‘Your clients rang earlier to see whether you would be in, Ms Bourne.’ Everyone in her working world knew her by her maiden name. ‘I said you were expected and they said they would be along in about – let me see’ – he looked at his record-book – ‘about ten minutes.’ ‘Clients? Which clients?’ ‘A Ms Katya Chester and a Mr Mayakovsky. American, by the sound of it. The lady.’ Sarah dumped her bag on her desk hard enough to shake the computer screen. With the sudden demand for billing and a long-running commercial property deal at London Bridge going critical, as her managing partner put it, she had more than enough to catch up on without the Snow Queen and her Russian sugar-daddy. She had no mobile or home number for Katya Chester and her House of Commons office number was, unsurprisingly, unanswered. She felt like telling the doorman to say she was in a meeting all morning but she’d then have to see them another time and if Katya complained to Jeremy it might make things difficult in Sussex or for Charles at work.
