Court Out

Chapter Twelve





Sebastian got home last night just after half past one. He was exhausted when he climbed into bed and pretty much fell asleep straightaway. I lay away, curled up against his frame thinking about the case, trying not to think about Rivers and instead worrying about ways in which it could go wrong because of me.

As such, when I did finally doze off, my dreams were full of nightmare scenarios involving a courtroom, no clothes and me. This morning was therefore perhaps the only one this year when I’ve been happy to get up before midday. I’ve got a little extra time this morning given the site visit, so decide to make a proper breakfast for once.

I rummage through the kitchen cupboards and pull out a box of muesli, put on some toast and switch on the cappuccino maker. As I pour myself a bowl and take a huge, raisiny bite, I resolve that today will be a good one. After two pieces of toast topped with raspberry jam I’m feeling very positive about the day ahead. Our daily paper is full of reports about the trial, re-runs of previous interviews with his other lovers and various photographs of Hobbs in action. It’ll be so surreal wandering around his house later on today. I can’t believe he still lives there. It seems inconceivable to me that anyone would want to remain where their spouse died, was murdered, indeed. To see the pool everyday where she was found would be torture if you’d hadn’t killed her, but at best, bizarre if you had.

I wander upstairs and get dressed. One of the benefits of this job is the very little I can deviate in choices of clothing. The racks in my wardrobe are filled with black suits, white shirts and black tops. Today I pick a black crepe trouser suit and pair it with a black V-neck top and some seriously pointy crocodile-effect black heels. Shoes aside, I look like I’m about to attend a funeral, but given where I am going, perhaps that’s rather fitting.

I decide to leave my hair down for now and apply my usual layers of makeup. Satisfied with my reflection in the mirror, I walk back to the bedroom where Sebastian is still fast asleep. I lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek, but he barely stirs. He looks so peaceful I decide not to wake him and walk out, softly closing the door behind me.

I get to Chambers around ten thirty and run smack into Bill in the foyer. Literally. He drops the briefs in his arms and we both scramble around trying to pick them up.

“Darling girl!” he exclaims. “What’s this I hear about you examining witnesses in this murder?”

I laugh, “It was only one witness and a pretty uncontroversial one at that.”

“So it’s true? Scandalous!” he drawls.

“Hardly. Anyway, how did you get to hear about it?”

“Jungle drums my dear, jungle drums. The news that the great Corr allowed his junior to take a witness has spread like wildfire, pardon me for mixing my metaphors of course, but it’s practically unheard of!”

“Really?” I exclaim before I can stop myself.

“Yes! He never let Samantha ‘have a go’ so God knows what you’ve done to get in his good books!” He pauses then eyes me suspiciously. “You haven’t, have you?”

“Haven’t what?” I ask, not understanding what he’s on about

“You know, Lauren, pretty girl like you, lonely old man like him...”

As comprehension dawns I punch him hard on the arm and he yelps, almost dropping the briefs again.

“You and your filthy mind Bill. Whilst I don’t need to justify myself to a gossip monger like you, no, I am not sleeping my way to the top.”

“Calm down dear!” he splutters, “In that case, you should be very flattered. Right, I’d better get over to court. I’m already late. Toodles!”

As he walks off, rubbing his arm I feel slightly guilty for belting him, but the last thing I need is him telling everyone that we’re having some sort of sordid affaire.

Serena is waiting for me at the desk opposite to mine. I dump my handbag on the shiny mahogany between us and take my seat.

“Hello stranger,” I say warmly “All set for our class trip?”

“I’m not allowed to go,” she says forlornly. “It’s only the judge, the barristers and the jury really, plus a couple of court staff to record events. Because there’s no live evidence then there’s nothing for me to take a note of. I’m spending the morning catching up on some papers here.”

“I’m sorry, but we’ll only be gone for an hour or so.”

“Yeah, that’s what Andrew said last night,” she muses, not looking at me.

