Ophelia in Pieces by Clare Jacob

Author:Clare Jacob [Clare Jacob]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781907595684
Publisher: Short Books
Published: 2011-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

All weekend the prospect of her ‘make-or-break case’ for Mars oppressed her and now it was about to begin. She was on her way to the Old Bailey to meet him when her phone went.

‘Miss Dormandy, it’s Jane Gilhooly here. I’m sorry we didn’t speak on Friday. I’m afraid Mr Godwin was picked up by the police at the trailer park on Saturday morning. He was found drunk and unconscious. The good news is that they aren’t saying that he contacted the prosecution witnesses.’

‘Maybe he got drunk too quickly?’ Ophelia said, swaying as her bus swerved.

‘Yes. He doesn’t strike one as a man of much self-restraint.’ This shared criticism of their client seemed to bring them a little closer and Ophelia felt relieved. Miss Gilhooly went on:,‘He’s been in Wandsworth Prison for the weekend. They want to bring him up for his breach of bail in front of a Bailey judge today.’

‘Well, I’m there anyway, doing a trial in court four,’ Ophelia said quickly, struck by the coincidence and not thinking through the ramifications. ‘If you can ask the Bailey listings officer to get Godwin’s case called on in my court, I could deal with it first thing.’

‘Good. I’ll do that then. He’s in the cells already if you want to take some instructions.’

After her last contact with Godwin she didn’t want to talk to him at all, but she did need to check he didn’t have some excellent excuse, so after she’d filed through the gun-detecting airlock at the door to the building, after she’d forgotten and then remembered to collect her keys, she walked down the steps to the grey door in the secure basement.

Her interview with Godwin was short. He wouldn’t look at her and refused to answer any of her questions. His fists, face and shoulders seemed clenched tight. She left quickly.

She took the lift up to the top of the building where the ladies’ robing room was. As always, there was a strong smell of gravy when she opened the door. It must share a ventilation shaft with the kitchen, she thought, but how zealous of them to be making the gravy at nine in the morning.

She, however, was not feeling very zealous at all. She punched her name into the computer (‘or you won’t get paid, my dear’, as the ushers would cheerfully remind you.) She applied a thick coat of red to her lips. This was the only advice she remembered getting from her headmistress: red lips for public speaking to help your audience follow what you say. It had become her – only – pre-court ritual.

When she got to the concourse outside court four, she saw the well-cut shoulders and profile of Mars in front of the case lists. He spun round as she approached, as though they were playing grandma’s footsteps, but there was something a little tentative in the way he said, ‘Hi. Good weekend?’

‘Fine, thanks. Is Jeremy not here yet?’

‘Do you need him?’

She felt the tips of her ears glow and she shook her well-brushed hair forward, trying to cover her cheeks too.

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