Forget Me Knot (39 page)

Martin seemed to be at a loss for words. “By the way, Dan called in earlier,” he ventured. “I told him you were asleep.”

“Well done. I can’t face him. I don’t want to hear one of those ‘it’s me not you’ speeches—particularly not with all this chaos going on.”

It was odd, but Abby almost cheered up. She had lost the love of her life, but she wasn’t about to lose her business in the bargain. She was going to come out fighting and solve this problem.

She began by phoning her contact in Majorca, just to confirm what Martin had told her. There was no mistake. Then she hit the phones, calling all the lavender suppliers she could find in other Mediterranean countries. The story was the same everywhere. Yes, they could get the plants to her, but not at such short notice. The problem appeared to be the official paperwork involved in exporting plants.

At one point she phoned Toby, on the off chance that somebody in his law firm might know somebody who might possibly have a contact in the French Civil Service who could speed up the official paperwork. “There’s no one I can think of,” he said. “Have you considered bribery? You could always bribe some Greek official a few hundred quid to forget about the paperwork.”

“And end up in the Sparta State Pen. Not exactly on my list of things to do before I die.”

Toby said he was really sorry he couldn’t help. She told him not to worry. She decided it would be rude to hang up without engaging him in some chitchat, so she asked him how work was going.

“Oh, you know, much the same. Busy as ever.”

“And your mother? I’m assuming she’s in fine fettle?”

He gave a soft laugh. “You assume correctly. She’s still involved in this media project I was telling you about the other day. No idea what it is. She says she won’t tell me a thing until it’s a done deal. I can’t think what it could be.”

Abby asked him to let her know, particularly if it turned out to be something exciting. Then she said she had to go, because a customer had just walked in.

“OK,” he said. “So I guess I’ll see you on Friday.”

“Friday?”

“The court case. Remember?”

“God, yes, I’d forgotten…. So you’re going to be there to support Christian?”

He said he was. “And you’ll be there with Scozza.”

“Yes.”

“Right.”

It was clear from the sudden awkwardness between them that they had both realized this wasn’t going to be the easiest of occasions.

“OK,” she said. “I guess I’ll see you in court.”

“Yes. See you in court.”

MARTIN AND
Christian didn’t have a day in court so much as an evening. The one thing the pair had been able to agree on was that they needed to be at work during the day. Since there were ten cases to get through during the day, the producer hadn’t taken much persuading to put Roberts vs Sitwell at the bottom of his list. Filming would start at eight.

On Friday morning, Martin arrived at the shop looking anxious and pale and carrying two suit carriers.

“What do you think?” he said to Abby. “The gunmetal Armani or the navy Hugo Boss? And which shirt? The white looks fresh, but I’m thinking pale pink could work. And what about a tie? A bit OTT, maybe?”

Abby said the whole suit thing was OTT, because it looked like he was making a special effort to impress and that the judge might see it as a ploy. “Just go as you are. Let Christian wear a suit. You’ll see how greasy and smarmy it makes him look.”

Martin considered for a moment or two. “You might be right.” He hung the suit carriers in the back room. “OK, I thought we could go over the speech I’ve written for the judge. You know, my opening remarks.” He pulled a thick wad of paper from his back pocket. “If your lordship pleases,” he began.

“If your lordship pleases?”

“Yes. What’s wrong with that?”

“Scozz. This is cable TV, not the Central Criminal Court.”

“Too much?”

“Maybe just a smidge.”

“OK, how about this?” He cleared his throat. “Members of the jury, I would like to draw your attention to the words of the great Roman thinker Marcus Aurelius, which I think are apt in this case:
Does the lantern’s flame shine with undimmed brilliance until it is quenched
—”

It was as much as Abby could do not to burst out laughing. “Scozz, you sound like you’ve swallowed an entire
Frasier
episode.”

Martin’s crest couldn’t have fallen any further. “Five hours I spent in the library last night, trawling through philosophy books…”

“Oh, God. Scozz, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make fun, but you’re trying too hard. All you have to do is answer the judge’s questions truthfully and sincerely. That’s what’s going to win you the case.”

He nodded. “I know, but somehow it doesn’t feel like it’s going to be enough. You sure you don’t want to hear my summing up? I refer to the Stoic philosopher Claudius Maximus.”

