‘Of course it upsets my client greatly to be in this position – we would have much rather have won fair and square, after disproving Mr Ali’s evidence. But surely there’s nowhere for you to go now, is there?’

‘There’s always places for me to go, Hagworth. Your client’s witness statement looks like a crock of shit for one thing.’

‘Oh, come on, Okoro. No one wins a libel trial by cross-examination alone. You’re good, I’ll give you that. But you’re not that good.’

Okoro realised he was scribbling on a pad next to him, ripping up the paper with his pen. ‘What’s your offer, Hagworth? Get it over with.’

He could hear Hagworth chuckle down the line. ‘Well, look. Horse-trading isn’t my usual style – I haven’t managed to speak to my client about this. In fact, I haven’t been able to get hold of her since Friday so don’t take this as an offer but a point to discuss with your clients. All I ask is that your clients make amends by publishing a retraction and apology, you pay our costs and we settle damages at, say, a mere hundred thousand. What do you say?’

‘I say we’ll take our chances,’ Okoro said, seething.

‘Oh dear, no, Okoro. We both know you’re obliged to take instructions first and I suspect, in light of the circumstances, your clients are feeling particularly vulnerable. In more ways than one, wouldn’t you say?’

Okoro stopped tearing the pen through the pad. What did he just say? ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Take instructions, Okoro. I’ll be on this number.’

Hagworth hung up and Okoro was left holding the phone, the dial tone buzzing in his ear – the dull white noise seemed to epitomise the bleakness of the situation, and was punctuated only by the sound of Okoro’s pen snapping in his hand.

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Priest backed the Volvo out of its space outside his apartment block, hit the accelerator and spun out into the main road narrowly missing a black cab, whose driver hit the brakes and the horn with equal rancour.

Sorry, pal.

He took the bus lane most of the way through Holborn despite the cameras and headed west. It was Sunday morning and the traffic was light – mostly taxis and white vans interspersed with the occasional family saloon or people carrier. This time of the week, the pavements were more congested than the roads.

Waiting at the lights he punched Jessica’s number into his phone. There was no reply at the other end save for the answerphone, which kicked in after a couple of rings. She cut me off!

‘Jessica,’ he said into the phone cautiously. ‘I just thought that we ought to talk. Call me.’

He knew she wasn’t going to call him – not today at least. I wouldn’t call me if I were her.