Authors: Elle Wynne
I let this go. “Well at least you can rest assured that you have the lovely Ewan. Can you imagine the man who has to vow to live with her until death parts them? God, for their wedding present I’m tempted to pass on the details of a hitman. Poor sod!”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “He’s probably really hideously ugly and just marrying her for her father’s money. I mean, he’s a criminal barrister so he’s hardly going to be Mr. Rich.”
“Too true, I bet not only did she design that ring, she probably had to pay for it herself.”
This revelation cheers Serena up instantly and she drains the dregs from her glass.
“My round!” I say, standing up and stretching my legs from their cramped position. I steel myself to force my way to the bar, a veritable rugby scrum at the best of times.
The mood lighting makes it difficult to see where I’m going and within about a minute I’ve already dented my shins on various poorly placed low tables. As I reach the bar and start making attempts to attract the attention of the harassed looking bar staff I feel a firm hand pinch my bum. I ignore this, as one might ignore the first demand for an unpaid bill in the hope that it will go away. It doesn’t. The second squeeze is harder and designed to make sure I have to give its owner my full attention. I’m really not in the mood to either get into a fight with some lecherous old man or deflect the unwanted advances of a potential suitor. Given the mode of introduction, I suspect the former. I turn around. Bingo.
“Hello Judge,” I sigh, instantly clocking the circuit judge who was leering at Serena earlier.
“Ah, Miss Chase isn’t it?”
I consider my options. “Yes,” I concede grumpily.
I know it may sound like there are a number of obvious solutions to this predicament: either give the slimy old fool a good slap around the face, throw a drink at him, or just ignore him and walk away, but trust me, like elephants, Judges never forget. Knowing my luck, next time I have to make a tricky submission, or deal with a hostile witness, I’ll be in his court and need him on my side, not furious at me because I was the one who embarrassed him in front of a bar full of lawyers.
I flash him a winning smile, “Just give me a sec?” I purr and turn back to the bar where I wave my arms like a lunatic in an attempt to get served. Luckily, a passing barman senses my desperation and serves me quickly.
Arms now full of bottles and glasses I move away from the bar, smiling at him as I pass his side. Quickly, I holler “So nice to see you again Judge, hope you have a lovely night!” before hastily returning to our table. I shudder as I sit down feeling somewhat violated by the unwanted personal contact.
“Yuck.” I say as I attempt to unload my wares, spilling most of my glass in the process.
“Yuck.” Agrees Serena looking mock forlornly at the developing puddle on the table.
“So, have you figured out which one he is yet?” I ask, nodding my head over to where Lucinda’s group has gathered.
“Not a clue. I can’t really get a good look from here and there is no way on earth I’m going over!”
I crane my neck to see if I can get a better view. I can see Lucinda sat on one of the window benches, putting her about a foot above her party. Her long legs are crossed delicately and even from here I can tell she’s talking about herself by the way she keeps gesturing to her chest and looking at Holly for validation.
In front of Lucinda is a set of two benches with a small square table in the middle of them. Holly is sat next to two suited men on the bench to Lucinda’s left. Neither of these men looks particularly interested in the developing floorshow, so rise considerably in my estimation of them.
One is in his late fifties wearing a pale grey suit that almost perfectly matches his silver hair. His foot is tapping the table leg in what could be interpreted as either boredom or impatience. I can’t say I blame him.
The second man is younger, maybe mid-thirties with cheekbones to die for and a shock of red hair. I immediately discount him as being a candidate for Lucinda’s fiancé; her comments at Bar school about redheads used to make everyone cringe in horror. Despite my best attempts, I can’t see the two men on the opposite bench.
“Hmmm, the plot thickens,” I comment, munching on some spicy peanuts that have been provided by a passing waitress. “I’m sure it’ll become obvious when this trial starts and she’s parading him around at every opportunity.”
As the evening progresses and we get through more than our monthly recommended units of alcohol, I reach the point where the room is threatening to spin. I just about manage to get to my feet, remembering too late why vertigous heels are never a good idea when inebriated.
