Page 2 of Finding Love in Micklewick Bay

After what she’d witnessed from Gavin Dixon, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d paid his daughter-in-law a visit and persuaded her to change her stance, but without proof there was nothing she could do.

‘Hmm. Coercive controlling behaviour; it’s nasty stuff, especially where the Dixon family is concerned. Seriously don’t envy you with that one, Hutton.’ Ferdy steepled his fingers as he observed Stella, the look in his eyes betraying his fondness for her.

Stella blew out her cheeks. ‘She’s now saying she loves him and wants to get back with him as soon as he’s released from prison. She’s been sending him letters while he’s been locked up, signing herself as “wifey for lifey”.’

‘Oh, good Lord! Prosecutor’s nightmare. Don’t fancy your chances of winning this one.’

‘I know,’ she said with a groan.

If that wasn’t bad enough, it was made a hundred times worse that counsel for the defence was Vaughan Elliott. He had a reputation for being the slipperiest barrister on the north eastern circuit, who’d try to pull a fast one whenever he could. Such underhand behaviour was viewed as bad form at the bar, but it didn’t seem to bother him. It meant you needed your wits about you when you were involved in a case with him, and not because he was a decent lawyer. Stella would have preferred it ifhe was; she got a kick from a good bout of courtroom sparring. But Elliott had the knack of being disruptive in a trial and was regularly pulled up by the judge for asking leading questions or sneaking evidence in when he shouldn’t, ambushing his opponents. He definitely didn’t play by the rules.

‘On top of that, I’ve got the case lawyer from the CPS breathing down my neck about it which isn’t helping. She knows what Elliott’s like.’

‘If ever there was proof needed that the bar’s no longer a gentleman’s profession, it’s there in the shape of Vaughan Elliott. How that shyster gets instructions beggars belief. If it wasn’t for Brentley and Co briefing him he wouldn’t have a practice. Their reputation is as dubious as his,’ Ferdy said sagely.

‘Very true.’ Stella nodded her agreement. ‘Actually, I’ve heard a whisper that Brentley and Co are being investigated by the Law Society.’

She headed back to her locker, pushing her brief bag inside. She turned the key, glancing over at Ferdy when she was done. Their eyes locked for a moment and a dart of attraction shot through her. At forty-eight, he was fifteen years her senior and an experienced barrister with a successful practice whose opinion she respected. She’d been known to run things by him, especially when she was newly out of her pupillage, interested to hear his take on a situation. In his twenty-five years at the bar, he’d developed a skill for sniffing out when things didn’t add up, his eagle eye spotting the tiniest of lacunas in a case. Adding to this list of credentials he was good-looking in a tall, broad-shouldered way. His thick, dark hair, shot with the odd thread of silver, had a slight wave and was swept back off his face revealing a strong brow. He had a patrician nose which sat well with his square jaw, and a warm skin tone, thanks to the many trips he took to his villa in Nice. On top of that, he had a way of looking at you with his intense, blue eyes that made you feel youhad his full, undivided attention. It was something he used to great effect in the courtroom, as well as on the female members of the bar, Stella included. His good looks combined with his affable, old-school charm and easy confidence meant he was never without a female companion, and also made him a popular member of the bar. However, his even temperament belied his courtroom persona. He possessed the skill to win a defendant round, making them believe he was on their side, before pouncing with a quietly savage line of questioning, knocking the unsuspecting accused individual off balance.

‘Yes, I’d heard that little nugget too.’ His eyes ran appreciatively over her curves that were clad in a sharply tailored black trouser suit, her three inch heels emphasising her long, slender legs. His gaze didn’t go unnoticed by Stella.

‘I dare say the rumour-mill will get into full swing soon, and all the sordid little details will become common knowledge. You know what lawyers are like for gossip.’ She gave an amused smile as she reached under the table and pulled out the cabin case she used to transport her laptop, papers and, when she was in court out of the area, her brief bag. She lifted it up onto the table and placed her laptop inside along with her notepad and collection of brief papers relating to the Dixon case.

‘I don’t think I’m aware of a profession where gossip travels faster. Anyway, it’s about time Brentley and Co got their comeuppance, they’ve been fleecing the Legal Aid Board for years. Can’t stand them, especially their head honcho, Garfield Brentley. Despicable man.’ Ferdy paused a moment, watching as Stella zipped her cabin case and lifted it to the floor. ‘Don’t suppose I could tempt you to a snifter at the Wig & Pen?’ He raised his eyebrows in question. ‘Maybe grab a bite to eat there?’

‘’Fraid not, I’m driving.’ She knew the subtext of his words, knew where his invitation was heading.

‘You could always leave your car here; head back to my place afterwards. I could drop you off in the morning.’ He gave her an inviting smile, his eyes twinkling. ‘Come on, Hutton, you know you’d enjoy yourself. If my memory serves me correctly, you certainly did the last time I suggested it.’

She smiled back. Any other night she might have been tempted, he was good company, had a great sense of humour, and he was right, she had enjoyed the last time they’d got together. Very much so. An image of them making their way to his bedroom, their clothes scattered everywhere, filled her mind. If it hadn’t been a Friday, she’d have jumped at the chance, especially after the day she’d had, but not tonight. ‘As good as your offer sounds, Ferdy, Friday evenings are when I meet my friends for a catch-up and nothing could stop me from joining them, especially tonight.’

‘Ah, yes, of course, how could I forget?’ he said with an easy-going chuckle. ‘Friday evenings are strictly off limits for the rest of us mere mortals.’

