clients came with high expectations. And as such, she needed to earn their trust so they wouldn’t feel ‘fleeced’ by her final invoice. They needed to feel special. Valued. Important. Like they were her only focus and they were receiving the best advice possible.
Of course, that was when they were actually paying for her services.
‘He can’t treat me this way!’ the woman yelled, banging the desk, making Beth’s cold mug of tea vibrate. ‘I deserve better. Thirty-nine years I’ve looked after that man. Borne his children, supported his career, cleaned his house, and what thanks do I get?’
Beth already knew the answer.
‘Tossed onto the scrapheap like I’m nothing!’ The woman stood up, her hands flying into the air with indignant rage. ‘Traded in for a younger woman, a woman half his age. A woman who fawns after him like he’s God’s gift. Well, he isn’t,’ she said, banging the desk again to make her point.
Beth moved her mug of tea to the window ledge. It was safer that way.
‘I’m the one who supported his career. Raised his kids. Kept his house. Me! Not her. And this is how he repays me?’ She waved the divorce petition at Beth. Anger coloured her cheeks, making her watery blue eyes appear venomous, like those of a provoked python, spitting and writhing.
Beth knew better than to interrupt. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned wasn’t said without good reason. She’d also learnt that hell has no fury like a scorned woman interrupted ‘mid-rant’ about her husband’s infidelity.
‘Why? That’s what I want to know. What’s she got that I haven’t?’ The woman opened her arms, inviting comment regarding her age-defying appearance. ‘It’s not like I’ve let myself go. Look at me. Not many women my age have a figure like this.’
Which was true. At sixty-two she could still turn heads. Her prominent cheekbones were enhanced by subtle make-up, and her pale grey-blonde hair was youthfully styled, softening the angular contours of her slender face. The woman oozed money, class and elegance. It was indeed a puzzle as to why she’d been rejected in such an unceremonious manner.
But such was life. Or rather, such were relationships. They rarely made sense.
As a family law solicitor, Beth had encountered all manner of betrayals over the years. Relationships that were once loving and faithful, now reduced to disputes over kitchen appliances and who got the dog. Deceit. Fraud. Adultery. Or those who’d simply fallen out of love. She’d seen it all.
She’d even had a case where a man had led two separate lives. Two wives, two sets of kids and two different homes. He’d somehow managed to juggle both existences for years, before the truth inadvertently came to light, courtesy of a misdirected tax bill.
Nothing shocked her any more. Little upset her, and she’d learnt never to become emotionally invested in any of her cases… which was why today’s meeting was so tricky.
Beth took the opportunity of a lull in the woman’s rant to raise her hand. ‘I understand why you’re upset—’
‘Upset? I’m bloody furious!’
‘But it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to impart legal advice—’
‘Why not?’
Beth sighed. ‘Because you’re my mother.’
‘So?’
‘So, you’re divorcing my father. My judgement is hardly impartial.’
‘Good, I need you on my side.’ Connie Lawrence dropped into a chair and folded her arms, defiant in her outrage.
Not that Beth could blame her. She’d feel the same way if a divorce petition had unceremoniously landed on her doormat with no prior warning. It wasn’t exactly considerate. In fact, it bordered on cowardice. Her father had a lot to answer for.
Beth picked up the discarded document from the floor. ‘You’re forgetting that Dad is also my employer.’
‘I don’t see why that’s relevant. He’s hardly going to fire you, is he?’ her mother said, dismissively. ‘Anyway, he can’t. You’re a partner now.’
‘It’s his firm. He can do what he likes.’
‘And don’t I know it. He’s probably off bonking his floozy right now.’
Beth flinched. She really had no desire to invite images of her dad ‘bonking’ into her head. She’d been subjected to too many details of her parents’ acrimonious split as it was – she didn’t want to hear about their sex lives, too.
Her mother slapped her hand on the desk. ‘You can’t tell me he cares two hoots about this firm now he’s with Tiffany.’ She almost spat the word. ‘When was the last time he put in a day’s work and didn’t leave you to run the business alone, eh? Tell me that!’
It was true that her dad had lost focus of late. He was rarely in the office, he didn’t take on many cases, and instead he enjoyed long lunches, frequent golf afternoons and would often disappear at short notice in a flustered manner when his phone pinged.
The idea of her dad receiving a ‘booty call’ from his new lover was another horror she was fighting to ignore.
Taking a deep breath, she removed her glasses and wiped the lenses clean with the cloth she always carried in her suit pocket. Sometimes she wished she’d chosen a different career. Perhaps if she’d taken up acting, like her sister, or lazed about smoking weed like her brother, then she wouldn’t be expected to act as family referee. Her siblings never seemed to experience the same level of grief she did. The curse of being the oldest child, she supposed.