“You two seem to be getting pretty close,” I say tentatively, doodling on a piece of paper in front of me with an old biro.

“He’s lovely, we have so much in common. I feel I can talk to him about pretty much everything.”

“But you’ve only known him a few days?”

“He sent me a text on Monday evening, I replied, and we’ve been chatting ever since.”

I feel a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach.

“What did the text say? Does Lucinda not mind your new friendship?”

“No, she’s had to go back to London to deal with something for the wedding. Didn’t you notice that she wasn’t there yesterday afternoon?”

I try not to blush. “No, I had other things to worry about yesterday afternoon.” I wait, expecting her to mention my role in the proceedings, but to my amazement she carries on as if I haven’t mentioned it.

“I can’t remember what the text was exactly, but the gist was he wanted to take me out for a drink. He totally ‘gets’ me. We were up pretty much all of last night talking about the case and each other.”

What? Last night?

“Really? When did you two meet up again?”

“He called quite late in the evening and I went to meet him at Blue. We got pretty drunk if I’m honest.” She giggles and looks conspiratorially at me.

I decide to tread very carefully. “That’s nice.” I reply. “Where was Ewan?”

“God knows,” she responds. “I told him I was working. Which I was, I suppose. Andrew’s so deep. We talked for ages about the case, and well, about each other.”

“So if you were ‘up all night’ did you call him too?” I enquire.

“No? I went back to his hotel with him.”

She notices my troubled expression and correctly interprets it.

“Before you start, it was totally platonic. We just talked.”

The trill of her mobile phone interrupts her.

“Speak of the devil!” she exclaims. “I’ll see you in a bit, ok?”

With that, she answers the call and sashays out of my room.

Feeling troubled, all thoughts of breakfast forgotten, I make my way over to court. There is a huge executive coach parked alongside the side entrance and the press are looking at it with interest. They’ve now worked out that I’m the prosecution junior and fire questions at me as I run the gauntlet to the door.

“Lauren! Lauren, why are you all going to the house?”

“Lauren, what’s the next plan of attack?”

“Lauren, do you believe he did it?”

I flash a quick smile at them but don’t say anything. It’s really actually quite intimidating having microphones thrust into your face every morning. Corr and Quinn just saunter through without a care in the world. Mind you, they must be used to it, dealing with murders on a daily basis as they do. I’d never say this out loud, but I’d love to think that one day I could be considered good enough to be made a silk, a Queen’s Counsel. Actually, if it ever were to happen, I’d be more likely to be a King’s Counsel as presumably Charles or William will be on the throne then. People in Chambers would tease me mercilessly if they thought I had that sort of ambition and I’d hate for people to think I was getting too big for my boots and being presumptuous. A lot of barristers aspire to become a Judge, but I can’t imagine that’s something that would suit me. I think I’d get too lonely and miss the Chambers camaraderie.

The parties have assembled in one of the back corridors so that we can get onto the coach without attracting too much attention. I stand next to Corr and Quinn and looks around for Rivers. That’s odd, where is he? I scan the faces in the passage, looking for his familiar profile but draw a blank. I turn to Quinn

“No junior today Peter?” I inquire, checking that I haven’t missed him

“Nope. Flying solo. He said there was something he wanted to work on. Knowing him, he just wants a lie in. I understand Lucinda has been her usual demanding self.”

“I bet,” I say, knowing full well that Lucinda is not the one currently keeping him awake.

He laughs “We all keep teasing him that he’s only marrying her for the money. Very bright lad though is Andrew, very hard working. Really driven to succeed.”

