Court Out (13 page)

“I’m sure I can appeal it. I’ve already written a full note detailing what happened so when they read it, they’ll know who’s to blame,” Serena continues.

Although my back is to her, I can feel her eyes boring into the back of my head. Robert cuts her off with his usual flirtatious tones.

“Anyway, not long now until the big day! Sure you’re not getting cold feet? Anything I can help you with? How about a nice stress-busting massage?”

Serena giggles.

“Oh Robert, don’t joke as I might take you up on that. I’ve just ordered the most amazing fresh fruit arrangements for every table at the reception. They’re huge, like four feet tall. You’re going to be so impressed!”

“Well I always did want to interfere with your melons-”

Serena cuts him off with a playful slap and the pair walk towards the lower part of the suite. Serena hasn’t said a word to me. The phone next to the computer rings and Cassie rushes to answer it. She makes a few noises of assent before hanging up the receiver.

“Lauren, you’re needed downstairs. Roger wants a quick word before you go to court.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Best of luck with whatever you’re up to today.”

If this impromptu meeting is as a result of Serena making some form of complaint about me, I swear I will kill her with my bare hands. I go into my room and pack all of the items I need for court into a small suitcase: wig, gown, Archbold, notes, laptop and the now familiar lever-arch files. The case now probably weighs more than I do. I manage to drag it to the lift and make my way to the clerks room on the ground floor.

Without waiting for an invitation, I enter Roger’s domain and, working on the premise that attack is the best form of defence, launch in to my version.

“You know as well as I do that I did nothing wrong. Ask any QC, any senior, or God knows, any pupil what they would have done and they’ll tell you the same. I know you have a responsibility to try and resolve any internal issues, but I’m really not in the mood for this now Roger!”

“Good morning to you too, Miss”

His reply stops me in my tracks and I pause, confused. True to form, he has a lit cigarette in his mouth and he’s staring at me in amusement neither noticing or caring about the falling detritus that’s landing on his dark grey suit.

“Just called you down to wish you luck Miss. Big day and all.”

My mind attempts to process this information and fails miserably.

“You mean I’m not here because Serena’s put in a complaint against me?”

“Oh she has, yes, but my sources have told me what happened. It’ll go nowhere Miss. Typical schoolgirl error, she gets too big for her boots sometimes.”

I’m not sure whether to be relieved or embarrassed. I plump for the former.

“Ok then, well, thanks. I’m just going over to court to meet Corr now.”

“Don’t let the pressure get to you Miss. All or nothing this time,” he says softly.

“What do you mean?”

“Last chance to nail the bastard. All yours Miss.”

I nod, not really taking in his words. Whilst I know that this is the last trial there will be, surely the pressure and ultimate result has to lie with Corr? I say goodbye and back out of his office. As I’m leaving, Roger speaks again.

“Watch your back, Miss.”

I exit with a peculiar feeling in the bottom of my stomach and begin the walk to the court centre. For a man in flat shoes this journey would take about three minutes at most, but as I precariously pick my way through the cracks in the pavement and avoid stray pieces of discarded chewing gum I arrive about fifteen minutes after my encounter with Roger.

The first sign that something unusual is afoot at Farrington Crown Court today is the waiting crowd of men dressed mainly in black leather jackets wielding large cameras with huge lenses attached. Paparazzi.

There must be at least twenty of them gathered on the main steps to the building lying in wait to get a shot of Ryan Hobbs as he attends for his trial. There are also news crews set up with glamourous looking reporters getting ready to link into the morning breakfast shows.

As I make my way carefully up the steps, trying not to drop my suitcase in the process, I’m stopped by a bald man in a long black coat. In a deep accented voice he speaks.

“You anything to do with the Hobbs case?”

It’s strictly against the Code of Conduct for barristers to do anything that could bring the profession into disrepute and there are chapters of guidance regarding dealing with the press, none of which I’ve read in any great detail. I err on the side of caution by giving him a noncommittal shrug and continue my path into the building.

