Chapter 19: Terms

The meeting was held on a Thursday in a long room in Lincoln's Inn.

A solicitor sat on each side of a polished table.

Mine was a brisk woman Margaret had found, who charged Margaret by the hour and me nothing.

Gethin sat outside in the corridor on a leather bench, reading a leaflet about probate with great attention.

He had squeezed my hand at the door, and that was all he had said.

Alistair sat across from me with his hands folded and no papers in front of him.

He had lost weight. His suit hung differently, and he no longer looked about the room to see who was watching.

Margaret sat at the end of the table with her handbag on her knee.

"Mr Wrenfield's side has prepared a settlement," his solicitor began.

"I don't want it," I said.

Both solicitors looked at me.

"I don't want money, and I'm not signing anything that says I do. The prenup stands. I never asked it to be different."

"Mrs Wrenfield..."

"Penhallow," I said. "I'll be Penhallow on the decree, and you'll put that in writing."

"Verity," Alistair said, very quietly.

I turned and looked at him, and he stopped.

"The house," he said, after a moment. "It's yours already. It's been yours since Monday."

"I know. I've seen the deed. I don't want it."

"Then what do you want?"

"Three things," I said.

My solicitor passed me a sheet, and I didn't need it.

"One. Your firm's emergency line gets rebuilt.

"If an employee's husband or wife or mother rings and says it's an emergency, the call goes to a named person in the office.

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