I make a noncommittal noise and Quinn resumes his conversation with Corr. We’re all silenced a few moments later by the arrival of Mr. Justice Wynne and his clerk. He’s wearing a dark grey suit and it’s really odd to see him without his usual ceremonial dress. He looks a lot younger without it and he’s taller than I expected too. He smiles warmly at all of us.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, in a moment we will board the bus but before we do, there are a few ground rules that I must put in place. Number one, whilst we are out, please surrender all mobile phones to the jury bailiff; it’s crucial that no-one contacts anyone outside of our number or takes any photographs of the scene. Number two, please do not touch anything unless you are directed to do so. Please treat the home of Mr. Hobbs with the courtesy you would expect of a visitor to your own house. Finally, number three, stay with the group at all times. Please avoid the temptation to wander off on your own, as that will cause us undue delay. I think that is everything. You already know that you are not to use this excursion as a forum to discuss the previous evidence, so please refrain from doing so. Right, if we’re all ready, then lets go.”

We file out of the exit door and up the stairs onto the coach. The jury are directed to fill up the back three rows, the court staff the next two, then the Defendant and his solicitors in the middle and the barristers sit at the front by the judge.

We sit in silence as we make our way out of the city centre and into one of the leafy suburbs. I watch as the houses become further and further apart before we enter a long road with gated entrances. The coach turns into a property on the left and there are a few gasps from behind me. After being granted access through gates bearing the letters ‘R’ and ‘M’ we process up the long tree-lined drive before stopping in front of an enormous white mansion.

The house was built from scratch in 2002 after the couple demolished an existing 1920’s mansion. Any hint of its former life has been well and truly destroyed by the new design, featuring gaudy pillars, and full size statues of Hobbs in action. We’re led into the entrance hall, which in actual fact is more like a ballroom. The floor is polished white marble and the walls are bright white. The only hint of colour in the room comes from the numerous photographs hung on the walls. Most are again, shots of Hobbs playing for his team. He walks among us, like he is playing the proud host rather than a man on trial for murder.

We spend the next half hour or so going through each of the many rooms in turn. The decor sticks to the same white theme throughout, giving the house an oddly sterile feeling. There are also photographs of Marina everywhere. If I were being cynical, I might suggest that Hobbs has installed them especially for this purpose, to present himself as a grieving widower rather than a drunken wife beater.

He’s left Marina’s wardrobe as per the photographs we have in our bundle. It looks as though when the clothes were taken and put in the suitcases, Marina was in one heck of a hurry.

I look around at the rails of clothes and racks of shoes and feel a pang of sadness that her life was cut short so soon. Garments sit on their hangers still bearing their original tags, bought by Marina no doubt envisioning their debut at some glitzy occasion. Now they just sit here gathering dust.

The two suitcases contained an odd mix of outfits, skiwear, nightclothes, stilettos, boots, cocktail dresses and sweaters. When Marina packed them, then I’d say she was a lady whose head was all over the place. Perhaps unsurprising given her husband had not only been revealed to have cheated on her, but betrayed her in a truly terrible way.

Our guided tour takes us to the cellar and I feel a tingle of excitement. The room is much cooler than the rest of the house and I try to suppress a shiver. We’re not going to have much time in this room, as it doesn’t feature heavily in the case. Yet. I cast my eyes around the various racks of bottles looking for where he keeps the champagne.

To my amazement, the majority of the contents appears to have been stocked from the ‘3 bottles for £10’ section of his local supermarket; I can’t see anything of any real value in here at all. I spy a rack of foil-topped bottles and surreptitiously edge over to get a better look. There are about twenty bottles in all and I note with amusement that there are a few bottles of Asti among them. The rest are of a similar caliber and there is definitely no bottle of Krug Clos Du Mesnil 1995 in this room, or anything like it. I make a note of the labels I can see and tuck my pad into my handbag before running up the stairs out of the room to catch the others.

To end the tour, we are taken outside to the pool. The people that were chatting between themselves stop as we survey the area. It’s a sunny September day and the pool looks a gorgeous shade of aqua blue. That being said, there is no way in a million years I would ever get into it, knowing what happened there.

From what I understand of the evidence from the previous trials, Hobbs has stated he still swims in there every day. He’s just wandered over to an outbuilding and produced a large pole with a net on the end and is fishing out some stray leaves that have fallen in. I turn away; I don’t want to have to look at this for any longer than I have to. It appears the jury feel the same way as I can hear restless murmurs coming from the group.

