He looked notably unruffled by whatever the defence had asked him.
‘All right?’
‘Yes.’ I didn’t sound sure of it, though. I cleared my throat. ‘How did that go?’
‘Usual stuff.’ Derwent smoothed his tie again. ‘Nothing that should worry you.’
Because he was a witness too, he hadn’t seen my evidence. ‘Did he suggest to you that I’d made it up because I resented being dumped?’
‘He did. That was fine. I told him getting married was not on your radar and it was hard to get you to commit to lunch, never mind an engagement.’
‘What did the jury think of that?’
‘They laughed.’ He stretched. ‘Juries love me. You know that.’
‘I couldn’t look at them. I don’t know what they made of me.’
‘You make a decent impression.’ He hauled me to my feet. ‘Come on. You look done in. Let’s go to the canteen and I’ll buy you a cup of tea.’
‘It’ll be terrible tea and it’ll cost a fortune.’
‘Don’t be ungrateful.’
‘I’m not,’ I protested. ‘In fact I should buy the tea to thank you for doing this.’
‘I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. The look on his face when I walked into court.’ Derwent shook his head. ‘If nothing else, I got to see him in the dock.’
‘I didn’t really look at him.’
‘Probably for the best. It might have put you off. It inspired me, I’m glad to say.’
‘Oh God.’
‘I was phenomenal.’ He put his arm around me and guided me down the corridor, holding forth about his own brilliance all the way.
The canteen was to the left of the front door, a few tables and chairs becalmed outside Court 1. I found a table near the window and looked out at the brilliant October day and the trees fiery with leaves they hadn’t yet shed. Snaresbrook had been built as a massive Victorian orphanage; Crown Court was merely the latest of its incarnations. It was the only court I could think of with a duck pond.
‘Here you go. Looks good to me.’ A cup and saucer clattered on to the table in front of me and I gave a soft wail of distress.
‘It’s pale grey. Since when was tea grey?’
‘Nothing wrong with it.’ Derwent drew it back to his side of the table and gave me the other one.
‘That looks more like it.’ I sniffed it, suspicious. ‘How did you manage that?’
‘Natural charm. I asked for two teabags in yours.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Drink it while it’s hot. You do look as if you need it.’
‘I’m OK.’
‘Really?’
When I looked up, he was watching me with that unnerving focus I had come to fear. ‘Yes. It’s just weird, that’s all.’
‘What is?’
‘Being the victim.’
He leaned across the table and covered one of my hands with his. ‘Whatever happens with this trial, you’re no one’s victim. He didn’t take anything from you. You’re still you. And you’re the bravest person I know.’
I shifted in my seat, embarrassed. ‘I don’t feel brave.’
‘Coming to court and giving evidence was brave.’
‘You didn’t give me the impression that I had any choice,’ I pointed out.
‘You always have a choice.’ He sat back. ‘For instance, you could have chosen to do the wrong thing.’
‘But you would never have forgiven me.’
‘Probably not.’
‘And you’d have made my life a misery.’ I corrected myself. ‘More of a misery.’
He grinned, his eyes bright with amusement. ‘I’d have been very understanding.’
‘Oh sure. You always are.’
The two of us sat there, drinking our tea, talking about anything and everything but the trial that was going on elsewhere in the building, where a man’s fate hung in the balance with mine.
The jury went out at the start of the third day after a summing-up of the evidence from the judge. I thought of his spare, haughty face and worried that he would guide the jury away from believing me. His would be the last voice they heard before the usher took them away to consider their verdict.
‘If they come back quickly, it’s usually a good sign for the defence. Easier to acquit than convict.’ Emma Khan chewed her lip, looking nervous, because the outcome turned on how well she had done her job. It was always like that, the police and the CPS and the victim expecting a conviction and the prosecutor having to explain why it hadn’t worked out. I told her I thought she’d done well, which was true, and we agreed that juries were unpredictable, and then the two of us fell silent as the minutes passed.
Somewhere, Seth would be pacing up and down, like I was. The