Somehow they got through the day. If Martin wasn’t obsessing about whether or not to get a haircut, he was practicing his courtroom “voice,” which he had decided should sound sufficiently baritone on account of all British judges being homophobes.

As they were leaving for the TV studio, Dan texted Abby to say he was out of town until late Saturday night.
Please let’s talk Sunday. I need to explain
. She felt a lump form in the back of her throat as she deleted the message. Cinders had texted Martin earlier on to say she couldn’t make the court case because she was away for a few days. Abby had said that it didn’t take a great leap of imagination to work out who she was out of town with. Martin offered to phone Cinders and ask her outright if she was having an affair with Dan, but Abby said she had all the evidence she needed and really couldn’t see the point in Martin getting involved.

THE FILM
studio was on a large industrial estate in Neasden, behind Ikea. Martin gave his name to a young
woman wearing a headset. “Martin Roberts. She ran her pen over the list on her clipboard. “Oh, yes, the dog-custody dispute—Roberts versus Sitwell. You’re on in an hour.” She directed them to the canteen and said they would be called just before eight o’clock.

Theirs was the last case of the day, so the canteen was empty. They ordered coffee and sat down on metal chairs, which were meant to look industrial and edgy but were just cold and hard. “God, Abby, I’m so nervous. I mean, what if the case goes against me and I never see Debbie again? I don’t think I could bear that.”

She reached out and took his hand. “It won’t. Don’t worry.”

Just then an agitated-looking and breathless Ichiro appeared. He was wearing a very fitted canary-yellow military jacket with a mandarin collar. “My God, the journey took me forever. I thought I wasn’t going to make it in all that traffic.” He pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down. “So, Marty, how you doing? You’re not wearing a suit. I thought we agreed you should wear the Armani or the Hugo Boss.”

“Abby and I decided it might be a bit OTT.”

“You could be right. So, are you nervous? You need to stay focused. Have you been practicing your opening remarks? And did you try those yoga exercises I mentioned? And what about the mantra? You really have to try and stay calm.”

“I’m perfectly calm. It’s you who sounds like you need a chill pill.”

Ichiro began fanning his face with his hand. “Tell me about it,” he said. “I’ve already taken six herbal tranquilizers. I’m just so wired about this whole thing and I don’t
know why—after all, it’s you taking the stand on national TV, not me.”

Abby offered to get him a cup of tea. “No, I’m good, thanks. So… Abby, how are you? Marty told me all about you and Dan. What can I say? The man is clearly a complete jerk. But don’t you worry about a thing. Leave it to Ichiro. I will talk to all my girlfriends, and between us we will find you a god.” He turned to Martin. “Shall I tell Abby my news?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve told Mr. T I’m quitting! I’ve given a month’s notice.”

“No! How did he take it? I bet he went mad.”

“Mad doesn’t begin to describe it. He went totally apoplectic. He ranted and raved about how it had taken years to ‘break me in,’ that I alone understood all his quirks and foibles, that he couldn’t face training somebody else. He even offered me a brand-new BMW to stay. I’m ashamed to say that I was tempted. When I said no, he threatened to have a heart attack, but I just ignored him.”

When Abby asked him if he’d found an interior-design course, he said that he had.

“Wow, that’s brilliant news. So have you worked out how you’re going to fund it? Did the universe provide?”

“It most certainly did. Didier, my hairdresser, was blow-drying me the other day and happened to mention that he was looking for a part-time receptionist. I offered my services and he accepted. But that’s not all.” Ichiro looked at Martin as if to say, “Is it all right to tell her?” Martin nodded. “OK… wait for it—Marty and I are moving in together. OK, I admit that it’s partly to save money, but it’s mainly because we’re in love and we absolutely want to be together.”

Even though it did occur to her that the two of them had known each other for only five minutes, Abby could feel her eyes welling up. She reached out and took one of their hands in each of hers. “Omigod, that’s fantastic. I’m so happy for you. I can’t say I’m exactly surprised, though. You guys are so right for each other—”

She stopped in mid-sentence, distracted by the arrival of Christian and Toby. “He’s here,” she hissed.

