Legally Addicted - By Lena Dowling Page 0,61

Shelter to open for the night.

The younger child, a little girl with curly dark hair that Georgia assumed might approximate Cherie’s in a happier state of grooming, stood up, her hands on hips.

‘Mummy’s run away.’

‘Shush, Katy.’ Cherie stood up and turned to face her. ‘You must be, Georgia? Brad’s secretary said that you’re my lawyer now.’

‘If that’s okay with you, Mrs Buckland? Brad’s client list is overloaded right now.’

‘Sure, if Brad trusts you, then that’s fine with me.’

The woman’s words were a caber toss ramming into Georgia’s chest.

Trust was the one thing she could be fairly sure Brad wouldn’t bestow on her right now.

‘So you’ve left your husband. Do you have somewhere to go?’

‘Somewhere to go yes — I can stay with my parents’ up the coast. Some way to get there — no. Pete’s frozen all our accounts and cut off the credit cards. I haven’t got a cent. I had to use the last of my cash to pay the taxi to your office when my card got declined. My parents are too elderly to drive now, so I’m stranded.’ Cherie pointed to the suitcases. ‘What am I going to do?’

‘Do you have a friend who could help?’

‘Not one I want to know about this. Not yet.’

Georgia had heard a noise behind her, but assuming it was one of the children, carried on speaking to her client. ‘Well, we can petition the family court to force your husband to pay maintenance for you and your children, but in the meantime you need to apply for emergency government income assistance. I can take you down to their offices and help you with the forms.’

‘You mean like a benefit? Dear God, you can’t be serious.’

Brad’s smooth confident voice broke in before Georgia could reply. He stepped up beside her and pulled out his phone.

‘That’s one option, Cherie, and the appropriate course of action we would advise for most people, but let’s see what else we can do in the way of practical self-help measures first. I’ll give Pete a call.’

Brad punched in a number and lifted his smart phone to speak. ‘Buckland. This is Brad Spencer. I’m about to check your destitute wife into a homeless shelter. I’ll be approaching both major networks and you can expect a media feeding frenzy when they open the doors to process Cherie’s admission. We’re also talking about a full exposé interview with Cherie about your numerous affairs and the way you’re trying to strongarm her by cutting off financial support. But before we kick off on all of that, Pete, are you sure you don’t want to reconsider your tight fiscal policy when it comes to your family’s upkeep? I’m not sure how important your image is to you, but I promise you, this isn’t going to be a good look.’

There was a pause while Brad listened to Buckland’s response.

‘Well, that sounds more reasonable, how about you get down to my office now with your solicitor and we can hammer out an interim agreement?’

Brad gave Cherie a thumbs up and she returned it with a weak smile.

‘Five thousand. That sounds a bit light to me, but I’ll talk it over with Cherie, and we can firm up a figure when you get here.’

Another hesitation and then Brad spoke again. ‘I think an hour is too long, Pete. Let’s say forty-five minutes. I’m setting the stopwatch now.’

‘Thank you, Brad,’ Cherie said, as he switched off his phone.

Georgia folded her arms, and pursed her lips. How long had he been standing there she wondered, and how much had he heard? Brad had made her look like a wet-around-the-ears junior staff solicitor, and completely out of her league with a wealthy client like Cherie Buckland. She had offered her client a textbook solution when the rules in the world of the rich and famous operated to a syllabus she was clearly still insufficiently familiar with.

‘It will take a day or two for all your credit cards to be reinstated, Cherie. Here take this, to rent a car.’

Brad pulled out his wallet and proffered a handful of hundred dollar bills in Cherie’s direction.

Georgia watched uncomprehending as Brad gave away a fistful of money. It seemed Brad could make ad hoc donations after all, as long as those donations went to the right quarters.

Typical.

The rich looked after their own.

‘I don’t know what to say.’ Tears welled up in Cherie’s eyes.

‘Don’t say anything, Cherie. Just take it to get yourself and your kids to a safe place.’

Brad pressed the