Serena follows my lead, knocking over a nearby bowl of wasabi peas in the process. The effect is similar to trying to walk on ball bearings and as I attempt to step forwards, one foot goes shooting out in front of me, causing me to fall backwards and land on my back on the floor.
Serena corpses with laughter and I can’t do anything other than join in. As she makes several failed attempts to winch me to my feet, sending peas scattering across the floor of the bar, I manage to knock Serena off balance too, sending her into the nearby table, causing her and it to go to the ground.
As we both lie horizontally, like a pair of turtles stuck on their backs I spot a familiar pair of tacky red shoes by my head. From this distance, I can see that one is missing a heel tip. The inevitable drawling comment comes from overhead
“Reduced to working on your backs already? Well you obviously need the money...”
Serena and I make eye contact from our prone positions then turn to look up at our tormentor. In unison and at a volume best suited to football games we yell,
“Lucinda, DON’T BE SILLY!”
Chapter Three
As I look at my retro twin-bell Snoopy alarm clock, I moan in horror as I register that it is not Saturday morning. Whether it is still Saturday afternoon is also open to debate. With difficulty, my eyes adjust to the pale light streaming in through the gaps in the blinds and I am happy to note that this is in fact my bedroom.
I love my bed more than any other object in the house. It’s an enormous alder sleigh bed with more than enough room for Sebastian to fit his six foot four frame. This week, the linens are a crisp Cadbury purple to match our papered ‘feature wall’ behind the headboard.
The rest of the room is painted pale grey to co-ordinate with the assorted scatter cushions on the bed and various chairs. It’s a true sanctuary, marred only by my inability to keep any room tidy for more than twenty-four hours. Today is a good day as I can actually see the floor; on a bad day I have to wade through a sea of dirty clothes, books, briefs and crockery that have been abandoned by me. I drive Sebastian mad with my slovenliness, but he’s learned that nagging me is wholly counterproductive.
As I rub my still mascara’d eyes, my frazzled mind attempts to recall exactly what time I got home last night and fails miserably. After leaving the bar, we ended up meeting some other members of Chambers for a late supper at DiNapoli’s, a divine Italian restaurant within walking distance from Bar-Bar. (This was a total priority given my heels and the cobbles that lie in wait outside a certain radius).
My stomach rumbles as I recall the gossipy hours spent munching on never-ending baskets of buttery garlic bread and plates full of pasta accompanied by sweet tomato and mozzarella cheese with lashings of basil pesto. All, of course, washed down with vats of Valpolichella.
Robert was there, accompanied by a runner from the firm of solicitors who had sent him a trial brief for next week. Everyone averted their eyes as the pair fed each other olives with their fingers whilst giggling and whispering what I can only image to be sweet nothings to one another.
The runner was about twenty and had only been within the firm for about three months. She told us of her aspirations to become a fully qualified solicitor on successful completion of her university course and how Robert had told her he could help her, and introduce her to some people with influence.
I was about to tell her that she’d be better off asking his wife, when Serena pinched me above my elbow and gave me a warning look.
“Mind your own business!” She’d hissed, “When it ends in tears, you don’t want to be anywhere near the fallout.”
Even in my drunken state I could see she had a point.
Also present was Bill Wallsbury, a senior member of Chambers of about twenty five years call. Camp as a row of tents and known as being the most indiscreet person this side of the equator, he kept us entertained with stories of clients he’d had the misfortune to represent over the years.
“So, I was in the cells waiting for the guards to bring him in so we could have a conference before his case was called on. Nasty little bugger, convicted of flashing at school girls. I thought at the time that it was the reason I got the brief you know, better send in an old queen like me rather than one of you pretty young fillies.”
He paused and studied his reflection in his knife.
“So, he was walked down the corridor flanked by these two enormous men, cuffed on each side. I know, I know, alarm bells should have started at this point, but silly Billy, just presumed it was a new protocol or something. The door opened to the room and the guards tried to come in too. I was adamant: ‘Whoa! Nice to see you all gentlemen, but out!’”