“I think that’s enough,” says the Judge. “If you could all now return to the coach, we will make our way back to court.”

We arrive in good time to start the afternoon session at two. I’m surprised when Corr suggests that we grab some food before we return. We go for lunch at a nearby Italian restaurant. I grab a table near to the window and we take our seats. Corr drums his fingers on the red tablecloth as a waitress comes over to take our orders. I ask for a tuna melt and a Diet Coke and Corr has a rare beef sandwich and a San Pellegrino. As she walks away, Corr speaks.

“So, what did you make of that?”

I decide not to pass the time with platitudes and get straight to the point.

“If the smashed bottle is the Krug, there is no way it came from his cellar. Whoever dropped the bottle bought it from outside. I did a bit of googling last night and it’s a really rare bottle. There is no way that the jury would believe that coincidentally someone else had one too. Why would burglars bring their own booze?”

“We should have the results of the photo enhancement later today along with a statement from a vintner confirming its rarity. If the results are as you suspect then it will significantly strengthen the prosecution case.”

I beam. “I really hope so. Either way you’ll get some closure on this case.”

He gives me a rare smile in return.

“Too true. I’ll be glad to see the back of him.”

“Hobbs?” I ask “Or Quinn?”

He gives a low chuckle. “Peter and I go way back, but we do differ in terms of style somewhat.”

“You can say that again!” I exclaim. “Chalk and cheese would be something of an understatement.”

Our food arrives and we both tuck in in comfortable silence. After the bill is paid he speaks again.

“Back to battle we go!”

By the time we arrive back in the courtroom Serena and Rivers are already there, sitting together whispering about something. I cough and it seems to me that they jump apart, guiltily.

“So, how was your trip?” asks Rivers. I look at him and see no trace of embarrassment, no shame for his actions of last night.

“Fine thanks.” I reply curtly, walking past them and taking my seat. Even without looking, I know that both of them are watching me.

The next witness for the prosecution is the policeman who arrested Hobbs on the morning of the discovery. Corr is seamlessly taking him through his evidence.

“So officer, when did you become aware that the Defendant was near to the house?”

“We were searching the scene for pieces of evidence when I had a report over my radio that the police helicopter had spotted a man matching the Defendant’s description lurking a few roads away. I got in my patrol car and found him hiding in a phone box.”

“What type of state was he in?” asks Corr.

“His eyes were glazed, he was unsteady on his feet and he smelled strongly of alcohol.”

“What about his behaviour?”

“Well he wasn’t pleased to see me if that’s what you mean. He tried to run away when he saw the police car.”

“Did you manage to catch him?”

“Yes, it wasn’t hard. He fell over a few steps in so I was able to apprehend and handcuff him. Once I’d done that I arrested him on suspicion of murder and cautioned him, read him his rights so to speak,” he replies.

“Did you take him back to the house?”

“No, we took him straight to the police station where his detention was authorised. He was put in a cell until he sobered up and he was interviewed the next day.”

“And in that interview he had the presence of a solicitor?”

“That’s correct, yes.”

“But when you asked questions of him, he answered ‘no comment’ to each and every one?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

Quinn is on his feet in a flash

“Officer, when you found Mr. Quinn he was quite smelly wasn’t he?”

The policeman pauses.

“Well yes, I suppose he wasn’t particularly fragrant.”

“And he was wearing the same clothes as the night before, we’ve seen the CCTV”

“Yes, I’ll agree with that.”

“And he wasn’t wet was he?” prompts Quinn.

“Pardon?”

“Wet. He wasn’t wet, or damp or at all waterlogged was he?”

“No,” says the officer looking resigned.

“Dry as a bone I’d suggest?”

“Well, it was a dry day,” he retorts.

“Thank you. Now, as a vigilant police officer, I’m sure you were aware of the scandal that was surrounding Mr. Hobbs at that time, the incident with Amanda Windsmore?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And having sex with an underage girl is a criminal offence?”

