Court Out

Chapter Twenty Three





It doesn’t take me long to drive to Westhulste House. I make my way up the long, sweeping gravel entrance drive and take in the grandeur of the majestic building. I can see why Serena chose this venue for her big day; it looks like something regularly frequented by D-list celebrities who pull up in horse-drawn Cinderella carriages.

I find a parking space and take a moment to compose myself. Serena wants me to stay here overnight with her and help her to get ready in the morning and as yet, I’ve been unable to think of a reason to get out of it. With a heavy heart and a feeling of foreboding I clamber out of the Audi and make my way to the entrance.

I’m met with scenes of chaos. Some people are rushing about carrying large floral arrangements, others are shuttling large suitcases into rooms off the large, opulently decorated hallway. I stand in the doorway, fascinated by the activity before me.

My reverie is rudely interrupted by a screeching noise that I immediately recognise to be made by Serena. No-one apart from me seems to bat an eyelid at this audible abomination, so I suspect that this isn’t the first time it has been heard today. I resign myself to my fate and head towards a room at the end of the corridor.

Sure enough, as the heavy door swings open I spy the bride-to-be pointing at a small well-dressed cowering man who is desperately clutching at a wad of paper. I step inside, trying to remain undetected.

“This is not what I paid for, how dare you try and rip me off!” Serena is shrieking like a pre-menstrual banshee.

“I haff not!” he desperately replies in an accent that could be French.

“You bloody have!” she continues. “I told you that the paper for the menus had to be specially sourced from Japan! This looks like it has come from a bloody photocopier!”

The man looks as though he is praying for a miracle as his protests fall on very deaf ears. Luckily for him, someone is listening. Mid rant, Serena turns and spots me.

“You!” she screams.

I run through my mental inventory of ways to deal with this. I know that I’m supposed to still be the dutiful bridesmaid, but I’m not sure I can take much more of her crap.

“Yes?” I venture.

“Where the f*ck have you been?” she yells. “You are the world’s worst friend ever!”

I remain silent as she comes striding towards me. Up close, she looks even angrier. It’s killing me that she can take this sanctimonious line with me and I can’t tell her that I know about her betrayal. I remind myself that this is only for a little while; the police have to do something soon. Don’t they?

Sebastian and I had a long talk last night about what to do about Ewan. I agree with Sebastian that we can’t let him walk into this wedding with no idea at all about his fiancée’s infidelity, let alone her criminal behaviour. Although we both shared that view, neither of us had a clue on how to break it to him without letting on about her involvement with the juror bribing. As it stands, Sebastian is going to try and think of a solution. My instructions sadly remain the same, pretend I know nothing and try to carry on as normal.

I look at my former best friend and plaster on what I hope is a vaguely convincing smile.

“Hi Serena! The venue looks gorgeous, you must be so excited!”

She gives me a long, cold look. I’m suddenly struck by the realisation that I don’t recognise the woman standing in front of me.

“Where have you been? I’ve had so much to do over the last few weeks and you totally ditched me!”

“It may have escaped your attention Serena, but I have had rather a lot to deal with lately,” I say bluntly. This is going to be much harder than I thought. If I wasn’t looking for it, I’d have missed the flash of something resembling triumph in her eyes.

“Fine, well you’re here now. I need you to go speak to the idiots in the kitchen and sort out the timings for the courses tomorrow, do me a seating chart then call up the band to run through the songs that they are not, under any circumstances, allowed to play. This is a sophisticated, elegant affair and I need the music to reflect that!” she snaps.

Without complaint, I nod and turn away from her. It’s going to be a busy afternoon but hopefully I won’t have to see much of her.

I spend a happy half an hour on the phone to the band leader telling him that Serena’s favourite song is ‘Agadoo’ and that they must, must play all of the dance classics, such as ‘YMCA’, the ‘Birdie Song’ and ‘Oops up side your head’. The thought of everyone doing the dance to the latter really tickles me as I imagine everyone sat on the floor, legs akimbo rocking backwards and forwards. As I hang up I feel a pang of guilt for my actions; I know that the band will get an almighty bollocking for this, but it’ll soon be traced back to me. Hopefully by this time tomorrow Serena will have chilled out enough to think it’s funny. This thought stops me in my tracks as I realise that whilst her inner Bridezilla may disappear, the evil bitch that tried to ruin my life will remain. Whatever happens, I really have lost my best friend.

I toy with the idea of spending the rest of the day changing details of the wedding to really annoy her. I’m so close to speaking to the organist and asking him to substitute ‘Pachelbel's Canon’ for something more fitting, like ‘Devil Woman’ for Serena’s entrance but just manage to stop myself; tomorrow is going to be enough of a massive farce without my interference.

My mobile phone vibrates in my pocket and I take it out to see who is trying to get hold of me. It’s a text message from Cassie:

‘Are you ok? The police have just been in Chambers!’

