Chapter One — The Marital Agreement
By lunchtime, the rain had found its way through one shoulder of Solomon Clement’s coat and into his left shoe.
He had been in the coffee shop long enough for the tea to go cold.
The waitress came past again, green nails around a tray.
“You still all right?”
“Yes.”
“You said that before.”
“I’m still all right.”
She looked at the cup.
“Kitchen closes at three.”
“I can’t afford the kitchen.”
The words left him before he could stop them.
He looked down.
“I mean, I’m not hungry.”
“All right,” she said, and moved on.
His phone lit on the table.
IMMIGRATION PERMISSION EXPIRES SATURDAY, 11:59 P.M.
Below it sat another message from the hostel manager.
Bed held until 6. Need payment today.
Solomon opened his banking app.
£18.43.
He closed it.
The cracked corner of his phone case had lifted near the charging port. He pressed it down with his thumb. It came up again.
Across the road, a grey Mercedes had been sitting in a loading bay for twenty minutes. The driver smoked half a cigarette, took a call and checked the mirror twice without leaving.
Solomon noticed because he noticed people.
Sometimes that was useful. Sometimes it only made waiting longer.
A little before two, Meredith Vance walked in.
She opened the door into the path of a man carrying two takeaway coffees. He apologised even though she had nearly walked into him. Meredith stepped aside, let him pass and handed her umbrella to the man behind her.
Her assistant, Solomon guessed.
Meredith came straight to the table.
“Mr Clement.”
Solomon stood and hit his knee underneath it.
Tea jumped into the saucer.
“Sorry.”
Meredith looked at the table, then at him.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“You hit it quite hard.”
“I’ll survive.”
He wished he had just said he was fine.
She sat opposite him and placed a black folder on the table.
“You missed calls from my office.”
“I don’t answer numbers I don’t know.”
“We left voicemail.”
“My phone is bad with voicemail.”
Meredith glanced at the broken case.
“Phones are not usually bad with voicemail.”
“This one is.”
The waitress returned.
“Can I get you anything?”
“Espresso, please,” Meredith said.
“Single or double?”
“Single.”
The waitress looked at Solomon.
“I’m still not hungry.”
“I didn’t ask.”
She walked away.
Meredith waited until she was gone.
“How much did Hale tell you?”
“That a private client wanted to meet me.”
“Nothing else?”
“He said it could help with my situation.”
“What situation?”
Solomon stared at her.
Meredith looked down at the folder.
“All right. Very little.”
“He told me to wear a suit. I don’t own one.”
“That wasn’t necessary.”
“I know that now.”
Hale ran a recruitment office above a shop selling luggage and phone chargers. Solomon had met him twice. Both times Hale had printed too many forms and described every bad possibility as “not ideal.”
Meredith opened the folder and turned it around.
PROPOSED MARITAL AGREEMENT
Solomon read the heading.
Then read it again.
“No.”
“You haven’t opened it.”
“I can see what it says.”
“You can see the title.”
“That’s doing a lot already.”
The espresso arrived. Meredith thanked the waitress and left it untouched.
“I am asking you to consider a legal marriage for a fixed period.”
“You say that like you’re offering me a tenancy.”
“It is not a tenancy.”
“I know.”
“Mr Clement—”
“Solomon.”
She stopped.
“If I’m supposed to marry you, you can use my first name.”
“Fine. Solomon. Read it before you decide.”
He pulled the folder closer.
“What do you get?”
“My grandfather left part of his voting rights in trust. Another block is released to me if I am married and living with my spouse for the required period.”
“How long?”
“Two years.”
“And you decided to find a stranger.”
“I decided not to involve anyone connected to my family or company.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No.”
He opened the agreement.
Accommodation. Confidentiality. Public appearances. Security. Money. Termination.
He turned two pages.
“You picked me because my visa is ending.”
“It was one reason.”
“What were the others?”
“You are educated. Unmarried. You have no public profile and no criminal record. You are not connected to my family or business.”
“You checked.”
“Yes.”
“My family?”
“A screening firm confirmed the information you supplied to the agency. They did not contact anyone.”
Solomon stopped turning pages.
“My mother’s name?”
“Yes.”
“You should not have done that.”
“The agency had permission to screen you.”
“For work.”
“I know.”
At least she left it there.
He reached the payment section.
The monthly amount would cover rent, food and money home. The final payment made him check the figure twice.
Meredith noticed.
He looked away from her.
“So I live in your house.”
“Yes.”
“Attend events.”
“Some.”
“Pretend this is normal.”
“In public.”
“And my visa?”
“I cannot guarantee anything about your immigration status.”
“Then why am I here?”
“If there is a lawful application available to you as my spouse, I will support it. My lawyers will not assist with anything unlawful. You will speak to your own solicitor before you sign.”
“You already have lawyers for a marriage that hasn’t happened.”
“I have lawyers for most things before they happen.”
Solomon turned another page.
“All devices registered before joining the house network.”