“Yes, again, of course it is.”

“So it’s quite possible that the police could have been looking to arrest Mr. Hobbs for any number of offences in connection to that girl?”

“Well we did look in to it, but she refused to co-operate.”

“No, officer. On that morning, before you had spoken to her, it’s entirely possible the police could have arrested Mr. Hobbs for a sexual offence,” he presses, knowing full well what the answer will be.

“Yes, we could have.”

“And it’s right that the police hadn’t contacted him prior to then to tell him they wouldn’t be trying to prosecute him?”

“Of course not. That’s not police practice.”

“So when he was running away from you, it’s possible it could have been that he didn’t want to speak to you about that then, isn’t it?”

“Well, I suppose so-”

“And regarding the interview. The first line of the caution starts you do not have to say anything doesn’t it.”

“Yes, it does.”

Quinn sits down, a smirk on his face. I look across to see Rivers with an equally smug expression.

Corr spends the remainder of the afternoon reading out the agreed evidence in the case. As Hobbs went ‘no comment’ in interview luckily we don’t have to sit through pages and pages of that being read out.

Just after four, the courtroom door opens and a uniformed officer passes me a small bundle of papers. I scan them eagerly. Jack-bloody-pot.

The first is a statement from a police officer who has enhanced the photograph of the smashed champagne bottle. It lists his various qualifications and experience with the relevant software and attached to it a large colour photograph. Amidst the green glass, the parts of the label are now clear. Krug Clos Du Mesnil 1995.

The second statement comes from a man called Raymond Weir. Mr. Weir is an established wine merchant with many shops around the country. He’s completed a full enquiry into the history of the champagne and attached the documents to support his conclusion.

In his statement he details his experience and the job he was tasked with. His account ends with this sentence. ‘This particular bottle is also extremely rare as only 12,624 bottles were produced in the 1995 vintage.’

I pass them forward to Corr who leafs through them whilst still reading a statement to the jury. When he finishes, he addresses the Judge and asks them to send the jury out.

“My Lord, I have two new statements that the prosecution seek to rely on”

Quinn jumps to his feet in a flash

“What!” he explodes “How, after three trials can you be serving more evidence now?”

The Judge makes a calming gesture with his hands.

“Mr. Corr, can I please see this evidence? Perhaps you could hand Mr. Quinn a copy too?”

Corr hands the papers around the court and we sit in silence for a few minutes before the Judge breaks the silence.

“Well” he says, sounding rather shell-shocked, tapping the end of his fountain pen on the papers “As you know Mr. Quinn, the prosecution are perfectly entitled to serve more evidence up until the point they close their case, which they have not done yet. There is of course the issue over whether you want me to grant you an adjournment so you can find an expert of your own to comment on either matter? That is a request I would consider, but perhaps given the source of Mr. Weir’s conclusion, you are perhaps in an insurmountable predicament?”

Quinn has turned a worrying shade of red and he looks furious.

“My Lord, I must object at the addition of such evidence at this late stage. I do ask it ought not be admitted given the undoubtable prejudice to the defence!”

“I’m sorry Mr. Quinn but no. This evidence is perfectly admissible. Given the lateness of the hour now, I will ask for your thoughts on this tomorrow morning.”

After he leaves. Quinn turns to us. There’s a hint of venom in his usually jovial tone.

“Are you that desperate to win that you start trying to ambush us at the eleventh hour?”

Corr remains calm and his tone is even in his reply “My junior picked up on something I’d missed. You will of course appreciate that she was not present during either of the previous trials. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some matters I need to attend to.”

He walks away, leaving me stood with Quinn. I really hope he doesn’t try and take his frustration out on me. For a moment, it looks like he’s going to say something, but he inhales and appears to swallow the words that had formed on his lips. Rivers is stood just behind him and he taps him on the shoulder.

“Come on, Hobbs is waiting for us outside. We need to have a conference. Now.”

