The only difference from their previous encounter appeared to be the greater number of files barricaded on Sir Ivan Jarvis’s massive desk: the squirrel collected more nuts, the kernel of his case among them, thought Hall, as he followed Simon Keflin-Brown, QC, into the judge’s rooms. Keflin-Brown led as if by divine right. He was an urbane, avuncular man who out of court affected broad-striped suits which the inevitably worn pastel-shaded Garrick tie rarely matched. In court, usually to the tolerance of judges to whom he was well known, Keflin-Brown performed tricks to impress and influence juries: he’d produced one in the corridor outside, immediately looking enquiringly beyond Hall to ask who his leader was and reacting with exaggerated, wide-eyed surprise when Hall said there wasn’t one, which the man had well known all along.
‘Thought the woman was rich?’
‘She is. And she’s satisfied,’ said Hall. That still wasn’t certain, he remembered. But he was happy with the retort.
‘Should be an easy one, I suppose.’
It posed an equally easy retort – why had Keflin-Brown accepted such a mundane brief – but Hall didn’t ask it: according to Feltham the QC only took on sure-fire winners if he had the opportunity and had jumped at the Jennifer Lomax prosecution. There was a smirk from Morley, whom Hall guessed to be only four or five years older than he was, although the man was thin-haired and paunchy and looked at least fifteen years his senior. Perry appeared disinterested in the exchange, a man privately admitting lost battles before a shot had been fired.
Jarvis greeted Keflin-Brown with a thin-lipped grimace that passed for a smile but which had gone by the time he got to Hall. The judge completely ignored the other barrister and Perry.
After the grimaced smile came the nod and after the nod the beginning of the required verbal minuet.
Jarvis said, ‘Mr Keflin-Brown,’ and the QC said, ‘My Lord,’ and then Jarvis said, ‘Mr Hall,’ who echoed, ‘My Lord.’
Adept from long practice at the intricate steps, Keflin-Brown said, ‘With my friend, Mr Robert Morley, I prosecute on behalf of the Crown, my Lord.’
‘And you are in a position to proceed?’
‘We are, my Lord.’
‘Mr Hall?’
‘We will be ready on the suggested date, my Lord.’
‘Does being ready also mean you will be in a position to mount a satisfactory defence?’ demanded the tiny man, pedantically.
Hall heard Perry shift behind him. On their way there the solicitor, with questionable Jewish cynicism, had said confronting Sir Ivan after the press complaint was going to be like facing Himmler with toothache. Hall said, ‘It does mean that, my Lord.’
Jarvis briefly shifted some files, for no reason. Hall realized it was customary for the man to sit with his finger-tips on the table edge, which really did make him seem to be holding on to keep himself in view. The judge said, ‘Something like twenty-five prosecution witnesses, Mr Keflin-Brown?’
‘A total of twenty-eight, if all are called, my Lord,’ said the