‘You knew him. I thought maybe . . .’

‘Really, Jenny? You don’t mean, “Has your reporter fiancée told you anything off the record?” now, do you?’

‘No, Michael.’ Once again the whisper was gone. Draper appeared horrified at the suggestion. Except she wasn’t. Michael could tell. ‘Honestly, I didn’t even register the connection.’

‘Well then that’s for the best, isn’t it. Because we wouldn’t want something like that to be an issue between us as we move forward, would we?’

There was a clear message in Michael’s tone. A message he ensured that Draper could not miss.

In almost two years Michael had kept Sarah’s every confidence. To do otherwise was a slippery slope. Especially in Michael’s world. Barristers were great when it came to client privilege. Watertight with information relating to their own cases. But gossip? It was air to them. Taken in with one breath. Spilled out with the next.

It was not a risk Michael would ever take with Sarah’s reputation.

Draper did not respond, but her surprise and embarrassment at Michael’s reaction were clear.

Michael had made his point, but he did not want it to cause friction between them. And so he leaned forward across the table and spoke again.

‘But whatever was done to the old bastard, I’d be surprised if he didn’t deserve every bit of it.’

Draper looked up. Her eyes met Michael’s, whose broad smile cut through the tension in an instant. Satisfied that no lasting damage had been done, Michael got to his feet.

‘I’ll get us another couple of coffees before the van arrives.’ He pointed at Draper’s empty plate. ‘Now have you eaten enough or are you wanting another muffin?’

TWENTY-FIVE

Michael and Draper exited the elevator on the basement level. There was already a queue for the cells. It passed the antique wooden door that led from the elevator bank to the custody suite’s security gate.

At least thirty barristers were there, waiting for one of the eight secure client conference rooms. All needed to speak to their clients before their hearing began. Less than half would do so. It was another perfect example of an imperfect system.

Michael looked at his watch. 9.35 a.m. Less than five minutes since the tannoy announcing that the prison vans had arrived and already the line was unmanageable.

Draper joined the back of the queue. Michael did not. Instead put his mobile phone to his ear.

‘Don’t bother doing that,’ he said before turning his attention to the call. ‘Andrew, it’s Michael. We’ve just seen the queue. Please tell me you’re already in it?’

The response was the one he wanted.

‘Perfect. See you in a second.’ He disconnected and turned back to Draper. ‘Andrew’s at the front. Come on.’

Draper did as instructed and followed as Michael walked alongside the waiting barristers.

As they reached the closed wooden door Michael offered an explanation to the barrister closest to it.

‘My solicitor’s through there, Matt,’ he said.

Michael knew the man. Draper only recognised him. Matthew Cole QC. Older than Michael by perhaps ten years and as high-flying as they came. Cole was Darren O’Driscoll’s lead barrister, which for now made him an ally. That would last until Simon Kash gave Michael permission to attack Cole’s client. If he ever did.