“Wait!” I say urgently. “Before you go, Freya, what on earth did you say to Trish about the Spanish ambassador? And the Mansion House?”


    “Oh, that! Well, she kept asking questions, so I thought I’d better make some stuff up. I said you could fold napkins into a scene from Swan Lake … and make ice sculptures … and David Linley once asked for your cheese-straw recipe.”


    “Freya …” I close my eyes.


    “I made quite a lot up, actually. She lapped it up! I have to go, babe. Love you.”


    “Love you too.”


    The phone goes dead and I stand motionless for a moment, the bathroom suddenly very silent without Freya’s husky voice in my ear.


    I look at my watch. It’s still early. I’ve got time to have a look.


    Three minutes later I’m sitting at Eddie’s desk, tapping my fingers as I wait for the Internet connection to work. I asked Trish if I could possibly send an e-mail of thanks to Lady Edgerly, and she was only too eager to open up the study for me and loiter behind the chair, until I politely asked her for some privacy.


    Eddie’s home page opens and I immediately type in


    www.carterspink.com


    As the familiar purple logo appears and describes a 360-degree circle on the screen, I can feel all the old tensions rising, like leaves from the bottom of a pond. Taking a deep breath, I click swiftly past the introduction, straight to Associates. The list comes up—and Freya’s right. The names segue straight from Snell to Taylor. No Sweeting.


    I tell myself to be rational. Of course they’ve taken me off. I’ve been fired, what else did I expect? That was my old life and I’m not concerned with it anymore. I should just close down, go to Iris’s house, and forget about it. That’s what I should do. Instead, I find myself reaching for the mouse and tapping Samantha Sweeting into the search box. No result pings up a few moments later.


    No result? Nowhere on the whole Web site? But … what about in the Media section? Or News Archives?


    I quickly click onto the Done Deals box, and search for Euro-Sal, merger, DanCo. That was a big European deal last year, and I handled the financing. The report appears on the screen, with the headline carter spink advises on ￡20bn merger. My eyes run down the familiar text. The Carter Spink team was led from London by Arnold Saville, with associates Guy Ashby and Jane Smilington.


    I stop in disbelief, then go back and read the text more carefully, searching for the missing words: and Samantha Sweeting, it should read. But the words aren’t there. I’m not there. Quickly I click onto another deal, the Conlon acquisition. I know I’m in this report. I’ve read it, for Christ’s sake. I was on the team, I’ve got a tombstone to prove it.


    But I’m not mentioned here either.


    My heart is thudding as I click from deal to deal, tracking back a year. Two years. Five years. They’ve wiped me out. Someone has gone painstakingly through the entire Web site and removed my name. I’ve been erased from every deal I was involved with. It’s as if I never even existed.


    I try to stay calm, but anger is bubbling up, hot and strong. How dare they change history? How dare they wipe me out? I gave them seven years of my life. They can’t just blot me out, pretend I was never even on the payroll.


    Then a new thought hits me. Why have they bothered doing this? Other people have left the firm and haven’t disappeared. Am I such an embarrassment? I look at the screen silently for a moment. Then, slowly, I type in


    www.google.com


    and enter Samantha Sweeting in the box. I add lawyer to be on the safe side, and press enter.


    A moment later the screen fills with text. As I scan the entries I feel as though I’ve been hit over the head.


    … the Samantha Sweeting debacle …


    … discovery, Samantha Sweeting went AWOL, leaving colleagues to …


    … heard about Samantha Sweeting …


    … Samantha Sweeting jokes. What do you call a lawyer who …


    … Samantha Sweeting fired from Carter Spink …


    One after another. From lawyers’ Web sites, legal news services, law students’ message boards. It’s as if the whole legal world has been talking about me behind my back. In a daze, I click to the next page—and there are still more. And on the next page, and the next.


    I feel as though I’m surveying a wrecked bridge. Looking at the damage, realizing for the first time quite how bad the devastation is.


    I can never go back.


    I knew that.


    But I don’t think I really knew it. Not deep down in the pit of my stomach. Not where it counts.


    I feel a wetness on my cheek and jump to my feet, shutting all the Web pages down; clearing History in case Eddie gets curious. I shut down the computer and look around the silent room. This is where I am. Not there. That part of my life is over.