The Younger Man Read Online Free Page A

happy with the status quo of his relationship, meets you, thinks you won’t get all emotional on him, because of the way you come across, and goes for it. Problem is, Hazel, you may do a tough woman’s job, wear the blue suit, stand in court and be as cold as they come, but you’re a big softy. And men may see you as ideal mistress fodder, but you’re not a mistress. You’re a wife, my darling. And they’re very different animals. You’re number one, not number two.’
    ‘So what am I supposed to be, all submissive then? Play the little woman when I’m not the little woman.’
    ‘No, be yourself. Always be yourself. Then you’ll meet someone who’ll like you for yourself. Because, Hazel, and don’t take this the wrong way, you’re not what you initially seem. You come across as feisty and confident and together, and you are. You are in many ways, but as your friend I’ve always felt when you’re in a relationship, it brings out the softer side in you. By soft I don’t mean vulnerable. You’re not vulnerable like you were when you were married to David. You don’t attract control freaks quite like you used to. But, and I know you’ll hate me for saying this, because it goes totally against your “I don’t need a man in my life anymore” philosophy, you’re a romantic.’
    ‘Perhaps.’
    ‘No perhaps about it. When you’re out of work clothes, you wear printed floaty skirts. Short ones. Your house is dramatic and contemporary, but it’s feminine. Despite the cynical job you do every day, your glass is always half-full. And that’s why you’re fun to be around. And I’m afraid, an optimist against all the odds makes you a romantic.’
    ‘An optimist perhaps. I don’t see through rose-tinted glasses.’
    ‘I know you don’t. How can you, doing what you do for a living. I think you see more clearly now than you ever have before, that’s why it’s rather wonderful that you still have this faith. Just be yourself, Hazel. The right man will find this charming and find it, you, utterly irresistible. Mark my words.’
    Two more teas arrive. We watch the high-powered aerobics class emerge from the 1 ½ hour session of stretching, kicking, jumping. They look red and hot and smell of sweaty underwear. Most of them are smiling, high on the adrenaline and the knowledge they won’t have to do it for another seven days. Neither Fran nor I feel guilty.
    ‘And you never know, Hazel, you may meet someone at my wedding. That’s where a lot of people meet their future husbands, so I’m told.’
    ‘I do know. My next client met his future wife at one. Only he was married at the time. That’s the problem.’

Chapter Three
Calming Mr Benson
    M r Francis Benson is screaming at me. Occasionally it pitches to a screech. Monday morning. Eight o’clock in the office. Mr Benson, my next client, is on the phone. As he pauses to draw breath, I interrupt.
    ‘No, Mr Benson, you will not be able to get away with keeping all your money. You were married to your wife for seven years. This is not a long marriage, but it is also not a short one. It is somewhere in between and following the case of Jones vs Jones earlier this year, it is highly likely that you will have to hand over forty-five percent of your assets and a sizeable proportion of your income each month. Do you understand?’
    Mr Benson, thirty-eight, equity trader, third marriage, two houses, one mistress, eight rented properties in London (none of which his wife knew about but will soon),one ulcer, does not understand. I sense he is about to spontaneously combust. He sounds as though he has been pacing, or is pacing. I expect he looks like Sarah when she first emerged from my body. All red and squished and incredulous and cross-looking.
    Benson spits bile.
    ‘I hate the fucking bitch. The fucking witch. She did fuck all in the marriage. She had affairs, you know. One while we were engaged and another while we were married. I found out by reading her