Questions of Trust A Medical Romance - By Sam Archer Page 0,35

the individual circumstances.’ The solicitor shrugged. ‘For a court to agree to the other parent taking over custody, there has to be substantial evidence that the new environment will be a stable, supportive one. Especially if the current one is considered solid.’

Chloe nodded.

‘Or,’ the solicitor went on, ‘the courts may support a change of custody if new information comes to light that indicates the current custody holder is of unsuitable character in some way. For example, if a previously undiscovered criminal record is made known.’

‘I see.’ Chloe was lost in thought for a moment. The lawyer coughed discreetly, and Chloe stood up, offering her hand.

‘Forgive me. You probably need to get going. Thank you so much.’

‘Ms Edwards,’ he said delicately, ‘is there, ah, something that you need help with? I can recommend a top-notch colleague of mine.’

‘Oh, no. It’s not about me.’ She smiled. ‘A friend, that’s all.’

As she headed back to her own car, Chloe mused on what the solicitor had told her. Substantial evidence that the new environment will be a stable and supportive one… By the sound of it, although Rebecca and her partner were financially well off, their jetsetting lifestyle wasn’t conducive to bringing up a small child. And Chloe didn’t get the impression Rebecca was the most emotionally stable person, though of course Tom might be biased.

On the other hand, the lawyer had said evidence of the current custody holder’s character might count against him. Chloe couldn’t believe Tom had a criminal past, and from what she’d seen he was an excellent, caring father and one in whom it would be difficult if not impossible to find evidence of unfitness to raise a child.

Both of these factors suggested to Chloe that if Rebecca did decide to apply to the courts to gain custody of Kelly, she’d be on shaky ground. Tom probably had nothing to worry about in the end, however painful and unpleasant legal proceedings might be while they were going on.

Only when she was halfway home did it occur to Chloe that she hadn’t considered just why she was thinking about the subject in the first place. Hadn’t she decided last night that the best course of action for both her and Tom was for her to stay out of his life as far as possible? Didn’t that mean not involving herself in his legal battles any more than in his emotional life?

Perhaps it was merely the presence of the lawyer in front of her that had prompted her to ask the questions she had. But Chloe didn’t think so. She knew that part of her, a powerful, unignorable part, still wanted to help Tom, regardless of what her head told her was the sensible thing to do.

Anyway, if he had as cut and dried a legal case as it appeared, he really didn’t need Chloe’s help any more, assuming he ever had needed it in the first place. She wouldn’t mention to him, whenever it was they next spoke, that she’d made enquiries about the legal aspects. He might think it was none of her business, that she’d overstepped the mark. Only if he approached her asking for help would she offer it, and gladly.

Feeling she’d reached some sort of compromise between her feelings and what the logical part of her brain told her was the advisable course of action, Chloe focused her attention on the task before her, which was to prepare for her interview with the deputy leader of the town council the day after tomorrow. After picking up Jake from Margaret McFarland, Chloe returned to work at her computer with a renewed sense of purpose, the events of the night before having faded if not to a distant memory than to background in her mind.

***

Tom’s imagination ran amuck on his way to the hotel, and by the time he got there he half expected to see a scene from one of those forensic crime dramas playing itself out, with ambulances and police technicians crawling all over the hotel in protective plastic suits. But the building sat there peacefully, quaintly built in Cotswold stone to enhance the local tourist experience.

He pulled the Ford into the small parking lot and noticed Rebecca’s red Mercedes in one of the bays. Trying not to hurry too obviously, Tom strode to the front doors and negotiated the lobby, crowded with display stands advertising local tourist attractions.

At the front desk he said to the woman, ‘I’m here to visit Rebecca Carlyle, please.’ He suddenly wondered