Not Dead Yet

76

‘The bitch won’t let me!’ Glenn Branson said, storming into Roy Grace’s office shortly before 8 a.m. on Monday. ‘Can you believe it? The chance of a lifetime, something they could tell their children about one day, and their grandchildren!’

Grace looked up from the notes his MSA had prepared for this morning’s briefing. ‘Won’t let you what?’

‘Take Sammy and Remi to meet Gaia’s kid, right?’

‘You’re joking!’

‘I am so not joking. I am seething. She said no. I asked them both when I took them out on Saturday afternoon, and they were thrilled to bits. I told you they’re both massive Gaia fans. So I told her they wanted to go, when I took them back.’

‘So, she can’t stop you. Just take them.’

‘She says Gaia is a symbol of sex and bad language and she’s not having her corrupting them.’

‘That’s ridiculous! Her little boy is six years old!’

‘You want to phone Ari and tell her?’

‘I will, if you like,’ Grace said, with false bravado. Not many things scared him in life, but Glenn Branson’s wife did.

‘I spoke to my solicitor over the weekend. She advised me not to force the issue, that Ari could use it against me.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know.’ He sat down in front of Grace, looking dejected. ‘How was your weekend?’

For a change, Grace had had a peaceful weekend. Just two short briefings on Operation Icon, and the rest of the time he had spent with Cleo. They’d gone shopping on Saturday and bought stuff for the baby’s room, had a takeaway curry on Sunday, watched a couple of movies, and in between read some of the papers. One of Cleo’s extravagances, which he liked, was that she had virtually every English Sunday paper, from lowbrow to highbrow, delivered every week.

It was a fine day, and she had insisted they go out for fresh air to their favourite place, the undercliff walk at Rottingdean, and she had managed the entire length of it. It really seemed the problems with a sudden bleed that she’d had a few weeks ago were a thing of the past. Just a few more weeks to go before she was due.

She would stop work at the end of this week. Most of the rest of Sunday he’d spent on the sofa with her as she worked on her Philosophy studies, and he’d gone through all the trial papers on the Carl Venner case, which opened at the Old Bailey this morning.

He reached out and took his friend’s massive black hand. It was hard as a rock, like gripping a piece of ebony. All the same, he squeezed it. ‘Don’t let her get you down, matey. Okay?’

Glenn squeezed back.

Grace said nothing. He could see the big, tough guy he loved so much was close to tears.