Daly’s Wine Bar had been an icon of the British legal system for as long as Michael could remember, and probably much longer still. Well positioned just outside of Temple and a stone’s throw from the Royal Courts of Justice, the place seemed to possess a homing beacon to which the majority of working barristers responded. Michael was not in that majority.

He had never understood the appeal. A bar filled to the brim with drunken lawyers, many of them lying to the others about their recent successes? Michael could think of many places he would rather be.

But tonight’s venue had not been his to choose. Tonight was a celebration. One he would not miss.

Finally through the tightly packed first room and into the much clearer second, Michael was able to speed up over the final few feet. Just as well, as he could feel the ice bucket under his left arm beginning to slip. He reached the table just in time, placed his own glass down and used his now free left hand to grip the wet metal container.

‘Here you go.’ He handed the glass of wine to the only man at the table. ‘White wine for Will, champagne for everyone else.’

‘Thanks,’ replied one of the four women. A slim blonde in her early thirties, she had taken the natural lead. ‘But are you sure neither of you will join us in some bubbles? It is a celebration.’

‘Not for me. I can’t stand the bloody stuff.’

Michael had not met Will Duffy before tonight, but he knew the man’s reputation. Duffy was maybe ten years older than Michael, a busy criminal solicitor with a loyal following among the capital’s organised crime families. He was known as a rough, bluff Glaswegian who rarely sugar-coated his words.

Michael, on the other hand, was a natural diplomat.

‘Doesn’t agree with me, Jenny,’ he said, giving Duffy’s answer no time to land. ‘Besides, the only fizzy stuff an Irishman should drink is Club Orange.’

‘Suit yourselves. More for us.’

Jenny Draper reached out, picked up the open bottle of Krug and filled the four champagne glasses that were already on the table. Once done, she turned back to face Michael with an expectant smile.

Michael took the hint and raised his glass. He then waited for Duffy and for Draper’s three younger friends to do the same.

‘I think a toast is in order,’ Michael began, having fully understood Draper’s unspoken message. ‘To Jenny. A terrific lawyer. A wonderful friend. And, as of today, the youngest Recorder I’ve ever heard of. Be respectful and be nice, all of you, because the way she’s going she’ll be running this profession in no time.’

Draper beamed at the compliment but, tellingly for Michael, she did not blush. It proved what he already knew: the young lawyer was every bit as ambitious as his few words had suggested.

‘To Jenny,’ he concluded.

‘To Jenny,’ the rest of table echoed. Four voices as one, each keen to toast Draper’s professional success. It brought a smile to Michael’s face.