Thirty-eight years old. Completely relaxed. In a suit that cost more than I earned in my first full year of working.
And about halfway through that ruling he turned round in his seat and looked at Sascha Brun.
She is twenty-six. She had been sitting in the fourth row from the start of it, in a good coat, with her bag on her knee.
And she smiled back at him across a courtroom.
People started getting up. And Reeve came round the end of the aisle and stopped beside my chair.
“Well, Anwen.”
And then: “I was right the whole way through, wasn’t I. Before me you were nothing. A charity case. And now there’s a judge on record saying so.”
And he bent down, with his hand on the back of my chair, so that only I could hear it.
“Let’s see how long you and that baby last without my money. I give it a week before you’re ringing me.”
