We climb into the taxi, and Laurie gives directions to the driver before he settles next to me. “So, what’s next for you at work, Mags?” he asks.

I breathe in, smelling lemony soap but no turps. Strange. “You haven’t painted today?” I ask, ignoring his question.

A complicated expression crosses his face, but it’s gone before I can identify it. “Not today, Sherlock,” he says. “I’ve finished.”

“Really? How did the judge’s picture go? Did you manage to adequately convey the po-faced expression of superiority he wears?” I’m unable to keep the acid from my voice.

He laughs. “Oh, dear. Someone sounds bitter.”

“I had him for a trial yesterday. He told me I talked too much.”

“Well, he’s not wrong.” I roll my eyes, but he happily ignores me. “Anyway, I finished his portrait last week. The painting I concentrated on this week was something else.” He pauses. “Something special.”

His expression tells me he doesn’t intend to say more, so I keep my questions to myself and settle more comfortably on the seat.

His shoulders ease, and I know he’s relieved I’ve kept quiet. “You never answered me, Mags.”

“Oh, the irony,” I say dryly, enjoying the flush that appears on his cheeks.

He continues doggedly. “What’s next for you?”

“A couple of cases this week. Then I’ve got a trial starting the following week in Nottingham.”

“You don’t just work in London, then?”

“I go all over the place.”

“Like a grumpy Danish delivery driver.” I glare, and he laughs, his humour restored. “Is this the one you had all those files for?”

I nod. “It’s a complicated case. A charge of murder that’s based on some rather dodgy physical evidence. Those files you saw have doubled since then.”

“How do you get through them all and retain all that information?”

“I’m a speed reader. Most barristers are. It’s easy for me to retain information.”

“Well, it’s not as if your brain is full of scintillating conversation.”

I bite my lip to stop the smile. “It’s certainly not when I’m talking to you.”

“Ouch, Mags. Touché Turtle.”

That startles a laugh out of me. “Good grief. That’s very ageing.”

He nudges me. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember that cartoon.”

I sigh. “Sadly, I do.”

“I always fancied him a bit,” he says musingly.

I chuckle. “You were attracted to a turtle with a musketeer hat?”

“That’s not the disturbing bit. That comes when you realise the hat was all he was wearing.”

I laugh. “A naked flasher reptile. It sounds so you.”

“Who’s the weirdest character you’ve been attracted to?”

“I think it might be Robin from the Disney film Robin Hood. He was a fox and disturbingly charismatic.” He snorts, and I shove him. “Tell me where we’re going, Laurie.”