Before I can stop myself, I turn to a clean page and start to sketch him. My pencil catches his craggy face with the high, broad cheekbones and the silky ash-brown hair that sometimes falls into brown eyes that are so clear they almost look see-through. I sketch his nose that’s obviously been broken once or twice and gives him a rakish charm. But it’s his mouth that fascinates me. It’s wide and curling and too soft for such a strong, harsh face.

He wears his life on that face, I realise as I continue to draw. It’s in the faint web of lines that run from his heavy-lidded eyes that speak of many years spent laughing, and the bags beneath that show he’s a man who enjoys life. It’s not a handsome face, but it’s stunning, full of vitality and sardonic amusement that are impossible to look away from.

His looks and his charisma make me wonder what it would be like to get to know him better. Dangerous, probably. The thought makes me smile. I’ve had chances to know him in the past, but never took them. My sister and her husband have mentioned Magnus many times over the years. It’s hard to believe he’s the same Magnus.

My companion’s voice breaks into my reverie. “That’s wonderful,” she breathes.

I look down at the paper, startled, and Mags’s face looks back at me. I’ve drawn him while absorbed in my thoughts, as if on autopilot. I often get absorbed this way. I shake my head, and after scrawling my signature at the bottom, I rip the paper from the pad and offer it to her.

“For you,” I say. “Something to remember him by.”

“Are you sure?” she says, her face soft. “It’s lovely. You could sell it.”

“Not to anyone who knows him,” I observe.

She looks curiously at me but takes the paper as delicately as if it’s one of the crown jewels. “Thank you so much,” she says.

“You’re welcome.” I look up as my stepfather announces the end of the day’s proceedings, and everyone around gets to their feet, stretching and probably trying to get the feeling back in their arses.

I wait in my seat after saying goodbye to my companion for the day and watch as the courtroom starts to empty, the accused being escorted by police back down into the bowels of the building and the van that’s waiting for him.

A headache pulses at my temples, and I sigh as black spots dance in my eyes. Shit. I’m fumbling for my tablets when footsteps approach me.