Court Out - By Elle Wynne Page 0,44

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.

“You’ll have to help me up to speed on the case,” she continues. “I know the basics, but I’d appreciate a more detailed outline from someone who really knows all of the intimate details.”

Was that my imagination or did she put an unnecessary emphasis on the word ‘intimate’? Whatever intonation she used, it seems to have captured Andrew’s attention. I turn to him.

“These are for you. They’re paginated to fit in with existing bundle.”

He flicks through them briefly.

“Thanks. I see I’ll have to keep an eye on you. Sam was never this organsied,” he says, touching my hand for slightly longer than strictly necessary as he takes them from me.

“If you give me your email address, I’ll send you a copy of my notes at the end of play each night,” Serena offers, practically elbowing me out if the way in her haste to draw attention back to herself.

“Thanks,” he replies.

The court doors open at exactly ten fifteen and Corr sweeps back in with Quinn in his wake. Corr looks even less impressed than normal and the cause becomes apparent as they come into earshot.

“Oh come on George, where’s the harm in inviting the jury to take a field trip to the scene of the murder?” Quinn teases, “They’d love a chance to nose round the Hobbs mansion, root through the wardrobes. It’d be like Come Dine With Me.”

The expression on Corr’s face is murderous. He ignores Quinn and turns to me. “I trust everything is in place to empanel the jury? I don’t need to remind you that everything needs to run exactly to schedule this time.”

I nod. I’ve decided to say as little as possible to him, as he definitely isn’t the chatty type. Quinn and Andrew are chatting happily to our left and I feel a slight pang that we don’t have that kind of working relationship. My feelings of self-pity are cut short as I notice another group walk into the courtroom.

Ryan Hobbs is shorter than I thought he would be. His head is remarkably square shaped with military short blonde hair. His build is more suggestive of a rugby player than a footballer. He also looks considerably older than his thirty-four years. Today he’s wearing an exquisitely cut Armani suit with a pale pink shirt and a striped tie. He’s unsurprisingly better looking in person that in his police mugshots. He glances round the courtroom, familiar with the process and parties after two previous encounters. He stops when he gets to me, noticing an unknown face amidst the sea of lawyers. I turn away, unwilling to engage in any sort of contact with him.

He is flanked by two representatives from his solicitors and a tall, thin female with short black hair. Oh damn it. I should have guessed. My head is spinning with snippets of information that I’ve subconsciously processed over the last few weeks. If Lucinda is here, in this trial, that means her fiancé must be too. Given the total lack of suitable men present in the courtroom, there is only one candidate.

My conclusion is confirmed as Lucinda runs over to Rivers, puts her arms around his neck and kisses his on his lips. He pulls away, looking thoroughly mortified at the public display of affection. Quinn gives a booming laugh and pats his junior heavily on the back.

“Lucinda! Darling! So good to see you again. How’s your father? Still printing his own money I imagine?”

She tosses her glossy mane.

“Oh you know Daddy, always busy.”

“Bet he needs to be to pay for the wedding of the decade!” says Quinn, nudging Rivers in the ribs. He blushes and diverts his gaze. “So, you’re on board for the whole of the trial then? So good of Rushton Palmer to let you come along to see some real court action. Your father was saying how you’d been struggling to find work before he stepped in.”

Ah ha! I knew it. In-house consultant my arse. She’s desperately trying to change the subject now, but it’s too late. I try to conceal a smirk, but Corr notices. If it wasn’t for the fact that he has no sense of humour