Security is extra tight this morning and I watch as the contents of my bag are unceremoniously dumped on to a nearby table and searched. I can see my property being rummaged through like goods at a car boot sale: there goes my bank statements, cheque book, packet of jelly babies, spare phone charger, Tampax, keys. This would be majorly humiliating if everyone didn’t have to undergo the same procedure.

There’s an odd silence that falls across the crowds as through the double doors comes three men all wearing sunglasses and pulling wheelie trolleys. They’re dressed immaculately in three-piece suits, devoid of any particle of fluff or stray hair that may have had the audacity to attach itself to their expensive garments.

I recognise Corr immediately. He’s in his mid sixties and is a couple of inches shorter than me. He’s lost most of his hair save for a couple of tufts above his ears and he’s wearing a pair of rectangular wire rimmed spectacles. He strides purposefully through the security arch and is allowed to progress without the need for a full cavity search. I try to follow him as he heads for the elevator but am prevented from doing so by virtue of the fact the security guard in charge of my bag is trying to establish if I could hurt anyone with my eyelash curlers.

“We had this last week!” I howl in frustration. “What do you think I’m going to do? Give someone a makeover?”

Interpreting my insolence as a guilty conscience, the security guard decides to start the search of my bag again.

Frustrated, I turn to check out the two men that Corr came in with. One is late fifties, about six feet tall with a thick head of pewter coloured hair. He has a deep tan and dark brown eyes which are darting about, inspecting members of the public as he passes through the security checks. As the top of his bag is opened by one of the security staff I see some familiar green lever arch folders. This must be Peter Quinn QC. Also based in London, he normally spends his time down there defending major gangland crooks. He has an impressive air of authority about him, but it seems like he’s permanently on edge, constantly watching who is around him.

I turn my attention to the second man behind him, who’s just removed his sunglasses and placed them into his pocket. My heart stops. He has the most piercing pair of bright blue eyes I’ve ever seen. His hair is jet black and swept off his face, although occasionally a tendril falls into his eyes. His cheekbones are high and pronounced and I’m sure that if he’s not a lawyer, he must be a model. He’s tall, about six feet with a slender build. He bends to retrieve his case and I try to look as if I’m not staring.

As Quinn walks past me, the man follows, his arm brushing mine. He turns briefly towards me and our eyes meet. I’m immediately caught in his gaze and blink to break the spell. He gives me a brief smile and leaves to catch up with Quinn.

What the hell was that? I mentally chastise myself, reminding myself about Sebastian. In the three years we’ve been together I’ve never so much looked at another man, let alone, well, looked at another man. I pull myself together and snatch my bag from the counter. With some considerable difficulty I drag my suitcase over to the lift and push the ‘up’ button. I tap my shoe on the tiled floor; annoyed to have been delayed to meet Corr. As the lift finally arrives, a familiar voice comes from behind me

“Oh my God, I saw those shoes too! I thought about buying them but decided they looked a bit trampy. Looks like I was right.”

Perfect, Lucinda. I have two options, I can either engage in our usual bitchy repartee or be grown up about things and ignore her. I go for broke and turn round.

“Didn’t you see the sign on the door Lucinda? No dogs allowed in court.”

“You’re like sooo hilarious Lauren. Obviously the lack of sleep is taking its toll on you; I could put my papers in the bags under your eyes.”

“Yeah well, one of the perks of being a barrister. You know, the end result of all those years of legal education. Oh no wait, I forgot, that didn’t quite work out for you did it?”

I load my bags into the lift and press the button for the second floor. Lucinda watches me with an annoyingly smug look on her face.

“I’m going to take the stairs. It’s called exercise.” She looks me up and down, “You’ve obviously never tried it.”

I could scream as the doors shut. I study my refection in the mirror lift. I know I’m far from obese but being taunted by a stick thin witch really does a number on your self-esteem first thing on a Monday. I take a few steadying breaths and try not to think about all of the biscuits I ate this morning.

As I make my way to our courtroom, I hope that Corr isn’t looking for me. The last thing I need is for him to blame any loss of focus on me. As I step inside, I’m taken aback at the sheer volume of papers heaped up on the rows of seats and the numerous books and boxes stacked up everywhere.

“Lauren, put the exhibit bundles next to my laptop and order the statements alphabetically over here.” Corr has spotted me and is now pointing at an empty spot on the bench.

