Private Lives by Tasmina Perry Read Free Book Online Page A

punched down on to his father’s chest, smashing his fists on to Larry’s breastbone.
    ‘He’s killing him!’ screamed a woman’s voice.
    But it had worked. Larry jerked on the floor, gasping out a strangled breath, his eyelids flickered and his eyes opened.
    ‘What can I do?’ said Anna urgently at Matthew’s side.
    Larry took Matthew’s hand and gave it a small squeeze.
    ‘This will do fine,’ he whispered.
    ‘Okay, the ambulance is two minutes away,’ said Helen, calm and in control. She barked some instructions to the waiters and they moved a table out of the way.
    As Helen began organising the restaurant, Matthew knelt, holding his father’s hand which had gone worryingly cold.
    Please God, he prayed silently, closing his eyes, I know he’s been a sod, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t take this man just yet.
    ‘Are you praying?’ said Larry in a small but amused voice. ‘I hope you’re directing it downstairs. I think the big guy’s given up on me.’
    ‘I haven’t,’ said Matthew. ‘Not quite yet, anyway.’
    Although the ambulance was there within minutes, it seemed like an eternity. Finally, the drone of a siren swelled louder and the doors of the restaurant burst open, two paramedics rushing in. Matthew stepped back, trying to work out where the nearest A&E was. UCL in Euston. Ten minutes if the traffic was good, longer if there were the usual London snarl-ups, his mind scrabbling to think of anything except the horrific, horrible scene in front of him, his own father lying on his back, fighting for his life. There were times when Matthew had wished his father dead, but presented with the possibility, he realised how much he would give to prevent that happening.
    A wave of loneliness engulfed him. He had lost his mother; he was about to lose his father too.
    ‘Okay, old son,’ said one of the paramedics, lifting Larry on to a stretcher. ‘We’ll have you out of here in a jiffy.’
    How can they be so calm? thought Matt as he followed, feeling stupid and powerless as the stretcher was wheeled out on to the street. He could see Helen and Anna standing outside the restaurant looking grim, obviously expecting the worst.
    Larry squeezed his hand again.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered.
    ‘I’m not worried,’ Matthew said, trying to smile. ‘You’re as tough as old boots.’
    ‘Less of the old,’ said Larry.
    As the crew pushed the stretcher into the ambulance, Matthew began to climb in beside it, but the paramedic stopped him.
    ‘Family only, I’m afraid.’
    ‘I’m his son,’ said Matthew, looking down at this frail old man. ‘I’m his son.’ And he realised this was the first time he’d wanted to say that in years.

4
     
    Helen Pierce twirled her favourite gold pencil between her fingers and looked out of her fifth-floor window, over the Soho skyline, hoping that today would be a better day than the day before. After Monday morning’s conference meeting and the drama of Larry’s heart attack, she’d only been able to bill four hours on her time sheet – her lowest daily total in two years. Even when she’d had a bout of swine flu, she’d managed to send out emails and draft letters to counsel from her sickbed.
    Helen’s work ethic was one of the reasons she was among the most successful lawyers in London. Although it was only nine thirty in the morning, she had already logged two billable hours to Jonathon Balon, the billionaire property developer she was representing in a high-profile libel case. After twelve months’ work on it, fees were already in excess of one million pounds; when you factored in the rest of Helen’s caseload, an assortment of reputation management, privacy and defamation disputes for footballers, oligarchs, movie stars and captains of industry, she could bank on clearing four million in annual fees in this financial year.
    When the Evening Standard had listed her as one of London’s most influential people, they had called her ‘a