James followed Romy into the kitchen. He’d been late arriving, the tea party already well under way. Michael was more animated than Romy had seen him for a long time, including making an effort with Lucy. Leo, Romy could see, was beginning to relax. Romy had poured the tea, Wendy passing round the sandwiches that Micky, the chambers’s long-serving senior clerk – dressed, as always, in a neat grey suit and matching waistcoat – grabbed two at a time and swallowed virtually whole.

‘Great to see you looking sooo well, Michael,’ James had gushed, as he greeted his old friend. ‘You’ll be back driving those judges to drink in no time, you old rogue.’

Romy had winced at the false bonhomie. Now she busied herself putting on the kettle for more tea and opening the packet of birthday candles, while James hovered silently in the doorway. She knew he had something to tell her and waited for him to speak.

‘Romy, dear,’ he began, ‘I’m aware this is a little delicate, especially on the poor chap’s birthday, but I thought maybe it’s time for you and me to have a bit of a chat.’ He hurried on: ‘Now’s not the time, of course, but I wondered if you might be free for lunch next week.’

Romy kept on twisting the multicoloured candles into the white plastic holders, then sticking them into the coffee butter icing in a circle around Michael’s initial, which she’d doodled in wobbly chocolate script across the cake surface earlier. There were only twelve, but sixty-three seemed a step too far. She knew exactly what James wanted to talk about: Michael’s ability to work again. She didn’t blame him: the chambers were short of a famous silk, James the only senior barrister working alongside two junior colleagues, and things must be fraught. But she was still mildly offended on her husband’s behalf.

‘Shouldn’t it be Michael you talk to, James?’ she asked, glancing up from her task.

‘Well …’ James drew out the word ‘… thing is, I’m not sure how realistic he’ll be about his condition. He’s always been a cocky bastard.’ He grinned, to take the sting out of his words. Then his expression became serious again. ‘I thought perhaps you’d have the inside track on what you think him capable of, brain-wise.’ His mouth twisted awkwardly in his round, fair face.

At least he has the grace to seem embarrassed, Romy thought. ‘It’s still early days. The doctor said another three months, minimum, and that was only a few weeks ago.’

James nodded slowly. ‘I suppose I’m really asking if you think he’ll be fit enough, down the line. Not physically, so much, but his brain.’

Romy couldn’t help but picture Michael’s dithering and insecurity about even the slightest task. The thought of him in court in an adversarial situation was unthinkable right now.