‘Hi, Gerry.’ She recognised the face, now fat and pouchy, of a senior partner at Pennington and Blythe, one of the biggest law firms in town.

‘Drumming up a bit of business, Christine?’

‘Really, Gerry, you make me sound like a whore.’

‘Well, darling, barristers are self-employed too. And you all specialise in unhappily married men.’

Christine had heard the same tired joke on an annual basis for too many years.

‘Toodle-oo, Gerry. Happy Christmas, and all that. Me ’n’ my mate Chrissie are on the pull tonight, so you better watch out,’ said Linda, her fingers digging into Christine’s arm. ‘She was my pupil, you know. Taught her ev’rything she knew. Knows. Ev’rything she knows.’ She pointed unsteadily towards her bust. ‘Listens to me, you know. Takes my advice.’

Christine, who had been too horrified to look up from the floor, decided to put a brave face on it, raised her head – and looked straight into the amused grey eyes of John Ferguson, her most important instructing solicitor.

Oh God. Let the ground swallow me up.

‘Really, Miss Fairbrother,’ he said, cocking an eyebrow. ‘On the pull? I’m shocked.’

Christine smiled, nodded her head from side to side, desperately hoping that he did not think this was what she was like.

‘Shocked, but quite pleased. Can I get you a drink?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Linda, waving an already-full glass, warm white wine sloshing on to the carpet, ‘you certainly can. What a gen’l’man.’

‘Thanks, John.’

‘A girl could do a lot worse, Chrissie,’ said Linda, in a pungent stage whisper, ‘than John Ferguson.’

‘Come on,’ said John firmly, disengaging Christine’s arm. ‘Let’s go and see what they’ve got.’

He led her across the floor, away from Linda, who simpered at the remaining men.

‘Now,’ he said, when they reached the table where drinks were laid, ‘what would you like?’

‘How about a hole in the head?’

‘Ah. Bad as that?’

‘Worse.’

‘Well, we all have our crosses to bear, I suppose. I think it’s rather nice of you, actually.’

‘What?’

‘Looking after the old girl.’ He nodded across the room, where Linda was now left alone, but apparently unaware of the fact. ‘A jolly good advocate, once upon a time. Couldn’t hack it, I suppose, like so many of them. Hit the bottle.’

‘And the bottle hit back.’

‘Sad.’

‘Very.’

John handed her a drink. ‘Well, here’s to the survivors,’ he said. ‘Those of us who can take the heat.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Christine. There was a sparkle in John’s eye tonight that she had not seen before. Perhaps he, too, had been drinking.

‘So, how are you? Don’t answer that. I can see. You look extremely well. Almost indecently well, I might say.’

‘Thank you. I am. Extremely, rather than indecently, I hope.’