Intrigued, I instantly call her back, but am dismayed when I am connected to her voicemail. I hang up, desperate to know what she means. Of course I immediately think it’s to do with the information I gave them, but knowing my luck they’ve come to re-arrest and charge me.

I pace up and down the long room and wonder what to do. Could I try and call someone else from work? I grab a bottle of champagne that is resting in a crate on top of a grand piano and hurriedly remove the cork. Forgoing the need for a glass I take a few huge gulps, barely pausing for air and trying not to notice that it is luke warm. Slightly fortified I scroll through my contacts and press ‘dial’ before I have time to mentally talk myself out of it. After a couple of rings, I’m connected.

“Yes?” barks the familiar voice of my senior clerk.

“Roger?” I venture, “It’s Lauren.”

There is silence on the end of the line and I quickly check the display to make sure that I haven’t accidentally put myself on ‘mute.’ I can hear a raspy breathing coming from his end. After what seems to be an age, he speaks.

“Ah, yes. I was wondering how long it would take Miss.”

“Don’t even start with that. You know I’m persona non grata in Chambers. It’s not like I can pop in for a friendly chat!”

He makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. “Not what I meant Miss. Not what I meant at all.”

It takes a few seconds for this to sink in.

“You mean?” I try, my brain working at a speed of knots.

“Yes Miss. It would seem that the police have finally got their act together. If you’ll pardon my French, the shit is very much about to hit the fan.”

I clutch the windowsill and stare blankly out at the rolling fields. “Have, have the police arrested anyone yet? Who knows?”

“Well, from what I’ve gathered, they’re looking for certain people at the moment, Miss. They appear to have grasped the reality of the situation, if that’s what you mean.”

“Are they looking for Serena? They know she’s getting married tomorrow, right?” I exclaim.

My head is suddenly filled with visions of Eastenders-esque arrests made at the altar.

Roger sighs. “Yes, they are looking for her, but I’m afraid I don’t know what their plans are.”

“So who else knows? Alexander?” I snap, suddenly furious about the lack of belief my Head of Chambers has in me.

“Not sure Miss, I know he was about earlier, but I can’t say for sure. I have to go now, I’m sure you’ll be kept informed, whatever happens.”

He hangs up and I lean forward and try to catch my breath. Is this it? Does this mean they believe me? Is this nightmare finally about to end? I’d better call Sebastian, let him know what is going on.

As I straighten up and turn back away from the window, my heart stops. Stood in the doorway is none other than Serena. Shit. How long has she been there for? I mentally replay my conversation to see if there was anything I said that might have indicated what we were talking about. Whilst I can’t remember every word, I’m pretty sure she’d have cottoned on if she’d been there long enough. The expression on her face is one of displeasure, but given her recent mood then that’s nothing to be concerned about.

“What’s up?” I ask casually, deliberately avoiding her penetrating stare.

“What are you doing in here?” she asks, her voice steady but with a steely edge. Her blonde curls have been pulled back into a tight ponytail and she looks a lot harder than normal.

“I’ve just finished talking to the band, going through the songs like you asked,” I lie. Well, I had been doing that before speaking to Roger I rationalise.

She continues to stare at me.

“And what songs did you tell them to avoid Lauren?”

I rack my brain frantically, “Anything by the Police, I know you really can’t stand Sting, you know, just the usual.”

My voice is way too high pitched to sound plausible and I know this in one of the most implausible sentences I’ve ever constructed. Amazingly, her face appears to clear and she nods.

“Fine. Have you sorted the table plan yet? What about the church readings?” she quizzes, her eyes flitting about the room.

“All done, I just have a few-”

“What the f*ck!” she yells. I literally jump half a foot in the air. “Lauren! Did you open one of the bottles of vintage Moet that we are using for the toasts?” She is pointing at the bottle of bubbly I opened to provide the Dutch courage to call Roger. Shit. Oh sod it, It’s only a bottle of fizzy wine. I decide to bite the bullet. Taking a deep breath, I answer her.

“Yes, I did. I needed something to perk me up after running around all day. I was about to bring it through,” I say, attempting and failing to look repentant. She tuts and casts a disapproving eye over my hips.

“I presumed you’d be watching the calories. I hope your dress still fits. Just make sure you don’t have any more carbs today. If we are short of fizz tomorrow, you can buy some more.”

With that she gives me a very odd look, turns on her heel and stalks out.

I take another swig of the champagne for good measure. That was either really close, or she’s on to me. I shut the door and call DC Connelly. Damn, voicemail. I leave him a garbled message asking him to call me back as a matter of urgency. I take a few deep yoga breaths and try to think about what she could have heard. I’m sure I mentioned something about the police, arrests and Serena. But surely, she’d have said something if she heard that though? All I can do for the moment is carry on regardless I guess. This champagne is not leaving my side though. I grab another bottle, just in case.