“Ack, I spend my days being looked down on by him in a courtroom. I wouldn’t fancy having him on my wall as well.” He grins at me and I suppress the urge to linger in the corridor and talk more. “Well, nice to meet you, Laurie Gentry,” I call over my shoulder as I walk back to my flat. “Du er en fjollet fjols.”

“What does that mean?” he says through his chuckles.

“You are a silly fool,” I inform him and shut my door on his renewed laughter.

I lean back against my door and finally allow my smile to break through. Then I put the thought of him away and head back to the kitchen to find the dinner that Mrs Sinclair will have left for me.

A pleasant interlude, but I doubt I will talk to him again.

Chapter Three

Laurie

I shift position on the wooden bench and then do it again when it doesn’t relieve the ache in my arse. Court cases can go on for ages, so why they don’t make the seats comfortable has always been a mystery.

The prosecution QC drones on at the front of the courtroom, leaving the witness looking a little glazed.

“Uncomfortable, isn’t it?” the woman next to me whispers.

I shoot her a smile. “Awful.”

She leans closer. “I come here all the time, but I bring a cushion now.”

“You come here a lot?” I ask. She’s tiny, with lilac-coloured hair and faded blue eyes.

“Well, only for Mr Carlsen’s trials.”

I bite my lip. “And you like the way he defends a client?”

She winks. “And the way he fills out those robes. He’s a brilliant QC, though. It’s always worth watching him.”

The lady on my left leans forward. “Do you mind me asking what a QC is?” she asks with an American accent.

My lilac-haired neighbour inflates with importance. “It stands for Queen’s Counsel. They’re the top barristers who take the most important cases. It’s a huge honour to be one.”

“And what are barristers?”

I lean back farther so they can whisper over me, but they’re too intent on each other to notice. I hope we don’t get thrown out for talking.

“They’re lawyers but they’re the only ones who can come to court,” my original neighbour says. “If you’re going to be tried, you get yourself a solicitor, but they can’t act for you in court, so they pass your case on to a barrister. And if you’re really lucky, you get Mr Carlsen.”

I glance at Magnus. He’s leaning back in his chair and looking almost bored. As if the whole trial process is just too trite to hold his attention. Several jurors are watching him rather than the prosecution QC, and I can’t say I blame them.