So much for ‘hello.’ I hurry over and start emptying the contents of my suitcase onto an empty seat. Any ideas I’d had about attempting to make small talk with Corr are cut short when Quinn walks through the door.

“Georgie Boy!” he booms in a deep baritone, “This trial is like groundhog day eh?”

Corr merely glances up and gives him a brief nod. Undeterred, Quinn continues.

“Oh don’t be like that George, just think, after this you’ll never have to see me again! Ok, well not ever again, but it’ll at least be the back of Mr. Hobbs!”

The silence that follows is deafening. After at least a minute, Corr speaks quietly.

“I hope you have received the amended set of agreed facts and the proposed timetable for calling the witnesses. If there are any problems then have your junior liaise with Lauren.”

With this, Corr stalks out of the courtroom, leaving me sat amidst the folders on my own. There are two rows of benches in the well of the court. Typically, the first is reserved for barristers and the second for our instructing solicitors. In this trial however, I’ll be sitting next to my solicitor behind Corr. I look to my left and see Serena enter the court, making her way to the seat behind Quinn.

“And who are you dear girl?” he asks jovially.

“Serena Taylor,” she replied confidently. “I’m your noting junior.” She unzips her bag and places her laptop onto the bench behind him.

“Ah, sorry but not there, too many cooks and all.”

Serena looks somewhat bewildered. “Pardon me?” she asks.

“You’re to sit in the public gallery. We don’t want the jury thinking he’s got too many lawyers on his team. Makes him look guilty. On that subject, please take off your wig, gown and bands. Just act like a civilian and we’ll get on swimmingly.”

Whilst were not exactly on best terms at the moment, I feel a pang of anguish for her. I know how much she’s been looking forward to having what she considered a proper ‘role’ in the trial. She slowly removes the offending items and relocates to the worn seats reserved for members of the public. She looks like a child who’s just been told that Father Christmas is a work of fiction. I can’t help myself.

“There’s no power socket over there, if you want her to take a note on your laptop, then she’s better off here” I say, pointing to a row of seats to the side of the dock, at the back of the court.

“Fine, fine” he booms. “Just make sure you don’t get under my feet.”

As Serena relocates for the second time, Quinn turns his attention to me.

“And you, young lady, must be Lauren. Such a shame about poor Samantha.” Quinn smiles at me, then runs his gaze down by body to my heels then back up again. I try not to visibly shudder. “Yes, Rivers is going to enjoy this trial, what with you and Shauna over there,” he drawls, indicating to Serena, who is now safely established at the back of court.

“Speaking of my errant junior, I’d better see where he’s got to.”

He leaves and gives me a wink as he passes. Yuck.

 After I’ve set up all of the papers for Corr I sit and wait, knowing there’s not quite enough time to grab a coffee before court starts. You could cut the tension between Serena and I with a knife. I debate whether to break the silence and decide against it; I’ve already been nice to her once this morning, it’s definitely her turn.

The door opens again and a man who must be ‘Rivers’ walks in. At this point I’m not in the least surprised to recognise him as the man with the amazing eyes from downstairs. He walks directly across to me, his gaze fixed firmly on my blushing face.

“Hi, I’m Andrew Rivers,” he says in a deep voice, holding out his hand for me to shake. His cuffs have risen and I can see his watch which looks suspiciously like the new Breitling.

“Lauren. Lauren Chase” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.

To my dismay I realise that I’m standing just that little bit straighter than usual, my smile is a touch wider then normal and I’m holding his look for a nanosecond longer than I should. I turn away from him and begin to gather the papers Corr wants him to have.

As I make sure everything is in order, I spy a pair of familiar looking shoes approaching where we are stood. My shoes, in fact. I wondered where they had gotten to. Today they are attached to Serena’s feet as she strolls over to the pair of us.

“And I’m Serena. I’m your junior, so to speak,” she says in a throaty voice. I look up to see Andrew smile and take her hand.

“Delighted to meet you,” he says with tones that would put Hugh Grant to shame. I’m slightly nauseated to see that Serena is twisting her hair around her index finger and practically drooling.