Christian had forsaken his trademark turtleneck sweater and quilted jacket for loud Mr. Toad tweeds and a green woolen tie. He glared at Martin, who met his glare and raised him an eyebrow. Martin’s bravado belied his true emotions. “I’m just not sure I can go through with this,” he whispered.

“Come on, you’ve made it this far,” Abby said. “Of course you can.”

At one point she caught Toby’s eye and they exchanged awkward smiles.

THE COURTROOM
was small and packed with film crew tending their equipment. “I feel rather at home,” Abby quipped. In front of the judge’s raised bench were two lecterns, one for the plaintiff and another for the defendant. There were half a dozen leather-covered pews for spectators.

They were greeted by the female court usher. She was wearing a wig and black gown. She directed Martin and Christian to the lecterns. The rest of them—including Toby—were directed to the front pew. “This feels a bit awkward,” he said to Abby, who was sitting next to him. “You know, bearing in mind we’re on opposite sides. Maybe
I should move seats.” But the usher shooed him back and said they were about to start filming.

“By the way,” Toby said to Abby, “I think you ought to know that the council turned down Christian’s appeal to stop your pavement displays.”

“Really? That’s a relief.”

“For you, maybe. He’s been giving me hell over it for the last two days.”

“All rise,” the usher announced. “Her Honor Judge Trudy Kenwood presiding.”

Ichiro, Abby and Toby rose.
“Kenwood?”
Abby mouthed to Toby. “Strange coincidence.”

The next moment, a very large bewigged and gowned figure heaved into view and took her place behind the bench.

“Bloody hell!” Toby hissed. “It’s my mother!”

“You are not wrong,” Abby said. “And, look, she’s had her teeth whitened.”

“This must be the secret TV project she was going on about.”

“But her name’s not Trudy.”

“It’s her middle name. Guess they thought Judge Penelope was a bit of a mouthful.” He covered his face with his hand.

“Too late. She’s seen you.”

“Oh, God. How does she look?”

“So far, I’d say she seems rather confused. I strongly suspect that she’s wondering what the dickens you’ve got to do with this case.”

“I’m leaving. I can’t face this. She’s bound to find out I’m in a relationship with Christian.” He stood up. Abby grabbed his arm and yanked him down again. “Oh, no, you
don’t. At some stage you need to tell your mother you are gay. Now’s as good a time as any.”

She didn’t have a chance to continue her lecture, because Ichiro had piped up. “Did I hear right? Are you telling me that the judge is Toby’s mother? How could that happen? Toby, did you know about this? Jeez, did you arrange it? Marty can’t possibly get a fair hearing if the judge is biased. I’m going to put a stop to this right now.”

“Please don’t,” Abby pleaded. “I promise you, Toby knew nothing about this. His mother is a real-life magistrate. I’ve met her, and I know for a fact that she’s too stubborn to allow family loyalty to influence her decision.”

“She’s right,” Toby said. “Given the choice, my mother would always support the side I’m not on.”

“I’m not sure that’s entirely true,” Abby said.

“Bloody is. You don’t know her like I do.”

Much to Abby’s surprise, Ichiro seemed satisfied with their defense of Lady Penelope and made no further threat to interrupt the proceedings.

“But I’m not ready,” Toby whispered.

“Not ready for what?”

“To tell her I’m gay. I need time to prepare my speech, to get myself into the right frame of mind. I need to let Christian know that I’m going to tell her. He’s standing over there. He has no idea who she is. Oh, God, this is such a mess.” Toby looked as if he might burst into tears.

At this point the usher came over and told them to be quiet. Abby apologized.

Lady Penelope, aka Judge Trudy, carried on reading her notes. From time to time she would look up and peer at Martin and Christian over her pince-nez.

“Now then,” she said finally, “it would appear that Mr.
Roberts and Mr. Sitwell were in a relationship for five years. When that broke down, a dispute arose over who should care for their pet dog, a St. Bernard named—do I have this right?—Debbie Harry.” She turned to the usher. “Is this some kind of joke? Is this Debbie Harry some person I should have heard of?”

“I think you’ll find that Debbie Harry was a famous eighties pop star.”

“I see,” Lady Penelope grunted. “Never heard of her.” She looked at Martin. “Mr. Johnson, since you are the plaintiff in this case, I will hear from you first.”

“As your lordship pleases—”