February 3rd, 2016

"So, if you were married to a billionaire and you got divorced after five years, how much of his wealth do you think you're entitled to?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I think it's grotesque to marry for money. Or to divorce for money."

"You're in the minority."

"I am?"

"Last year, I had a client whose wife filed for a divorce after seven months and she demanded thirty-eight million pounds from him."

"Thirty-eight million? What the... thirty-eight million?"

"I had Evelyn do some maths work and it turns out that thirty-eight million from seven months equates to almost five and a half million pounds a month for the duration of the marriage."

"Gross. Out of interest, did she succeed?"

"In getting thirty-eight million? No. She settled for seven million."

"That's still a million pounds a month, though."

"I advised my client to settle at five but he was feeling generous."

"Still, that's a hell of a lot of money!"

"Well, that's the thing. The wife of my current client wants everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything. The house, the stables, the cars, the private island, the football club... the only thing she didn't demand, oddly enough, were the children."

"To be fair, I'd probably prefer to get the private island over the kids, too."

"Really?"

"Well, I'm not the maternal kind, so yeah. Private island over kids."

"Your priorities are messed up."

"You know what's messed up?"

"What?"

"Yoga. Apparently, lying on the floor, legs together, arms at your side is considered a yoga pose. Lying down is a yoga pose! If I knew yoga was this easy, I'd have taken it up years ago."

"Haha, you... you're... haha. You're doing yoga?"

"It's not that funny,  Daniel."

"Oh, it is that funny. Why the hell did you take up yoga?"

"Because you told me to!"

"When did I say that?"

"Yesterday. You said about yoga, meditation, and something else that I can't remember."

"Ah, so that explains the noise."

"What noise?"

"The cats being strangled."

"It's whale music, you idiot. I'm yogaing and listening to whales."

"Could have fooled me. By the way, yogaing is not a word."

"Whatever. Yoga's not so bad. Meditation is not so bad. So, you want to hear something that I hardly ever tell people?"

"Ok, wow me with it."

"You. Were. Right. Thank. You."

"You almost sounded sincere."

"Ha bloody ha. I just complimented you and you make a joke of it. Well, listen here, mister, that is the first and last time I'm ever nice to you!"

"You love me really."

"I love my cat more than you."

"You don't have a cat."

"Exactly."

"Yoga."

"What?"

"Yoga. I'm trying to imagine you doing yoga."

"It's helping me to relax."

"It is?"

"Yep. Rachel thinks I'm crazy, though. The amount of times she's walked in on me lying on the floor today is in the double digits."

"Rachel? Rachel's around? Are you back at work, Sophie?"

"Well, I thought, if Lucas is at City Hospital, I may as well come back to London. My parents are at the townhouse and Charlotte and Emma are back at their flats, so... I can't lie down on the floor at home all day, so I came to work-"

"To lie down on the floor all day?"

"Not all day. I've done some work."

"Uh huh. What's the update on Lucas?"

"He's ok. The doctors are happy with his progress. They're managing the infection and the pneumonia and the prognosis is getting better every day. Lucas has a new doctor, too. Some young guy called Dr. Woodhouse. He speaks in plain English."

"As opposed to...?"

"Medical English. I actually understand ninety percent of what he says."

"That's good."

"Yeah. Do you want to know the weird thing?"

"I don;t know, do I?"

"He knows you."

"He does, does he?"

"Yes. Want to explain that to me?"

"Maxwell and I go way back."

"Maxwell?"

"Dr. Maxwell Woodhouse. He works at City Hospital so I rang him and asked him if he could check in with Lucas."

"Why?"

"Because I made a promise and you told me I shouldn't make promises that I couldn't keep, so I was determined to make sure that I wouldn't be a liar. Hence, Maxwell."

"I seriously do not get it."

"Get what?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing is always something."

"No, it's nothing."

"It's something."

"Daniel, honestly, it's-"

"Tell me!"

"I don't get why you're doing this! I don't get why your ex shagged your brother! I don't get why you're so bloody nice! To me! I. Do. Not. Get. It."

"No, I guess you wouldn't."

"Urgh, I need to lie down. Again."

"I thought you were already lying down."

"Fine, I'll flip over onto my front. That's got to be a yoga pose, too. If lying on your back is yoga, lying on your front should be yoga. Right? That makes rational sense, doesn't it?"

"Perfectly rational. In your mind, at least. Shall I leave you to your yogaing?"

"Mhm."

"Well, ok. I'm flying out tomorrow, by the way."

"Wait, what? You're home tomorrow?"

"My flight is late tomorrow night and I'll be going straight to my office-"

"Straight to your office? When do you get downtime?"

"I was getting to that. I have Friday off. So, uh... do you want to do something?"

"Do something?"

"Uh... together?"

"Do something together?"

"It was just and idea, but I understand if you-"

"Do you know where Hogan's Café is, near Covent Garden?"

"I know it."

"I go there every Friday after work at around five."

"Ok?"

"You said you wanted to do something. Getting coffee is something."

"Are you asking me out on a date, Sophie?"

"No. Technically you were asking me. Is this a date?"

"Not a date. But coffee at Hogan's Café sounds nice."

"Cool."

"Cool."

"Cool."

"..."

"Right, hang up. I need to yoga some more."

"Ok. Speak to you tomorrow, Soph."

"Later, alligator."