Accompanied by a security guard, Gready momentarily disappeared from the glass-fronted dock before emerging from the rear. The guard left him to make his own way to the witness box, under the watchful eye of everyone in the court. Wearing a navy suit, white shirt and plain tie, and with an upright, but not too proud posture, as rehearsed with his team, he took the stand with a respectful air, already looking more a victim than a perpetrator.

Not remotely a believer, despite his former regular churchgoing with his wife to keep up appearances, Gready held the Bible and swore on it with true, passionate reverence to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Meg stared at him with both surprise and contempt. Seeing him walk to the witness box, she realized how small he seemed, in every way. Five foot five at most, thin, with dark little eyes behind his tortoiseshell glasses and tiny, delicate hands. His lank, thinning hair, still mostly black, was neat and he was clean-shaven. Other than his glasses, he could have been a travelling sales representative or perhaps a ticket clerk. Neither ugly nor handsome, he was truly nondescript, Meg thought, although he did definitely have an attitude, an expression on his face that said: Don’t misread me, I’m not anyone’s pushover.

She was about to see how true that was.

Primrose Brown asked him, ‘Mr Gready, you are indicted on a number of counts relating to the importation of Class-A drugs and conspiracy to supply these drugs. Can you tell us your reaction to these allegations when they were first put to you?’

Gready seemed, in front of Meg’s eyes, both to grow in stature and at the same time let his demeanour soften into a warm, approachable man. He smiled politely, first at his defence counsel, then at the jury, clocking in particular the good-looking woman in the front row who was absolutely on his side but always avoided eye contact with him, then with the corpulent businessman in the row behind her, whom he was saving from bankruptcy.

He began speaking, addressing the jury as if they were the only people in the world he cared about. His voice was sincere, his tone that of a genuinely wounded innocent. ‘It was complete astonishment.’ He gave a derisory little laugh. ‘I mean, I thought it was mistaken identity – that they couldn’t possibly be charging me.’

Brown probed. ‘Anything else?’

Still totally zeroed-in on the jury, he opened his arms out. ‘I have been in court so many times, I’m a firm upholder of the law. It is what I have made my career in. I believe in the justice system and want every person to have their chance for justice.’

‘What do you say about the evidence you have heard over the last few days?’