I watch as the pair walk away from me and find that Serena has materialised at my side.

“You look as though you could use a drink!” she exclaims.

“Now?” I query, seeing the time on the clock at the back of court. “It’s not even five yet!”

She looks at me with an expression of sympathy on her face.

“It appears you’ve had a busy day, plus we haven’t had a proper chat in ages. Come on, I’ll even buy the first bottle.”

I quickly weigh up the pros and cons in my head. Yes, it is a weekday, yes I do really have a lot of work that I could and should be doing, yes I really should get home to Sebastian, but I could do with having a bit of a vent about this to someone who understands exactly what the issues are and I do need to talk to Serena about the Andrew situation. Decision made, I nod at her and grab my handbag from beneath my seat.

The bar is about half full so we have no difficulty in finding a table with two squashy armchairs next to it. We fall into our usual topics of conversation easily and spend a good hour chatting about general Chambers news and gossip.

Apparently, Joanna received an anonymous letter from one of Robert’s conquests disclosing details of their illicit liaisons. She’s thrown him out and he’s spending his time either asleep in one of the conference rooms in Chambers or here, in the bar drowning his sorrows. He’s not here now, which I’m quite glad about, as I don’t think I could muster any sympathy for him. He made his bed and now he’d been chucked out of it.

“He only has himself to blame. He’s not sorry he did it, he’s sorry he’s been caught!”

“I feel quite bad for him actually,” comments Serena.

“Why?”

“Well, he obviously doesn’t get what he needs at home, so what does she expect?”

“You think this is Joanna’s fault?”

“No, I don’t think it’s her fault but perhaps if she’d been more attentive then he wouldn’t have strayed.”

“Bullshit!” I exclaim, banging my glass down onto the table in front of me “That’s such a cop-out and I’m surprised you’re thinking like this. Would you still say that if Ewan cheated on you?”

She laughs, and it’s not a pleasant sound. “As if Lauren. Ewan wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Ok then, what about if you cheated on him?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks looking somewhat guarded.

“Well if you thought that Ewan wasn’t giving you everything you needed, would it be ok for you to look elsewhere?”

She pauses for a fraction too long.

“No, I didn’t say that. Ewan and I are completely different anyway.”

I raise an eyebrow at her.

“Really, how?”

She ignores me and changes the subject, taking a deep gulp of her drink.

“Are you all set for the reunion?”

“Yes, I got my ticket the other night.”

She checks her watch then looks at me closely.

“Have you been eating spinach?”

“What? No. Why?”

“You have something green stuck in your teeth.”

I fish about in my bag for my mirror but struggle to find it.

“Do you have a mirror on you?”

“It’s really dark in here, you’d best go to the ladies.”

“Ok, thanks.”

I get to my feet and hurry to the door at the back of the room. What on earth could it be? I’ll be so mortified if it’s something that’s been there since lunch. As I emerge into the toilet I study my reflection in the large mirror above the sink and bare my teeth. I can’t see anything.

I open my mouth wider and examine each tooth in turn. Nothing. I wash my hands and leave the room, running my hands over my hair as I walk back to Serena. She’s sitting forward in her armchair and she’s tearing up one of the napkins that came with our drinks.

“There was nothing there?”

“Maybe you dislodged it with your tongue?” she postulates, “Let me see?”

I bare my teeth at her.

“No, you’re right,” she says, “It’s gone now. Never mind.”

“So, where’s Andrew this evening?” I ask.

“Oh, I’m meeting him later.”

She shifts in her seat and refuses to meet my gaze.

“I bet you haven’t had much time to chat today because of this morning.”

“Oh no, we met up this morning after you left Chambers. I hadn’t realised he wasn’t going on the trip either, but he called me and we hooked up.”

“Really, what for?” I ask, leaning forwards in my chair in an attempt to engage her in a proper conversation.

“Just to discuss the case and stuff,” she replies, leaning ever further away from me back in her seat.

I sigh.