Bill winked at his enraptured audience. “So, they went outside and waited by the door. It was going great guns until I dropped my pen on the floor as we’re reading through his pre-sentence report together. He scrabbled under the table to retrieve my Mont Blanc and the next thing I knew the dirty bastard was defecating on the floor! Well, what was I to do? My first thought was to give him a good whack over the head with Archbold, but that could have done some serious damage! My second was to scream, but he’d probably have enjoyed that. In the end I stood there like an idiot until one of the security guards happened to look through the window and spotted what the little reprobate was up to. I have never seen two eighteen stone men move so fast in my life and for me ladies, that is saying something!”
Serena and I had sat there open mouthed through this story; it’s not often that words fail two forthright female criminal barristers but on that occasion I had no clue what to say.
Bill had told this story at a volume wholly unsuitable for a family restaurant, given the disapproving looks that came from nearby tables. It didn’t help that Robert had asked Bill to demonstrate the ‘squatting,’ which he did with gusto, choosing the leg of our current pupil, Cassie to lean against.
This was a mean trick; Serena or I could have got away with giving him a swift kick in the nethers had he attempted to rope us in to his little floorshow, but as a pupil, Cassie didn’t have that option. I must send her a text actually to make sure that she hasn’t taken her audience participation to heart.
The door to the bedroom opens and Sebastian sticks his head round.
“Anyone alive in here?”
I think about this. I try and sit up. That was not a good idea
“No,” I murmur. I try to wiggle my toes and am absurdly pleased when my body responds. I feel slightly more positive now. “Well, maybe.”
With misplaced optimism, I try and sit up again and my whole world comes crashing down around my ears. I flop back down on my mattress.
“Actually, no.”
Sebastian walks into the room, carefully avoiding the trail of abandoned shoes, stockings and underwear.
“You only have yourself to blame. Thanks for waking me up with your rendition of ‘Shaddap You Face’ at half three this morning. Just what I needed.”
I cringe at this and duck my head back under the duvet.
“Sorry, it must have been on in the restaurant last night, you know how things get stuck in my head.” I brighten, “Plus, it’s a classic. Oh, by the way, you’ll never guess who we ran into last night!”
“Lucinda? Yeah, I do know, you spent about twenty minutes ranting about her when you were trying to get undressed. I must say you can be quite vicious after a few glasses. So are you planning on getting up today?”
With this, Sebastian whips the duvet off like a magician practicing his latest trick. I squeal in horror at the cold and injustice of this move.
“Do I have to?” I whine, making fruitless attempts to snatch some cover from him.
“Yes. Your mum’s been on the phone, apparently some important looking mail has been delivered addressed to you there.”
Adopting the foetal position to try and conserve heat I look up at his smiling green eyes.
“You’re a cruel man.” After a moment when it becomes clear he’s not going to relent I speak. “Fair enough, are you coming?”
“No, I’m meeting the lads to watch the match then we’re going out for a few and a curry”
Ooh, that sounds good. Nothing like good takeaway to kill a hangover. I’m feeling a bit perkier at the thought.
“Yum! Can I come too?”
Sebastian starts to laugh, “Yeah, right, so you can insist we do karaoke instead of watching the football and then manage to drop your Balti on someone? I think have to say no.”
“Fine! I know when I’m not wanted. But if you think that you’re all piling in here after to watch the highlights then you’re sorely mistaken. What time do you have to leave?” I ask, looking at him sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Not for at least an hour” he replies, narrowing his eyes at me.
“Well, if you have time to kill then fancy trying to warm me up again?”
I crawl over to where he is perched and rest my head on his legs, adopting what I hope looks like puppy-dog eyes.
“Lauren, if this is a ruse to get your duvet back then I’m not falling for it!”
Damn it, rumbled. Plan B. “Fine. Well if I do get up then can I please have a cup of tea? And maybe some toast? With some eggs?” My head is instantly consumed with thoughts of buttery muffins and salty smoked salmon under poached eggs with peppery yolks running down the side of the dough. My mouth waters. Given the amount of pasta I ate last night, I really should be thinking about going for a run, not eating more food but there is nothing like a late Saturday brunch to get me out of bed. Actually...