A Chance Encounter Rae Shaw (ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt) 📖

‘Oh, this and that. Keep doing weekend work for extra money. Tonight being an example.’

She was avoiding eye contact now, so overtly, he nearly laughed out loud. For an expert in blending into her environment, she wasn't trying very hard. He shouldn't mock. Julianna had a challenging job marking the Haynes family wherever they went. Hettie in particular wasn't keen on the extra layers of protection. She had griped to Mark when he queried the cost of CCTV cameras in the gallery. Not for the art, she had glowered, for me. Jackson prized his wife beyond any artwork.

‘Where is she?’ he asked.

‘Over there. Chris is back by the door.’

She gestured and he spotted her. Hettie Haynes had bounced back from pregnancy brilliantly. Her dress, a turquoise number with silver slithers, was moulded around her hourglass hips and bountiful breasts. She shook hands, moved, spoke and shook hands again. The perfect hostess.

‘She doesn’t look as tired as last time I saw her,’ he said absent-mindedly.

‘She weaned the kid on to solids and since then the kid’s been sleeping like a baby should. Sleeping.’

Mark raised an eyebrow at Julianna’s knowledge of Hettie’s breast-feeding status.

‘Drove her last week and she made a point of saying how much better things were now that she has several successive hours sleep a night.’ She turned her face fractionally to Mark’s. ‘I don’t ask, she just spews this stuff out.’

‘You’re not keen on babies then.’ Mark couldn’t imagine Julianna spewing anything. Babies were different.

It wasn’t intended as a question, but Julianna pursed her lips, then smirked. ‘Not other people’s; I can’t help it.’

He tapped his nose a few times. ‘I’ll not tell her. Diplomacy suits you.’

‘Comes with the job. One mustn’t get too attached to the client.’

‘He wasn’t in the car then?’

She laughed. ‘Oh no. Definitely a different atmosphere when he’s in the car.’

Jackson would monopolise any conversation and make it his own. It explained her snark.

‘She’s on the move. I’ll have to change location. Wouldn’t do to lose her; that would be a serious black mark.’ Julianna toyed with the piece of wire around her neck.

‘String you up by the balls?’ Mark chortled, then abruptly cringed.

A smiley-faced Julianna rescued him. ‘Well, more likely my nipples, don't you think?’ she said slyly and with a pronounced wink. She walked, purposely and carefully, to the other side of the room.

Mark raked his fingers through his hair. What a tease she had become since their first meeting. Was it a genuine attempt at provoking him into action? He needed more evidence. He rolled back the conversation to what she had said about Hettie. Each time he met somebody familiar with Jackson and Hettie Haynes he wondered how well they knew the couple. Julianna undoubtedly had insider information and was bound to secrecy about it.

A familiar voice spoke by his ear. ‘Mark, enjoying the evening?’

Mark shifted from his position against the wall and turned to face Jackson. The man was imposing; it didn't matter whether he was seated or standing, he occupied space that couldn't be seen, only felt, and it wasn't due to his height, although he was taller than Mark, but simply through his demeanour and those piercing eyes. Jackson Haynes maintained the uncanny ability to present both a ruthless and charming smile at the same time. Mark had been caught lounging by a wall looking disinterested and Jackson would want to know why. Mark decided the best policy was honesty.

‘Yes, thank you. Resting my back and chatting to Julianna Baptiste. We’ve done some work together. However, she has to keep tabs on Hettie, so she’s vaporised, spy-like into the horde.’ He gestured with his empty wine glass towards the far end of the room.

‘My wife likes her.’ Jackson trained his eyes on Hettie before moving his focus back to Mark. ‘Come, there’s somebody I’d like you to meet.’

Mark followed Jackson through the bustling room towards the smaller antechamber with more chairs and a thinner crowd. There, Mark was introduced to a man who was the spitting image of Jackson.

‘Mark Clewer, my brother, Luke,’ Jackson said. Mark shook hands with the facsimile. ‘And this is the lovely Sophia, Luke’s partner.’

More handshakes and with introductions completed, Jackson wandered away.

There was an awkward pause. ‘I take it you work for Jackson?’ the Jackson clone asked, except Luke was shorter, and sparser about the shoulders and thighs.

‘Yes. Forensic accountancy team.’

Mark grabbed a fresh glass of wine off a passing waiter. The couple declined the top up.

‘So what do you two do?’ Mark asked, spinning out the conversation on a weak thread, one he immediately regretted.

‘I’m a barrister and Sophia is a solicitor. Ah, not a fan of our profession.’ Luke offered a half-hearted chuckle.

The flash of mild disgust was brief – milliseconds – but noted.

‘Christ, I’m sorry, I must appear very rude. You’d think I was used to it being an accountant. All we need is an estate agent and we could start a club for thieving bastards who shaft people.’ Given the hardening of Luke's face, he had failed with his injection of humour. If only people were like formulas. Numbers in, numbers out. No guarded words or dancing around issues that weren't up for discussion or might cause offence. He had been let down by lawyers; it wasn't a statement of disrespect, only the truth.

Sophia continued to smile. Mark knocked back a mouthful of alcohol. Women, why were they so persistent?

‘Don’t worry,’ said Sophia. ‘Since Luke is a prosecution barrister he’s used to being despised by the criminal underclass. I, on the other hand, do legal aid defence. Makes for some interesting end of day conversations.’

Mark chewed on his lip. If she wasn't put off by his ill-conceived remark, would she help him out with finding a solicitor? It was