Replacing her glasses, Beth fixed her mother with a look. ‘It still wouldn’t be professional or ethical of me to offer you legal advice, Mum. You need to trust that any solicitor acting on your behalf would remain impartial—’
‘I don’t want impartial. I want blood!’
Beth clenched her jaw.
‘You know what he’s done to me, how he’s treated me. You witnessed it first-hand. I need you in my corner.’
‘But it’s not appropriate.’ Beth raised her hand when her mother attempted to interrupt. ‘The Solicitors Regulation Authority discourages any solicitor from acting for or against a family member. And they certainly wouldn’t be happy about me taking action against my business partner. I have access to financial information I wouldn’t normally be privy to.’
Her mother frowned. ‘You’re using legal jargon.’
Beth sighed. ‘The bottom line is, I’m not able to act as your solicitor, Mum.’
But her mother didn’t let up. ‘You could give me informal advice, though? You know, off the record, so to speak.’
‘It wouldn’t be fair on Dad.’
‘Fair! You want to talk about fair?’ Another thump on the desk. ‘After all that man has done to me? And you’re taking his side?’
‘I’m not taking his side.’
‘But you won’t take mine.’ Connie fanned her face. ‘Oh, the betrayal.’
Ouch.
Beth rubbed her temples. A headache was brewing.
What had she done to deserve this? She led a quiet life. She baked, she liked nature and long walks. She worked hard. All she wanted was a stress-free peaceful existence and not to be drawn into numerous family disputes. But fate, it seemed, had other ideas.
She took a deep breath. ‘Morally, I’m on your side, Mum. Please don’t think otherwise. I’m not happy that Dad’s having an affair, or that he’s instigated divorce proceedings without talking to you first. I don’t condone his actions, but that’s not the same thing as representing you in the divorce case.’
‘So you agree he’s in the wrong?’
‘Absolutely, but he’s also my dad. I love him. However appallingly he’s behaved, it would be impossible for me to cause him pain.’
‘So what am I supposed to do? Lie down and let him walk all over me?’
‘No, you need a solicitor who won’t be swayed by emotion or attachment and who will ensure a fair outcome. I can recommend several who would be ideal.’
‘And how am I supposed to afford them? I no longer have your father’s income, remember? I’m working a
‘Things are not that bad, Mum. You’re exaggerating. Dad hasn’t left you destitute.’
‘But he hasn’t left me with enough means to fight him in the divorce, has he? He’s a lawyer. He specialises in defending wealthy husbands. He knows all the tricks, all the arguments, all the ways to avoid paying a huge settlement. You don’t think he’s going to use all that experience to save himself?’
Her mother had a point.
‘All I want is an even playing field. Someone in my corner to ensure I don’t get cheated. Is that too much to ask?’
Beth felt guilty. ‘No, Mum. It’s not. Leave it with me. I’ll find someone willing to take you on. I’ll pay their retainer, so don’t worry about that. You can settle the invoice once the final settlement comes through. Okay?’
A sulky smile tugged at her mother’s glossy lips. ‘I don’t have much choice, do I?’
Beth went over to the door. ‘I need to get back to work now, Mum. I’ll make some enquiries and pop over tonight to discuss them. How does that sound? Maybe we could have a bite to eat? That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?’
Her mother reluctantly got up. ‘It would be nicer if my daughter showed her mother some loyalty.’ Connie Lawrence sure knew how to land a blow.
‘I’m sorry, Mum.’ Beth opened the door and kissed her. ‘Try not to worry. I’ll find someone suitable.’
‘Good.’ She patted Beth’s cheek. ‘Because I intend to take that bastard for everything he’s got!’ she shouted, ensuring that if her dad was in his office he’d hear.
Beth rubbed her ringing ear. ‘Bye, Mum. See you later.’
Connie Lawrence walked off, her shoulders dropping, weighed down by the grief of her marriage imploding. It was tragic to watch such a formidable woman rendered so fragile.
‘Arsehole!’ her mum yelled at the portrait of her father in reception, giving him the finger. Not so fragile, then.
The front door slammed, followed by a ringing silence. Her mum disappeared down the steps onto the High Street, no doubt still calling her dad a few names and smouldering at the unfairness of it all.
Her father’s office door opened a crack. ‘Has she gone?’
Beth leant against the doorframe. ‘She’s gone. It’s safe to come out.’
‘I thought she might have calmed down by now,’ he said, peering out, not quite convinced his estranged wife wasn’t about to return and dismember him. ‘It’s been months. It’s not reasonable for her to still be so angry.’
Beth shot him a look. ‘Don’t play the victim with me, Dad. Mum has every right to be angry. You cheated on her. You left her for a woman younger than your kids, and now you’re divorcing her. You can’t possibly be shocked that she’s pissed off with you.’
‘We’d been unhappy for a while,’ he said, defensively. ‘It takes two people to end a marriage.’
