Out of the Dark by Natasha Cooper Page A

experience to terrorise their victims.
    ‘Sure. Don’t worry about it, Kath. I won’t let you suffer. Thanks.’
    Trish took the envelope back to her desk, ripping it open as she went. It contained a short typed message from Lucy Ranking:
    Dear Ms Maguire, I think this 13 March note must be the one you wanted. I’m sorry it’s only a photocopy, but I didn’t like to send out the original without Peter’s approval. I hope that’s all right, and I’m sorry it’s taken so long.
    Smiling at the frightened informality of the covering letter, Trish reached for the relevant file and flipped through until she found the document that had referred to this 13 March note. Then she picked up the photocopy to punch it for filing, unfolded it, and was surprised to see that it was handwritten. She checked to make sure it included the point referred to in her existing files. It did. Then her eye was caught by the final paragraph, and she grabbed the edge of the desk.
    Years ago Meg had taken her on a cheap summer holiday in Dorset. Walking along the cliff path between Charmouth and Golden Cap, the nine-year-old Trish had
perched on the cliff edge and felt the turf slipping under her feet. Only Meg’s hand on the back of her jersey had saved her. She felt exactly the same now as she re-read the note in case she’d made a mistake:
    On the other matter, I think it’s important not to frighten the horses. Presentation must be as unthreatening as possible. The thing will only work if we get a big enough take-up and so I think the impression to give is of a straightforward savings account, don’t you? Whatever the printed warnings, if we make it look safe and familiar we should be OK.
    ‘Oh, shit, shit and double shit,’ Trish said aloud, as she remembered Nick Gurles’s cool question about why she herself would have assumed she’d get back her original investment untouched if she’d put money into his MegaPerformance Bond Fund.
    ‘It wasn’t a bank account,’ he’d said, sounding almost contemptuous.
    But this note made it clear that he’d planned to make people like her react exactly as she had done. If the investors’ lawyers had a copy of this note, there would be no defence case. And they would have to have a copy. It was a discoverable piece of evidence.
    The finger-holes in the base of each file looked like eyes now, full of mockery. Maybe Anna Grayling was right. Maybe Nick Gurles was a dishonest bastard behind the smooth charm. If so, it would serve him right if his new employers withdrew their support. The turf began to slip under Trish’s feet again as she thought of the implications of that for herself and her career.
    Antony was due back on Monday. She couldn’t spoil his last few days in Tuscany with news of this discovery, but she’d have to tell him as soon as he was back in chambers. He might be able to see a way to salvage their case, but just now she couldn’t imagine one herself. All she could think of was George’s teasing about a
case based on Nick Gurles as the bullied victim of his employers.
    If you hadn’t been so bloody clever, Trish told herself, you’d never have seen this document and Antony could have carried on with the original plan. What she’d done was almost on a par with a naive pupil asking the client whether he was guilty.
    She opened the door and leaned out. Dave’s voice echoed down the passage. It sounded as though he was on the phone. This would be a good moment to get out without having to answer any questions. Trish bagged up her laptop, grabbed her jacket and handbag and whipped out of the building as though she was late for the High Court.
    It wasn’t until she was halfway back across the bridge that she remembered an extra twist to the disaster. She was due to have dinner with Antony and his wife on Monday evening. It was the first time she’d been invited to their house and she’d been looking forward to it. Their parties were famous in the Temple for the glory