Liv’s features are bleached white. She stands mute, one hand lifted in front of her face, her cheek scratched, her hair half out of its ponytail.

‘Jesus. Where were you?’ Henry straightens his jacket angrily, shouting at the officers. ‘Where was Security? You should have foreseen this!’

The officer is nodding at him distractedly, one hand raised, the other holding his radio in front of his mouth as he issues instructions.

‘This is simply not acceptable!’

‘Are you okay?’ Paul releases her. She nods, steps blindly away from him, as if she has only just realized he is there. Her hands are shaking.

‘Thank you, Mr McCafferty,’ Henry says, adjusting his collar. ‘Thank you for diving in. That was …’ He trails off.

‘Can we get Liv a drink? Somewhere to sit down?’

‘Oh, God,’ says Liv, quietly, peering at her sleeve. ‘Somebody spat on me.’

‘Here. Take it off. Just take it off.’ Paul lifts her coat from her shoulders. She appears suddenly smaller, her shoulders bowed as if by the weight of hatred outside.

Henry takes it from him. ‘Don’t worry about it, Liv. I’ll tell one of my staff to get it cleaned. And we’ll make sure you can leave via the back entrance.’

‘Yes, madam. We’ll get you out the back later,’ the policeman says.

‘Like a criminal,’ she says dully.

‘I won’t let that happen to you again,’ Paul says, taking a step towards her. ‘Really. I’m – I’m so sorry.’

She glances up at him, her eyes narrow and she takes a step backwards.

‘What?’

‘Why should I trust you?’

Before he can reply Henry is at her elbow and she is gone, shepherded down the corridor and into the court by her legal team, somehow too small in her dark jacket, blind to the fact that her ponytail is still half out of its band.

Paul walks slowly across the road, straightening his shoulders in his jacket. Greg is standing by his car, holding out his scattered files and leather briefcase. It has started to rain.

‘You okay?’

He nods.

‘Is she?’

‘Uh …’ Paul glances back towards the court, rubs at his hair. ‘Sort of. Look. I’ve got to go in. I’ll see you both later.’

Greg looks at him, then at the crowd, which is now a loose, tame thing, people milling around and chatting as if the last ten minutes hadn’t happened. His expression is uncharacteristically cold. ‘So,’ he says, as he climbs back into the car, ‘that whole I’m-on-the-side-of-the-angels thing, how’s it working out for you?’

He doesn’t look at Paul as he drives away. Jake’s face, pale against the back windscreen, gazes impassively at him until the car disappears from view.

Janey is at his side as he walks up the steps towards the courtroom. Her hair is neatly pinned, and she is wearing bright red lipstick. ‘Touching,’ she says.

He pretends he hasn’t heard her.

Sean Flaherty dumps his folders on a bench and prepares to go through Security. ‘This is getting a bit out of hand. Never seen anything like it.’

‘Yeah,’ says Paul, rubbing his jaw. ‘It’s almost like … Oh, I don’t know. Like all this inflammatory crap being fed to the media is having an effect.’ He turns to Janey.

‘Meaning?’ says Janey, coolly.

‘Meaning that whoever is briefing journalists and winding up interest groups obviously couldn’t give a flying f**k how unpleasant this is going to get.’

‘Whereas you are all chivalry.’ Janey looks back at him steadily.

‘Janey? Did you have anything to do with that protest?’

The pause is just a nanosecond too long.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Jesus Christ.’

Sean’s gaze flickers between them, as if he is only just registering that a whole separate conversation is taking place before him. He excuses himself, muttering about briefing the barrister. And it is just Paul and Janey in the long stone corridor.

He runs a hand through his hair, gazes back towards the courtroom. ‘I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.’

‘It’s business. And you never minded before.’ She glances at her watch, then out of the window. The Strand is not visible from back here, but the chanting of the protesters can still be heard, barely muffled by the buildings. Her arms are folded across her chest.

‘Anyway, I don’t think you can exactly play the innocent.’

‘Meaning?’

‘You want to tell me what’s going on? With you and Mrs Halston?’

‘Nothing’s going on.’

‘Don’t insult my intelligence.’

‘Okay. Nothing that’s any of your business.’

‘If you’re having a relationship with the subject of our claim, I think that’s very much my business.’

‘I am not in a relationship with her.’

Janey moves closer to him. ‘Don’t f**k me around, Paul. You approached the Lefèvres behind my back, trying to negotiate a settlement.’

‘Yeah. I was going to talk to you about –’

‘I saw that little display out there. And you try to cut a deal for her, days before the ruling?’

‘Okay.’ Paul removes his jacket and sits down heavily on a bench. ‘Okay.’

She waits.