Victoria stared through the perspex walls of the incubator and looked for clues. Was it Rivelli’s? Was it Ben’s?

Who would she call?

John had reserved a table for three at Tom Aikens to celebrate the verdict; usually, there was an endless waiting list, but the words ‘Jessica Rodean’ had a way of freeing up space. Jessica joined them for an aperitif but declined to order food; she had people to see and places to go, and lasted just long enough in Tom Aikens to be photographed before putting herself entirely in the hands of her publicist.

‘I’m not sure if I actually heard the words “thank you” in all that,’ said Christine, when Jessica had gone, leaving her alone with John.

‘What she lacks in manners she more than makes up for in money,’ said John. ‘I’ll make sure that my invoice reflects any deficit in the gratitude column.’

‘So,’ said Christine, as John poured out the rest of the champagne, ‘we did it.’

‘Short and sweet,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘Just the way I like it. Here’s to you, Christine Fairbrother. The best in the business.’

‘We make a good team, John,’ said Christine. ‘In and out of court.’

‘Thank you,’ said John, looking straight into her eyes. ‘I wonder . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘I wonder if I’m about to make a very big mistake.’

‘Hmmm?’ She looked at him through her glass, the bubbles rising in wavering columns through the golden wine. ‘What might that be?’

‘I’m going to ask you if you think that we could . . . I mean, given that we have this professional relationship, I know it might not seem appropriate, but if we don’t . . .’ He paused, then put his drink down on the table and sat up straight. ‘Christine,’ he said, ‘would you like to go out with me?’

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ she said, and for once neither of them had anything further to say on the matter, as John leaned across the table and kissed Christine on the lips.

Everything has fallen into place, she thought, as she closed her eyes and let the feeling of rightness sweep through her. Her career was back on course, she would take silk in the next six months or sooner, she had a new man in her life who had the great advantage of being an old friend, and she had given her heel of a husband his marching orders. If only she could tell the children. If only Isabelle and Ben were here to share the moment with her . . .

‘Keep away,’ said Isabelle, trying to sound brave but not feeling it. Maya was crouching behind her, holding on so tight to Isabelle’s waistband that she was in danger of pulling her skirt down. From a sudden sharp smell, Isabelle guessed that Maya no longer needed the metal waste paper basket.