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“No.” She bit down on her lip. “Maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t touched our credit cards or bank accounts since I left him.” Her lips parted as she breathed inwards. “In fact, I’ve been working very hard to save up for a deposit on a small apartment. But my husband is a vindictive man. When he found out I was planning to divorce him, he emptied my bank accounts and ran up my credit cards.” Tears sparkled on her eyes. “I have money, sir, but nothing I can access immediately. My husband is, he’s, my husband is…” she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to calm herself down. “Unless I have someone like you fighting for me, he’s going to take everything from me for good. Including my citizenship.” Her fingers were fidgeting relentlessly. “We have a daughter. Ellie. She’s just turned two. My husband hasn’t seen her. Not once. I was five months pregnant when we… when I left him.”
Hendrix had admitted to himself that the woman fascinated him. Now, he leaned the bulk of his frame closer to her. “How did your husband access your funds?”
Her blue eyes lifted heavenward. “Stupidly I stayed with the same bank we’ve always used. I just opened a new account.” She looked at him dolefully, begging him with her enormous eyes not to judge her stupidity too harshly. “I thought that would be enough. His business is… considerably more important to the bank’s than mine. I suppose it took him a single phone call to arrange it.” Panic was rising. “But I have no money. No money for rent. And certainly no money for the deposit on the apartment I’ve found.” She squared her shoulders and stared across the long conference table. “I need him out of my life. But I’m…” Her face was pleading as she matched his posture, to lean forward over the table. “I’m scared.”
Something wrapped around Hendrix’s heart like a vice. “You mentioned that your husband comes from a powerful family. Is that what scares you?”
“Partly,” she murmured with an impatient nod of her head. “But it’s also him. He’s… capable of …”
“Capable of?” Hendrix prompted, chasing the tail of the conversation.
She shook her head. It was better to stick on point. “I just want it over. I want to be free of him. Can you help me?”
Hendrix stood and moved towards the buffet. He poured a coffee for himself, and a sparkling water for the woman. She thanked him without touching it.
“You are going to need to be a lot more fulsome with me, if you want my assistance.” He sat in the seat next to hers, telling himself it was so that he could comfort her with proximity. Up close, she smelled of vanilla and coconuts.
“I’m not being dishonest.” She was defensive, but meekly so. She kept her head bent, her eyes averted.
Hendrix placed a hand on the table, just near hers. “What did your husband do to you?”
Her eyes flew to his. She reminded him of Bambi, so beautifully innocent and completely wounded. “Do to me?” It was a whisper. A question almost lost in the vastness of his office.
“Did he hit you?”
Chloe dropped her gaze, and moved her hands to her lap. “He wasn’t… I mean, I don’t think he was abusive, if that’s what you mean.”
“Do you think a man can hit his wife and not be abusive?” He queried thoughtfully, watching expressions dance across her face.
“What makes you think he hit me?” She asked with an admirable attempt at bravado.
Hendrix didn’t want to frighten her, but he always employed whichever tactic would achieve his results fastest. It was how he’d got to the top of his profession in such a short time. He lifted a hand and swiftly brought it to within an inch of her face. She made a sound of panic and leaped out of the chair. The flight instinct was pronounced. Her chest was moving rapidly and her skin was as white as paper. Her hands, by her side, were quivering like feathers on the wind.
Hendrix scraped his chair back and moved to stand in front of her. She was staring up at him with a mix of fear, confusion and anger.
“Don’t do that again,” she said finally, her voice breathy.
“I’m sorry,” he put a
hand on her arm. It was meant to be reassuring, but a swell of warmth assaulted him instantly. He dropped the contact as though he’d electrocuted them both.
“I know what you need from me, Mr Douglas. But I’m worried.” There must have been a foot or more difference in their heights. She had to angle her head sharply to see him. She expelled a soft breath and spun away from him, focussing her attention on the picture perfect view beyond them. “How can there be such misery in a place as beautiful as this?”
Her words were saturated with sadness.
He followed her gaze, paying proper attention for the first time in years to the spectacular aspect his office enjoyed.
“Do you still love your husband?”
“Love him?” Her laugh was almost a sob. “I don’t know if I ever really loved him. At least, I don’t know how I could have.” She turned back to the lawyer. “Perhaps at one time, I thought I did.” She shrugged. “I was very young when we met.” She shook her head, her watery smile was laced with self-deprecation. “Like I said, his family is very powerful. Very rich. I guess I was impressed by that. More fool me, huh?”
“The allure of wealth can be seductive,” he reflected sympathetically, thinking of the awe he’d felt, as a child, when he’d watched the filthy rich get about town. “You would not be the first person to be drawn to its flame.”
She lifted her slender fingers to her temples and rubbed them in circles. “Our daughter Ellie is all I care about. And he knows that. My husband will use her to cower me. To control me.”
Ellie. The name sparked memories in him. Times that were far simpler. When he and Eleanor had run, barefoot, through town, laughing until their sides hurt. She’d been Ellie then. Much younger, he’d taken care of her, and he’d adored her. As she’d grown, she’d become Eleanor. Only Eleanor; always Eleanor. Until she wasn’t anything except a collection of memories in his mind.
“Your file doesn’t seem to have arrived. Would you remind me of your name?”
