Perfect Strangers

‘They both went to St John’s College, Oxford,’ he said. ‘Asner had graduated from Columbia University and had gone there on a Fulbright scholarship. Peter and Michael met through the university yacht club and became best friends, according to most of the people I spoke to there. What’s also interesting is that Edward Gould, Sophie Ellis’s solicitor, was at Oxford then too.’

‘Gould knew Asner?’ she said. That seemed more than a little convenient. ‘Did you speak to him about it?’ she asked.

Chuck nodded.

‘Typical lawyer, very slippery. He just said Asner and Peter were thick as thieves. He remembers they started a company together selling sailing gear. As you might imagine, Asner was a brilliant salesman: loud, outgoing, pushy. Gould remembers buying a waterproof jacket from him which leaked. I don’t think he’s ever really forgiven him.’ Chuck smiled.

‘But did Asner get in touch with Ellis after the scandal? That would be some nice colour for the story.’

Chuck pulled a face.

‘I tried Julia Ellis, but she was less help than the lawyer. If I had to guess, I’d say that if Peter did speak to Asner, he wouldn’t have shared it with his wife. There’s no question that Julia hates Asner with a passion. Again, this is a hunch, but I got the sense her hostility wasn’t just because they lost all their money through the investment. I think she was resentful that Asner had gone on to be so successful while they were stuck in Surrey. Apparently Peter had asked Asner to be Sophie’s godfather, but he was “too grand” – Julia’s words – to bother replying to them.’

Ruth smiled; this was good. No answers as such, but then she hadn’t really expected that, but there was plenty of solid information that she could build on.

‘Excellent work, Chuck,’ she said, squeezing his arm. ‘Seriously, it’s very useful.’

Chuck shut his file and shrugged. ‘If I had longer . . .’

‘Listen, the FBI and the SEC couldn’t get to the bottom of it, I didn’t think you’d crack the case, but it’s brought the picture into focus.’

She felt a pang of guilt as the boy put his file back in his bag. He probably had no idea that the writing was on the wall for the bureau, and if Isaac did close it down, then where would he go? Degree from Yale, contacts in the media world; he’d probably be fine, maybe even fare better than Ruth herself. At least he was young and relatively cheap – on a résumé, that could count for a lot these days.

‘Let’s get drunk,’ she said, lifting her glass defiantly.

By eleven thirty, Ruth was absolutely hammered. She was faintly aware that she had been loud and opinionated, rather than witty and entertaining. She felt a wave of tiredness but had no intention of going back to her flat, with its empty wardrobes and fridge with its single jar of half-eaten olives.

‘Let’s hit a club, Chuck,’ she slurred. ‘I haven’t been out dancing in years.’

‘How about I get you a taxi home?’ said Chuck.

‘Ooh, a young man offering to take me home,’ she giggled, tipping her wine glass back to get at the last dribble of Chablis. ‘My lucky night.’

His face was indistinct, but Ruth didn’t think Chuck was buying her seduction technique.

‘All right,’ she sighed, clambering to her feet. ‘I can take a hint.’

Chuck held up Ruth’s coat, but she missed the sleeve and staggered against him.

‘Sorry. Too much to drink,’ she said in a theatrical stage whisper. ‘It’s just that I found my boyfriend in the bath with a woman fifteen years younger than me this afternoon. Is that bad?’

Chuck gave a sympathetic smile. ‘I always thought you deserved better than him,’ he said quietly.

‘Now you tell me!’ she said, slapping him on the arm. ‘I could have saved myself all that bother!’

Chuck steered her through the bar and out on to the street. For a moment, the pavement felt unsteady beneath her and she grabbed Chuck’s shoulder.

‘See? You’re always there for me, aren’t you?’ she mumbled, pushing her face close, but missing her aim and cracking her head against his.

‘Oww!’ she cried, sinking down on to the steps of the club, clutching at her brow, although she was too anaesthetised to feel much pain. ‘Sorry, Chuck, sorry, sorry, sorry,’ she said, as he sat down next to her. ‘You should stay away from me, I’m a walking disaster area.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Chuck.

‘Look at me! I’m just some broken-down old hack.’

‘Ruth, you are the reason I got a transfer to London,’ said Chuck seriously. ‘I’d read your pieces in the Tribune and hoped I’d get to work with you.’

Ruth squinted at him, trying to absorb this information.