Private Lives
‘What do you think?’
Clever move, thought Matthew. Deflect the question on to someone else.
‘Well, an actress or a singer might have to push themselves to get noticed,’ said Anna. ‘That’s just part of the job, but they should still be entitled to a private life. Everyone should.’
Matt looked at her, unsettled by her steely self-assurance.
‘Come on, if some two-bit reality star happily sells their wedding or their divorce to OK! magazine, then they can’t go “boo-hoo” if someone prints a photo of them coming out of AA.’
‘Well the law might disagree with you, Matthew,’ smiled Anna.
It was his first morning. He was senior partner. He couldn’t let an associate get the better of him, and besides, he just didn’t agree with her.
‘Anna, the law is half cocked on this one,’ he grunted. ‘It’s skewed in favour of the people who can afford expensive injunctions, libel trials and threatening letters from aggressive law firms. It’s not justice, it’s tyranny.’
‘And it keeps the likes of us in hot dinners,’ chuckled Larry, happily slicing up his starter.
Matt could feel the muscles in his neck beginning to tense. He knew he shouldn’t get so worked up about it, but he’d spent twenty years struggling at the other end of the law, dealing with the fallout of broken families where money was often in short supply. And he’d learned that for people who couldn’t afford to fight legal battles, justice was rarely served. He’d seen families crumble, decent working folk broken and children let down by an unbending system. In light of all that, it was hard to feel sympathy for a pampered soap star who didn’t like photographers.
‘Don’t you ever feel guilty?’ he asked finally.
‘Guilty?’ His father chuckled. ‘We just provide a service, Matty. And we do it very well.’
‘I read that Poke magazine is going to have to shut down because that awful MP you were acting for won six-figure damages.’
‘The silly bastards shouldn’t have claimed he was an enthusiastic cottager, then!’ laughed Larry.
‘But I thought they had photos of him hanging around Hampstead Heath.’
‘Not illegal, son,’ said Larry, giving a slow wink. ‘He was walking his dog.’
Matthew bit his lip. He couldn’t let his dad wind him up, not today. He turned to Helen instead.
‘Isn’t the truth that Poke got caught out because they couldn’t prove the cottaging claims were true? They’re a little indie magazine and didn’t have the proper resources to fight the action.’
Larry swilled back his white Burgundy.
‘A client came to us to sue the magazine and we sued them. Job done. And by the way, excuse me for earning a good living, which has kept you in nice houses, good schools, your mother in gin.’
‘Don’t speak about her,’ said Matt in a low voice. Larry had always known which buttons to press to get a reaction from his son. Matthew was fiercely protective of his mother and had never forgiven his father for the way he had treated her and the way he had left them. Since her death a year earlier, those feelings had become even more complex.
‘Why shouldn’t I talk about her?’ said Larry, looking more angered. ‘You like to paint your mother as a saint, but you don’t know everything about our relationship.’
‘Some relationship,’ said Matt. ‘You were never there. Always out with clients, any excuse to stay away.’
‘Maybe you should ask yourself why I chose t
o stay away.’
‘All right, boys, play nicely,’ said Helen firmly. ‘If you can’t leave your family issues behind, then there’s no hope of us working together. I’m serious.’
‘Don’t . . .’ began Larry, but whatever he was about to say froze in his throat, his cheeks turning pink. He tugged at his shirt collar.
‘Are you okay?’ Matt frowned, putting down his wine glass. He could see that there was sweat beading on his father’s brow.
‘I’m fine, don’t fuss,’ said Larry irritably, kneading his chest. ‘Just indigestion, I should think.’
But Matthew could see something was badly wrong. He glanced at Helen and Anna, and the concerned looks on their faces told him his instinct was correct.