Penny Jordan's Crighton Family Series. PENNY JORDAN

to go through the post with her, handing her each letter to read and meticulously explaining its origins.

      An hour later she decided that there was nothing she need feel too apprehensive about. Most of the letters had seemed pretty straightforward; the practice did not deal with complex litigation cases or even the more complex European and international intercompany legal wranglings that were her particular field.

      ‘I’m going to have to leave soon. I’ve got an appointment with Lord Burrows at eleven,’ Jon told her. ‘He wants to go through some of the tenancy agreements for his farms.’ Yes, it was a world away from the kind of work she was familiar with, Olivia acknowledged as Jon added, ‘and then I promised I’d go with your mother when she visits your father.’

      So far as she could see, her day’s work was going to consist of drafting a new will, chasing authority for some details they needed on a conveyance, clarifying a property boundary and reading through the half-dozen or so files that Jon had entrusted to her. Nowhere near enough to keep her thoughts too busy to stray to Caspar—unfortunately.

       11

      Max’s first set-back of the day came when he walked into the poky little room that housed the chambers’ two secretaries and their equipment to discover that Charlotte wasn’t there.

      ‘She’s at the dentist,’ Wendy told him in her nervous little-girl whisper that always aroused in him the desire to torment her by pretending he couldn’t hear her. He knew that she felt intimidated by him and that she disliked and resented him, just as he knew that she was too nervous and fearful to dare to complain when he arrived in the office at ten to five in the afternoon with more than half an hour’s ‘urgent’ typing for her to do.

      Charlotte would never have stood for such bullying tactics and it amused Max to witness the skilful way she always managed to pass on the main burden of the work to Wendy and yet at the same time give the impression that she was the one who was the more efficient and hard-working of the pair.

      Charlotte and he were in many ways, he suspected, two of a kind, which was why they tended to treat one another with a certain amount of healthy respect. Like him, he imagined that Charlotte had chosen to work at Gray’s Inn because, of the four Inns of Court, Gray’s was the one with the reputation of providing the best social life, and he already knew that there was no way that Charlotte would provide him with the information he wanted without requiring some form of payment in kind.

      ‘Well, when she comes back, tell her I want to see her, will you?’ he asked Wendy.

      She had flushed a painful shade of unflattering pink when he walked into the room and now her whole face and throat were dyed an unpleasant shade of puce. She was more than likely still a virgin, he reflected—and very likely to stay that way.

      In his own office, his desk was piled high with work, none of which was likely to earn him anything more than a meagre few hundred pounds. Once he had his tenancy all that, of course, would soon change. Once he had it. He glanced at his watch. How long did it take to visit the dentist, for God’s sake, if indeed that was where Charlotte was?

      He sat down and reached for the first file, studying the note pinned to it impatiently. Another no-hoper. My God, why the hell did these people bother? He glanced contemptuously at the letter of instruction from the acting solicitor, formally requesting counsel’s opinion as to the feasibility of their client’s claim. A five-year-old could see that there was no claim. No claim, which meant no case, which meant no fees.

      He reached for the next file.

      In the end it was almost lunch-time before Charlotte came sauntering into his office, her hair and make-up glamorously immaculate as always, the skirt of her suit just that little bit too short, the jacket just that little bit too fitted for a woman who took her career seriously.

      ‘You wanted to see me?’

      The glossy red lips pouted provocatively as she stood in front of him, making sure he got the full benefit of the long length of her legs and the full curve of her breasts, Max observed, leaning back in his chair, hands crossed behind his head as he looked her lazily up and down.

      ‘I always enjoy seeing you, Charlotte,’ he assured her mockingly.

      The look she gave him suggested that he stop wasting her time.

      ‘You know it’s the annual dinner dance the month after next,’ he commented, watching as Charlotte eyed him warily.

      The annual dinner dance was an external prestigious event with tickets strictly limited, supposedly on a first-come first-served basis, but in reality available only to preselected applicants.

      For the first time this year, Max had managed to obtain two tickets, illegitimately, of course, through the good offices of the wife of a certain junior judge who just happened to be on the selection committee and with whom Max had had a judiciously planned flirtation, which had resulted in the then bedazzled lady in question getting his name onto the requisite list.

      Charlotte, unless she was invited to the affair by a ticket holder, would have no chance of attending, a fact that they both knew, just as they both knew how beneficial it would be to her in her quest for the right husband if she could be present. There was no limit to the kind of contacts and opportunities an enterprising girl like Charlotte could find at such an event.

      ‘Is it?’ Charlotte now countered with deliberate vagueness.

      Max allowed himself an indulgent smile. ‘I’ve got two tickets for it and as yet no partner.’ He paused. If anything, Charlotte looked even more wary.

      ‘I need some help … some information …’ Max told her quietly. This was the risky bit. The unprotected leap from one position of strength and safety to another. There was no guarantee—as yet—that Charlotte would take the bait he was offering. She could choose to expose him instead, and if she did …

      ‘What information?’ she asked him carefully.

      Max allowed himself to start to relax.

      ‘Nothing too unreasonable,’ he assured her easily. ‘Just a name …’

      ‘A name … what name?’ Charlotte demanded, her eyebrows lifting.

      ‘Not what, whose,’ Max corrected her loftily.

      This was the second hazard; even if she had access to the information he wanted, she might decide not to give it to him, and again he was risking potential exposure.

      He paused for a second and then, reminding himself of how much was at risk, told her bluntly, ‘There’s another applicant for the upcoming vacant tenancy—a woman. I need to know her name.’

      ‘Only the tenants on the tenants’ committee have access to that kind of information,’ she reminded Max.

      ‘The tenants and the chambers clerk,’ Max agreed smoothly, ‘but at some stage an appointment has to be made … letters have to be written.’

      ‘Laura deals with all that kind of correspondence,’ Charlotte informed him.

      Max raised his eyebrows.

      ‘All right, I’ll do what I can,’ Charlotte agreed, ‘but I’m not promising anything.’

      ‘Neither am I,’ Max warned her smoothly.

      They exchanged looks.

      ‘I’ll have to wait until Laura leaves this evening.’

      ‘Excellent. You’ll be able to do some extra typing for me then, won’t you?’ Max remarked.

      Charlotte gave him a warning look and asked mock-sweetly, ‘These tickets, do they include the dinner or are they just for the dance afterwards?’

      ‘They include everything,’ Max assured her, ‘the dance, the dinner and the pre-dinner cocktail party. I hope you’ve