The two barristers had met less than a year ago, when Michael had been appointed in his first case as Queen’s Counsel to represent a young man charged with murder. Draper had come with the case, already attached as junior counsel, and she had brought her reputation with her. But Michael had seen through the smokescreen, behind the single-minded ambition, and he had found a brilliantly talented woman. The events surrounding that case had been horrifying for them both, but there had been at least one positive outcome: Michael and Draper had formed a bond. A genuine friendship.

And now here they were celebrating her success. A Recordership is the first step towards life on the bench, serving a few weeks a year as a judge and the rest as an ordinary barrister. It was a much sought-after honour and hard to obtain, and yet, at the age of just thirty-one, Draper had secured one of the most important positions a lawyer could achieve.

Michael had no doubt in his mind that she was up to the task.

‘So, Michael. I’ve heard a lot about you.’

Will Duffy had the voice of a man raised rough and proud of it. It pulled Michael out of his own thoughts.

‘How come we’ve not done a case together?’ Duffy asked in his thick Glaswegian accent.

‘We have, Will,’ Michael replied. ‘Just not for the same clients.’

‘Well, I’ve not seen you in court. I reckon we need to change that. I mean, seems we’ve got a bit in common, eh?’

Michael hesitated for an instant as he considered Duffy’s words. They could be referring to a number of things: some good; some bad. Michael could do nothing about the rumours that surrounded him. Not least because most were less sensational than the truth. But references to his past – real or imagined – still made him uncomfortable.

‘I thought most of your firm’s good stuff went to Jenny’s place,’ Michael said, moving the focus of the conversation to the rival set of barristers’ chambers where Draper was based. ‘They wouldn’t be happy to see you using me or Eight Essex Court.’

‘Her place is not what it was,’ Duffy replied. ‘Jenny aside, last ten years they’ve recruited a bunch of public school boys. It’s weakened ’em. Left ’em with no one who connects with the people I represent. No real experience of that world. Not like you and me, eh?’

The final sentences removed any doubt: Duffy – as blunt as his reputation – was referring to Michael’s background.

Michael did not respond immediately. Instead he focused on Duffy, trying to read his intentions. Michael was a private man. Most knew that, and so any mention of his past was usually deliberate. An attempt to put him on edge.

But Duffy didn’t know him well enough for that.

As Michael studied the man he observed for the first time the small, almost imperceptible facial scars and the damaged knuckles, both of which suggested a tougher start to life than most. He also seemed unusually fit for his age; a hangover from a life where the ability to handle himself was essential, perhaps?