“Look, I’m not stupid. I have eyes. If there isn’t something going on with you two already, there will be soon.”

Her eyes snap up and she fixed me with a laser like stare. She speaks slowly.

“Stop being daft Lauren. I realise you’re all middle aged and boring now, but you’ve totally got the wrong end of the stick.” She’s smiling and looks like a naughty child. I sigh, I really don’t know what to say or do.

“I’m not trying to interfere! I just want you to be happy.”

“No Lauren, you just want to tell me what to do. You always think you know what’s best, but newsflash, you don’t!”

“That’s not fair!” I cry, “You’re planning a wedding! You’re getting married in three months. You need to be careful. If you’re unhappy about your relationship then you need to talk to Ewan, or me, not Andrew!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replies. “For the hundredth time, there is nothing going on between us. Andrew understands what I’m going through, he’s getting married too.”

“Yes, he is. Neither of you are single. I’m sorry if I’m wrong, but this just looks totally dodgy.”

Her eyes harden and she looks at me with badly disguised irritation.

“Leave it Lauren. We’re friends and nothing more.”

We sit in silence for a couple of minutes and I try and think of something to say to her. Before I can, she looks at her watch and gathers her phone and purse from the table.

“Are you off?” I ask, surprised. “We still have most of the wine!”

“Yeah, I have some stuff to do.”

I have to bite my lip to stop myself from asking whether it involves Rivers. “Ok then, well I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sure,” she replies, getting to her feet and smoothing the front of her suit. Confused, I watch her as she makes her way out of the bar.

I sit alone for a few minutes and try to compose my thoughts. Perhaps I should have mentioned what he tried with me last night? Maybe the pressure has got to me and I’ve finally gone mad and imagined this. Am I seeing things that simply aren’t there? Try as I might, I can’t help worrying about her. I pray I am wrong, but if I’m not, I hope she knows what she’s doing with Rivers and that she hasn’t done anything that can’t be reversed. I make a mental note to ask Sebastian to have a word with Ewan to gently see if he suspects anything’s amiss.

I bend down to my right ankle to retrieve my lipgloss from by bag and grope under the table. My hand hits air as I wave about trying to locate the familiar leather handles. I poke my head underneath to try and find the errant article and feel a rush of relief when I spot it about a foot away from my left heel.

Thank God, the last thing I need is for someone to have pinched my bag when I wasn’t looking. I fish out the tube from the top of my bag and dab at my lips absent-mindedly. I look out of the window at the rapidly darkening sky, see the lights of passing cars and decide to make a break for home.

As I walk the short distance from the bar to the car park, my head is full with thoughts of Serena and what, if anything I’m going to do about it. Why would Rivers kiss me then invite Serena there to fill my place after I’d bolted? Does Serena actually know what happened? Would he have told her? Why would a man who is due to get married soon - Ouch!

The air is knocked out of my lungs and I double over in pain. The floor around me is surrounded by papers and I realise with a jolt I’ve walked smack bang into someone. I look up and see a dark figure wearing a long coat and flat cap.

“Sorry, excuse me, gosh I’m sorry!” I exclaim, straightening up

The figure doesn’t speak or move. I squint and try to get a better look at them. The person appears to be male and about my height. He makes no attempt to retrieve his papers so I crouch down and assemble them into a pile in my arms.

“Here you go” I say, handing them over. “I’m such a klutz.”

I turn to walk past him and out of the corner of my eye, spot an A4 brown envelope a few feet away. I retrieve it and pass it to him.

“Nearly missed that one!” I say, placing it in his hands.

Again, the man remains silent. This is getting a bit weird.

“Ok, I think that’s them all. Sorry again!”

I walk briskly away from the male shaking my head. God there are some odd people about. Mind you, I probably startled him when I barged him off the pavement. I smile to myself. That probably looked pretty funny actually. By the time I reach my car the man is forgotten and my thoughts have returned to Serena. I drive home, troubled by the situation between us and later that night, fall into a restless sleep.