‘Anna, I hired you to sort this out and keep it quiet,’ he said, a note of anger in his voice. ‘Yes, I made a mistake, but I don’t plan on making it again, so why rock the boat?’
She held up her hands.
‘I’m on your side, Sam.’
&
nbsp; ‘I know, and I’m grateful for everything. But I just want to put this behind me.’
‘Of course, I understand.’ She paused, thinking of something else to say. She knew that this was probably the last time she would see him.
‘Well, I’d better get off to court,’ she said briskly, moving towards the door. ‘I’ll call you the moment it’s over.’
Suddenly he stepped in front of her.
‘Look, can I take you for lunch?’ he said. ‘To say thank you when it’s all done, a little celebration? I can book a table for one o’clock and I can get a car to take you back to work.’
Her heart began to hammer. After their night in Capri, when their taxi ride had made her feel happy and heady, she had convinced herself that it was just Sam’s star quality pulling her into its tractor beam. But the truth was, she was attracted to him. It was impossible not to be. You’re such a cliché, she chided herself.
‘Lunch?’ she said vaguely, playing for time.
‘You know, the meal between breakfast and dinner.’
Get a grip, girl. Say yes.
‘Okay.’ She had to stop herself from laughing. ‘Just a quick one. That would be lovely.’
‘You can even bill me for it, if it means you won’t be running off after an hour.’
She smiled.
‘I might hold you to that.’
The Royal Courts of Justice, situated at the far end of the Strand, were housed in a huge Gothic wedding cake of a building a short walk from Nigel’s chambers. Anna trotted after him, her long stride still struggling to keep up with the six-foot-five barrister. As he walked, Nigel chatted cheerily about the case and the judge, who was an old friend of his, every now and then glancing around to make sure Anna was keeping up. It was only a small gesture, but for Anna it separated Nigel from the rest of the pack. The law was certainly better than it used to be, but there was still a macho, old-boy superior culture hidden under the long black gowns. Half the time barristers thought solicitors – and particularly female solicitors – were the hired help, just there to carry the files and get them coffee, even though she was effectively their boss, having instructed them to do the job.
I bet they don’t treat Helen Pierce like that, thought Anna ruefully. She wouldn’t want to be in their shoes if they did.
At court, they filed in through the scanning machines, and into the huge vaulted foyer lined with oil paintings of judicial luminaries. As a student, Anna used to come down here and watch the trials. They had twice the reality and drama of the soap operas that transfixed most students, and she still felt that excitement whenever she stepped inside.
It’s just a formality; that was what she had said to Jim Parker, and she had meant it. The UK privacy laws protected a celebrity’s indiscretions if they were hidden behind closed doors, and there was no reason for a judge to challenge that. Even so, there was a lot riding on this. Not only Sam’s reputation, but her own standing at the firm. It would be a big win – a few more like this and she could make partner by Christmas.
‘What court are we in?’ asked Nigel, his bespoke brogues tapping up the marble staircase. ‘Eight, isn’t it?’
But Anna wasn’t listening. Waiting outside the courtroom with Blake Stanhope was Martin Bond QC. She groaned inwardly. It had to be him, didn’t it? she thought.
At thirty-six, Martin Bond was one of the youngest silks on the circuit; public school, arrogant, entitled, he had asked Anna out for dinner almost immediately her break-up with Andrew had become public knowledge. Even if she hadn’t felt so emotionally raw, she would have turned him down anyway: she found him unbearably patronising and self-important. Evidently Martin had not forgotten her rejection, and made a point of making her life difficult every time their paths crossed.
‘Moving up in the world, aren’t we, Anna?’ he said with a sly grin as she walked up. ‘Come to play with the big boys?’
‘Big boy, Martin?’ she said. ‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’
She saw with satisfaction that the barb had hit its target, but immediately cursed herself. Much as she liked to puncture his pomposity, it was a bad policy to upset opposing counsel just as you were going into court.
She took her seat in a wooden pew behind Nigel just as Judge Baker swished in through a back door, his black cape billowing behind him like Batman, a small red collar around his neck indicating he was from the High Court’s Queen’s Bench division.
A handful of people were sitting on the back row, including a blonde woman Anna recognised as a court reporter for one of the broadsheets.
‘We request that the court be cleared,’ said Nigel, standing and opening his file.