Just My Luck Adele Parks (if you liked this book txt) 📖

and then we went on to win. And win big. You want the facts?”

“We do, indeed.”

“Here are the facts. Yes, we have been in a syndicate for fifteen years. And yes, we chose the numbers as a group, way back when, and it’s true that we haven’t deviated from the numbers ever. But none of that matters. The only thing that matters is the fact that they pulled out the week before the win. They clearly expressed a distaste, no, a disgust, with the whole concept of the lottery, so they are not due a penny.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“They called it ‘common.’ Well, they were calling us ‘common,’ really. They said they didn’t want to be part of it. They were very specific.” The room was silent. Suddenly everyone felt the unexpected heat of the long day. Shirtsleeves were rolled up and the window was open, but there was no relieving breeze. Everyone sweated, like cheeses on a board. Limp and indolent, the lawyers fought the urge to loll, forced themselves to stay upright.

“What is going to happen now?” asked Jake. “The money is already in our account.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Are you going to force us to hand some over to them?”

“That’s not in our power.”

“Then why are we even having this conversation?”

“Because there might be private legal action. It’s our duty of care to report if we believe there is any misappropriation of cash.”

“And do you?”

Mick Hutch took the lead. “As far as I can see, there is no proof that you were in a syndicate at the time of the win. No written contract, no informal notes. It’s a case of their word against yours.”

“So, we are done here?”

“No, not quite,” said Mr. Piper-Dunn. “I think the Pearsons may very well pursue this matter. There’s likely to be a private investigation, independent of the lottery. I’m certain they will want to pursue all legal routes. We’ll be requesting a second interview with Mrs. Heathcote. If she stands by her statement, we’re still three voices against three. That’s still a case.”

“Three?”

“Mr. Heathcote has admitted he did pull out of the syndicate,” said Ms. Walsh.

“He did!” Jake could hardly believe his ears.

“But he also admitted to consuming copious amounts of alcohol. His testimony isn’t consistent or reliable,” added Piper-Dunn.

“And Jennifer?”

“Mrs. Heathcote was in the bathroom at the time of the altercation,” stated Mr. Elliott.

“Jennifer was?”

“As you were no doubt aware.”

Jake looked confused. “Well, yes, of course, but I never imagined for a second she’d admit that.”

“Well, she has. She says she didn’t pull out of the lottery and even if her husband did, she’d still have a claim. Three against three,” commented one of the Pearsons’ lawyers. “This is not over, Mr. Greenwood.”

CHAPTER 15

Lexi

“We need to get at that woman.”

“Which woman?” The limo driver is holding the door open for us. Jake sweeps past in—it has to be said—an imperious manner. I fling an apologetic smile at the man. He’s been waiting for us for three hours. As we couldn’t all fit in the Ferrari, and Jake wouldn’t travel to the inquiry by train or in our old Volvo, he booked us a car and driver for the day. An actual chauffeur with a limo, a bit like the one that collected us on the day of the press announcement. It seats ten people and there are chilled drinks in the bar. I guess it is usually hired to ferry indulged girls to their prom, or wild guys on a stag. It’s embarrassing. He wouldn’t tell me how much it cost when I asked. At least it was somewhere for the kids to sit and play on their screens whilst we answered questions. We brought them along because we thought they might have to contribute a statement to the inquiry. I’m pleased and relieved that, at least, didn’t happen. I shuffle in the leather seat, uncomfortable with the phrase “get at.” My husband sounds thuggish, ruthless. I just want everyone to calm down.

“Jennifer,” he states.

“Jennifer?” I’m surprised. I glance at the kids, who are sitting facing us; Jake’s gaze follows mine. Emily and Logan are wide-eyed, pale, and worry pours from them. They’ve been anxious since the press conference blew up. Naturally. One minute they are at school moaning about the lunches and homework, the next in New Bond Street hell-bent on a shopping spree to end all shopping sprees, and then they are witnessing their father on the wrong end of a punch. It’s a roller-coaster ride.

Jake throws out a smile. “Hey, it’s going to be fine, right. There’s nothing to be concerned about.” Emily rolls her eyes, Logan shrugs. They both turn their heads and look out of opposite windows. Unconvinced. It was easier when they were babies.

“Why do you need to get to Jennifer?” I ask quietly. “She’s on the fence. Her testimony was ambiguous.”

“Ambiguous how?”

“She said she was out of the room when it was discussed. I guess she could fall either way.”

“But she wasn’t.”

“No.”

“Why would she say that, rather than stick to her story? Doesn’t that weaken their case?”

We are whispering, aware of the children. “It does, which suggests to me that she’s open to some sort of deal.”

I fight a surge of anger that is simmering and threatens to boil. “And Fred?”

“That’s the strangest thing of all. Fred has admitted that they pulled out.”

“He did!”

“Yes, isn’t that odd?”

“I can understand it. Did he say he heard Carla and Patrick pull out, too?”

“Maybe. Yes, I think so. I don’t know. I need to talk to Jennifer.”

“Do you, though?” I ask.

Jake doesn’t acknowledge my comment as he pulls out his phone and sends a text. Presumably to Jennifer. I glower. We haven’t been in touch since the thirteenth of April. She was once one of my best friends. It’s unbelievably sad. Jake must see the grief skitter across my face. “Look, don’t worry about it. Leave it to me.” He stares purposefully at the kids, and I know he’s trying to remind me of what