“Yes.”
“Bags can be searched.”
“Yes.”
He moved farther down the page.
“Basement access. Restricted.”
“Yes.”
“What’s down there?”
“That is not your concern.”
“It becomes my concern if I live there.”
“No. It becomes somewhere you don’t go.”
Solomon looked at her.
“That’s reassuring.”
“I wasn’t trying to reassure you.”
A child at the next table dropped a spoon and began crying.
His father retrieved it and spent half a minute explaining that another spoon was coming.
Neither Solomon nor Meredith spoke until the child quietened.
Then Meredith said, “Your solicitor is on the way.”
“Mine?”
“Ms Patel. Independent.”
“Paid by you.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t sound independent.”
“Ask her.”
His phone vibrated.
Need answer now. Someone else wants bed.
He turned it facedown.
Meredith had seen enough of the message.
“When would I move in?”
“If you proceed, tonight.”
“You planned for that.”
“Yes.”
“What if I say no?”
“Then you say no.”
“No problem with Hale? No missing application somewhere?”
Meredith’s expression changed.
“I do not control every recruitment office in London.”
“I didn’t say every.”
“You implied enough.”
“People with money control more than they admit.”
“And people without it sometimes imagine more than is there.”
Silence.
Meredith looked away first.
“That came out badly.”
“It came out how you said it.”
“Yes.”
His phone vibrated again.
Neither of them checked it.
A woman in a wet navy coat entered carrying a canvas briefcase. She removed her glasses and wiped them while Meredith’s assistant pointed towards the table.
“Ms Patel,” Meredith said.
The woman came over.
“Mr Clement?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry. Traffic.”
She noticed the agreement.
“You haven’t signed?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Meredith stood.
“The downstairs room is booked.”
“I’ll speak to him alone,” Ms Patel said.
“Of course.”
Solomon looked at Meredith.
“How long do I have?”
“As long as you need.”
“And if I agree?”
“A car will collect you at seven.”
Then she left.
The room downstairs had no windows and smelled of coffee grounds and cleaning liquid. Folded highchairs occupied one corner. Someone had left a carton of oat milk beside the sink.
Ms Patel read without speaking.
Solomon lasted four minutes.
“Is it terrible?”
“Parts of it.”
“Illegal?”
“Not by itself.”
“That sounds like lawyer language.”
“It is.”
She went through his immigration history and made him explain the risks back to her. Marriage would not automatically give him permission to remain. The Home Office could investigate. A contract did not make a relationship genuine.
Then she crossed out two clauses.
“This gives security too much discretion.”
“I told her.”
“What did she say?”
“To tell you.”
Ms Patel gave a tired little laugh.
She changed the device clause, reduced one financial penalty and added a line allowing Solomon to contact her privately from the house.
When she finished, she put the pen down.
“My advice is not to sign today.”
“Because the contract is bad?”
“Because you met her today.”
“My permission ends Saturday.”
“I know.”
“My bed goes at six.”
“I know.”
“Can you fix either one today?”
“No.”
She did not try to make the answer nicer.
“I can try emergency accommodation. I can review your immigration file properly. I cannot promise you anything tonight.”
Solomon looked at the contract.
“So this is the only concrete offer I have.”
“Yes.”
“And you still think I should walk away.”
“I think you should have more time.”
“I don’t.”
Ms Patel did not argue with that.
His phone buzzed.
Final notice. Bed held until 6. Need your things out.
Solomon began typing a reply and deleted it.
“Would you sign?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
He looked up.
Ms Patel shook her head.
“I’m not in your position.”
That answer helped.
He read the amended pages again.
Then he signed.
Ms Patel made him initial every change.
At the top of the stairs she gave him her card.
“If anyone asks you to lie, call me.”
“All right.”
“You can still withdraw before the ceremony.”
“I understand.”
“Do you have somewhere to go until seven?”
“The hostel.”
“Will they let you collect your things?”
“They’ll complain.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“Yes. They’ll let me in.”
Outside, the rain had weakened.
Solomon returned to his table for the envelope.
The waitress picked up his abandoned cup.
“You finally finished it.”
“It got worse as it went.”
“That happens.”
He put the envelope into his backpack and left.
At the corner, he stopped beneath the awning of a closed shop while a bus went past, followed by a delivery bike.
Solomon took out his phone. The broken corner of the case lifted beneath his thumb.
He opened the battery-health app.
The screen showed the usual percentage, charging history and a warning about battery capacity. He pressed an empty space near the bottom.
The display changed.
STATUS?
Solomon typed:
Accepted. Pickup 1900. House access begins tonight.
He waited.
A reply appeared.
ACKNOWLEDGED. OBSERVE ONLY.
Another followed.
Do not acquire anything until you understand access and security. Map the house only when safe. Do not test restricted doors.
Solomon read the message and closed the app.
For tonight, Lagos wanted information and nothing more.
He put the phone away and started back towards the hostel.
He still had to pack.