‘You got it in one.’ She flashed him a wide smile. ‘I’m outta here. Have a good weekend, Ferdy,’ she called over her shoulder, blowing him a kiss before striding out of the robing room, pulling her case behind her.

At over six feet tall in her black patent designer heels, Stella cut a striking figure, with her strong, angular shoulders, athletic figure and sleek blonde hair. “Amazonian” was a term that had been used to describe her on several occasions. She exuded an air of “don’t mess with me”, her male colleagues in chambers regularly joking she could pack a bigger punch than all of them put together.

‘With her sharp brain and already formidable advocacy skills, she’ll go far and her rise will be stratospheric, mark my words,’ her pupil master had said when asked if she should be offered a tenancy once her pupillage had ended. ‘She’s destinedfor the bench and she’s exactly the calibre of barrister we need to nurture here.’

As she made her way across the compact city, her heels clicking over the pavement, Stella felt the tension of earlier begin to slip away. It wasn’t like her to get rattled by a case, or opponent – or a sinister-looking relation of a defendant for that matter – but today’s courtroom drama didn’t rest easy with her. After the menacing look she’d received from the defendant’s father, she found herself feeling grateful that her wig and gown went some way to disguising her appearance, as well as the dark-framed glasses she reserved for court work.

Her mind segued to the conversation she’d had earlier that morning. It was with Fay Norton, a silk from Newcastle chambers with whom she got on well. Fay had told her how she’d recently purchased a family history DNA test kit, since she was keen to learn her ancestry and find out if there was any truth in the rumours her mother’s side hailed from Greece. It had set Stella wondering if she should invest in one. She was fully aware it wouldn’t reveal the identity of her father, but it would at least give some clues to her background which was more than her mother had been prepared to do. Each time Stella had asked as to the identity of her father, Alice Hutton had clammed up, the conversation ending before it had even got started. Though it had been a while since Stella had last troubled her about it, her curiosity still swirled around at the back of her mind. One day, she’d find out who he was. Of that Stella was sure.

By the time she arrived in chambers, Stella had already made up her mind she wasn’t going to hang around for long. She’d just nip into the clerks’ room, have a brief word with Allegra, her clerk, update her on the situation with the Dixon case then head home. She didn’t want to linger and run the risk of getting drawn into a conversation with fellow tenant, Simon Fagan, who’d been in court there earlier today. He had a reputation for being long-winded and mind-numbingly boring, going into minute detail whether he was talking about one of his cases or what he’d got planned for the weekend. He’d even managed to make a trip to Paris with his wife sound beyond tedious, which took some doing, Stella had thought at the time.

During the week, she’d hang back in chambers, get a decent amount of prep under her belt on the case in hand – provided Simon Fagan wasn’t holding court, of course – before leaving for home. Once back at her apartment, she’d continue poring over her brief, stopping only when she felt fully prepared for the following day in court. But Friday nights were different, Friday was the only night of the week when work was strictly off limits. It was reserved solely for her to switch off and catch up with her group of friends, which was something she looked forward to enormously. Meeting up with them all at their usual table, tucked away in a corner of The Jolly Sailors down in the old part of Micklewick Bay wouldn’t come quickly enough this evening. The thought brought a smile to her face.

TWO

Stella had barely been in chambers for five minutes before she heard the monotone voice of Simon Fagan floating down from the room the junior barristers shared upstairs. It was all the motivation she needed to beat a hasty retreat. She bid the staff a speedy goodbye, wishing them all a good weekend, and made a dash for the door, leaving them all wearing a knowing look; Simon Fagan’s reputation was legendary.

In the chambers’ car park, she threw her cabin case into the boot of her silver hatchback A-Class Mercedes, climbed behind the wheel and selected her favourite Friday evening playlist, cranking the sound up. Moments later, she was inching out into the line of rush-hour traffic, singing along at the top of her voice, drumming her fingers in time to the beat. The Friday feeling was already kicking in.

The commute from York to the North Yorkshire Coast was one Stella relished. It offered the perfect amount of distance – mileage-wise and mind-wise – for her to put the stresses and niggles of the day behind her, shake-off her barrister persona and gradually unwind. She’d heard plenty of her contemporaries saying how their partners complained that they were still in “barrister-mode” when they got home, still primedfor confrontation, some still strutting around as if they were taking part in a courtroom exchange. She couldn’t imagine that working in a domestic setting. Only yesterday, she’d heard a colleague complain that her husband had told her she was behaving like a pompous twit – again. Stella was always mindful that she’d slipped out of her “barrister-mode” along with her wig and gown by the time she reached home – not that she was going back to anyone – she’d never been in a long-term relationship, the thought of sharing her home with someone else held no appeal for her – she’d go as far as to say it filled her with fear.

She’d be the first to acknowledge that once she’d donned her “pantomime dame” gear, as her friends jokingly referred to her wig and robes, she felt ready for her day in court. She often compared it to an actor getting into character for a role and was aware it was something a few of her contemporaries struggled to shake off. There was no way she would ever want to run the risk of taking her barrister behaviour home and directing it at her friends or her mum. And, heaven forbid, if she ever did, she knew none of them would be having any of it! They’d pull her back down to earth with a heck of a bang and give her backside a sound verbal kicking. She couldn’t help but chuckle at that thought.

The sun was still shining by the time Stella arrived at her home town of Micklewick Bay, its rays glittering on the gentle undulations of the North Sea as she drove along the top promenade. Thanks to the mid-August sunshine, holidaymakers were still ambling along the broad pavement and a lengthy queue had formed at an ice-cream van that had parked up.

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