‘Yeah, but Mum wasn’t one of the two people, was she, Dad?’ She pointed a finger. ‘And don’t give me all that crap about “we’d been unhappy for a while”. That’s what every disgruntled husband says when he’s trying to justify leaving his wife.’
‘Well, on this occasion it’s true.’
‘Really?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘So you told Mum you were unhappy, did you? You sat her down and confessed your feelings and made a concerted effort to resolve the problems in your marriage before you ran off with Tiffany?’
Her dad fiddled with his cufflinks.
Just as she thought.
‘She knew I was unhappy.’
‘Bullshit. She had no idea. And neither did us kids.’
Her father’s expression turned belligerent. ‘You’re taking her side then?’
Beth held up her hands. ‘I’m remaining neutral. As neutral as I can be, anyway. But if you think I approve of your behaviour, then think again. You’re acting like a jerk, Dad.’
Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by his phone pinging. His cheeks coloured as he read the message, his brown eyes widening with schoolboy delight.
Kenneth Lawrence had also aged well. He was fit for his sixty-five years, and with his dimpled smile and silver wavy hair swept off his tanned face, he resembled a suave Don Johnson. Unfortunately, a younger woman telling him as much had rather inflated his ego. Hence the current mayhem.
‘I need to go out. Er… an urgent client meeting,’ he said, running a finger around his shirt collar, no doubt relieving the sudden heat he felt at receiving such a message.
Client, her arse.
‘I’ll be back later,’ he called out. He grabbed his keys and disappeared from the building, leaving his office door wide open. ‘Take any messages, will you?’
‘I’m not your secretary!’ she called after him, aggrieved at being left holding the fort again, but her complaint fell on deaf ears.
Infuriated, Beth watched him leave, his smitten-schoolboy behaviour at odds with his cut-throat business persona. He was a tyrant when it came to negotiating a settlement, with a reputation for ‘hiding assets’ and securing much lower alimonies for his clients than was fair. In contrast, Beth liked to fight for the underdog. Her clients tended to be the injured party, belittled individuals who’d been shafted by their supposed loved ones and deserved more than the meagre pittance they were being offered. It was hugely rewarding when she won, but the work didn’t do a lot to improve her opinions regarding love.
Heading over to the tall sash windows at the back of her office, she twisted the blinds, taking a moment to enjoy the sight of a bustling Godalming High Street. The late spring sunshine blazed through the glass, heating the room.
The picturesque town below sported the usual familiar brand names, such as FatFace and WH Smith, but with the addition of several designer boutiques, antique dealers, picture framing shops and a fancy high-end jewellers. There was even a shop sporting fancy-dress outfits for pets. This was not your typical high street. This was how every high street aspired to be, but often couldn’t afford.
Beth noticed a woman standing by the water fountain was waving at her. A woman she recognised. Her beautiful face was upturned towards the window, drawing attention from several workmen affixing scaffolding to the neighbouring building. Beth smiled. The men’s reaction was perfectly normal. Megan Lawrence was the kind of stunning beauty who constantly drew attention. Attention she was completely oblivious to – or that’s how it appeared. Her sister was quite the actress, so maybe feigning surprise was all part of the pretence.
Megan lifted a paper bag from Cafe Mila and pointed to an empty wrought-iron bench in the pedestrian-only area of the High Street.
Beth was torn. She really needed to get back to work. She had court papers to prepare, a final letter before action to write and a child custody application to submit before the close of play. Her mother’s visit had already delayed her. Time was of the essence.
But she needed to eat, and Cafe Mila’s food was a lot more appealing than the cheese-and-pickle roll she’d stuffed in the fridge. Decision made. She could spare twenty minutes.
Buttoning her jacket, she locked the office and headed into the street.
‘For a moment, I thought you were going to snub me,’ her sister said, rising from the bench like the Greek goddess Aphrodite and kissing Beth’s cheeks. She smelt of roses and looked like she’d spent the morning being polished. Her skin glowed, highlighted by deep red lips, smokey grey eye make-up and long glossy black hair.
For the most part, Beth shared her sister’s features. The heart-shaped face, long legs, eye colouring and her hair a lighter shade than her sister’s. But there the similarities ended. Megan was the high-end version of the Lawrence gene pool. A real ‘showstopper’, as their mother referred to her, adored by all who gazed upon her. Beth was referred to as the ‘academic’ one. Hair always up, thick glasses masking the appeal of her hazel eyes and legs never on display. Her looks were less striking than her sister’s – softer, and usually hidden behind muted tones and sombre business suits. Beth didn’t mind. She was happy to live in her sister’s shadow.
‘I got you a falafel pitta and a berry smoothie,’ Megan said, opening the paper bag. ‘Well, sit down. Don’t leave me hanging.’
Beth joined her sister on the bench. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ she said, accepting the offer of the smoothie. ‘Being treated to lunch isn’t a usual occurrence.’
