Private Lives

‘I could do if you wanted me to,’ he said playfully. ‘You know I’m the best agent in town, Jessy.’

‘I have the best agent in town, Jim. No offence.’

‘Old Harry. She’s the greatest,’ he said with a touch of sarcasm.

‘Hi, honey, you okay?’ Barbara Carr walked on to the terrace, her pink sweatsuit now clinging to her with perspiration.

‘Hey, Barb,’ said Jim, waving his juice glass at her. Barbara looked at him suspiciously.

‘Everything all right, hon?’ she said, not taking her eyes off him. ‘It’s gonna be tough, but you’ll feel better when that bastard’s completely out of your life.’

‘All right, Mom,’ said Jessica with irritation. ‘Go have a shower. I’ll be fine.’

‘You sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Hey,’ said Jim. ‘Do you two ladies want to go out, grab a coffee, while I supervise the workers?’

‘He’s right, honey. This can’t be easy for you.’

Jess rolled her eyes.

‘Okay, okay. Let’s drive over to the Plaza.’

Twenty minutes later, Jessica and her mother slid into her dove-grey Aston Martin and swung out of the underground garage, carefully avoiding the furniture truck standing at the rear entrance, its door open, stacked with boxes. Jess felt a single traitorous teardrop swell in her eye duct, and she blinked it away fiercely.

‘Don’t look,’ said Barbara. ‘Never look back.’

Jessica nodded as she turned the car and slipped into traffic. For once, it was good advice. She gunned the engine and drove away, that part of her life shrinking in the rear-view mirror.

29

Anna came out of the Royal Courts of Justice and leaned on the wall of the ancient building, breathing in the fresh air. The courtroom inside had been stuffy

and crowded, crammed with barristers, their pupils, staff and rubberneckers, all breathing the same stale, dry air. They had been in there for five long hours with only a short break for lunch; after that, the sunshine on the court steps was like being released from a cell. Not that it had been entirely a chore. Part of her was excited to be involved in the Balon case; after all, there were only a handful of libel jury trials a year, and that alone brought its own glamour and energy. But did it have to be so damn slow?

Perhaps she’d been spoiled; her area of media law was one of the few where things moved fast. A client came to you at 4 p.m. having ‘misplaced’ some dirty pictures, and by 9 a.m. the following morning you had served your injunction and sent out your bill. On the other hand, very few trials were as drawn out and pedantic as a libel trial; it was too expensive. Only the very rich could afford the full letter of the law.

‘Whoo! They go on, don’t they?’

Anna looked up to see Sid, her trainee, joining her. She laughed.

‘It is a bit long-winded, yes. The sort of thing that gives lawyers a bad name.’

‘I wouldn’t mind,’ said Sid, ‘but the QCs seem to be loving every minute of it. I’ve never seen someone get so worked up about the implied meaning of the word “businessman” within a certain context.’

‘Ah, that’s because they’re getting paid for every minute they’re in there. The longer they can stretch it out, the higher the fees.’

‘All this to keep them in golf shoes, eh?’ replied Sid honestly.

Anna laughed. She would be sad to see Sid leave. She hadn’t been at Donovan Pierce long enough to really bond with the girl, but she was one of the few employees who seemed human. Maybe that was why they were letting her go.

‘I’m going in to get a drink. You want anything?’

Sid shook her head.

‘I think I’ll stay out here in the sun for a while. Make the most of it.’