Falling for Mr. December (6 page)

He wasn't surprised; Sammy had already struck him as someone who was seriously independent. He wasn't going to argue for now, but he'd find a way to get round her reservations on Sunday. ‘OK. What time?'

‘Half past nine?' she suggested.

‘OK. It's a date.'

Even though he'd promised himself he wouldn't date again. Because Sammy Thompson intrigued him. And he wasn't quite ready to say goodbye to her yet.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘S
O
HOW
WAS
the photo shoot?' Mandy asked.

She sounded ever so slightly guilty, Nick thought. ‘It was fine,' he reassured his sister. ‘The photographer was nice. She put me at my ease, and she let me choose the shots to give to the committee.'

‘
She?
But I thought...' Her voice trailed off.

‘So did I,' Nick said wryly.

‘Oh, no. It must have been so embarrassing, taking all your clothes off in front of a woman you'd never met before.'

Nick laughed. ‘She was at pains to tell me before the shoot that she saw me only as a life model, not as a person.'

‘Right.' Mandy sounded intrigued. ‘So was she young? Old?'

‘It's immaterial, Mandy. Don't even think about trying to match-make.' And no way was he admitting to his elder sister that he was seeing the photographer for lunch on Sunday. It probably wouldn't come to anything, anyway. By then his common sense would be back in place. He and Sammy would have a nice walk through the city together, talk about art and architecture, have lunch, and then not see each other again.

Except Nick discovered the next morning that his common sense was very far from being back in place. When he walked into the narrow lanes off Fleet Street to his chambers, he found himself looking at the buildings with a photographer's eye.

Sammy would love this area, he thought.

And she'd really love the hidden gem in the middle.

He couldn't resist texting her
.

I have a bright idea for Sunday.

Details?
she texted back.

Just bring your camera. Which Tube line are you on?

There was a short pause before she replied:
Northern.

Meet you at Embankment Tube station at 9.30?
he suggested.

Her reply was a smiley face and a slightly sassy note.

Hope good coffee is involved.

He grinned and typed back:
It will be.

* * *

On Sunday, Sammy felt ridiculously nervous. This was her first date in months—and it was with someone whose working life and whole lifestyle were so very different from her own.

She'd liked Nick Kennedy instinctively. She was attracted to him. And it was definitely mutual.

But how would he react if she told him she'd had osteosarcoma as a teen?

She didn't think he'd be one of the men who ran for the hills—his nephew had the same condition, so he'd understand instead of panicking at the c-word. But would he be overprotective, the way her family was, making a big deal out of every twinge she felt and worrying that it might be the first sign of something more sinister?

And, if he was close to his nephews, did that mean he liked kids? That maybe he'd want some of his own, some day? That could be a problem, because—thanks to the demands of her treatment—she might not be able to have kids in the future. There were possibilities, but no actual definites, because she'd had to have her eggs frozen before her first chemotherapy—and IVF didn't come with a cast-iron guarantee that it would work.

Part of her wanted to make up an excuse and call the whole thing off. Not because she was a coward, but because over the years her boyfriends' reactions to the complications had worn her down. It had left her feeling less of a woman and more of a freak.

Though part of her was intrigued by Nick. He was a man with a buttoned-down, highly respectable job, and yet he'd actually posed naked for a charity calendar. That took guts; and it also hinted at an unconventional streak.

So maybe this could even be the start of something good. She'd have to take that leap of faith and try to trust that it wouldn't go the same way as her last few relationships had.

Maybe Nick Kennedy was different.

But, until she knew him a little better and could work out what his reaction would be, she'd keep quiet about the fact that she'd had bone cancer and was in remission.

* * *

Nick's heart skipped a beat as he saw Sammy at the Tube station. Again, she was dressed completely in black, though this time her T-shirt was more of a vest top, in a nod to the warm September weather, and she wore a silver necklace decorated with deep green beads that matched the studs in her ears.

And she looked stunning.

Not that she seemed to realise she was turning heads. That was something else he liked about Sammy Thompson. She was just herself, comfortable in her own skin. And that in itself made her easy to be with.

He greeted her with a kiss to her cheek. ‘So you're being the Mysterious Woman in Black again?' he teased.

She smiled at him. ‘I never thought about it before but, yes, I probably do wear too much black. Sorry. I guess it's a hangover from art college.'

‘Don't apologise. Actually, it suits you,' he said. ‘And I like your jewellery.'

‘The green stuff? It's malachite,' she said. ‘One of my art school friends became a jeweller when she graduated. I love Amy's work—all the strong lines and the colours. She uses very different semi-precious stones, too.'

‘My sister likes that kind of thing, and she's got a birthday coming up. Perhaps you can give me your friend's details and maybe she can design something for me,' he said.

‘Sure I can. Remind me when we stop for coffee—and I haven't forgotten that you promised me good coffee.'

‘I did indeed.' He smiled at her. ‘Shall we?'

Together they walked out of the Tube station, then headed down the Embankment with the Thames on their right.

‘So where are we going?' she asked as he turned left and took her into a maze of narrow passageways.

‘This is Inner Temple—one of the Inns of Court,' he explained.

‘Where you work?'

He was pleased that she'd realised that. ‘Yes. We're not going to my actual office, but I thought you'd like to see some of the area around it.' He led her into a courtyard. All the way round, there were dark brick buildings with tall sash windows and stone doorways. At each end of the courtyard was a white stone arched entranceway, and in the middle were trees, slatted benches and stone troughs containing bright pink geraniums.

‘This is absolutely gorgeous,' she said. ‘Is it OK to take photographs here, or do I have to ask permission from someone?'

‘It's fine as long as they're not for commercial use—then you'd need to talk to the media relations team first,' he said.

‘Do you mind...?'

‘Be my guest,' he said with a smile. He watched her as she looked around the courtyard and bent down to take various shots, moving position to change the angle of whatever had caught her eye. It had never occurred to him to do that; whenever he'd taken a photograph, he'd just framed a snap in the viewfinder.

Which was probably why his photographs were snaps and hers were a true art form.

‘This was a really good choice, Nick,' she said. ‘I like this place. A lot.'

And he thought that she might like what he was about to show her even more. ‘Come this way,' he said, and led her through the archway. In the next courtyard was a church built of honey-coloured stone; part of it was completely round, with a smaller round tower perched on top.

‘This is the original Crusader church in London—one of the four remaining round churches in England,' he said softly. ‘And the reason I brought you here now is so you can explore it as much as you like before the Sunday service starts.'

‘I had no idea this was even here,' she said, looking entranced. ‘So we can actually go inside?'

He nodded. ‘And it's got the Templar effigy tombs. I think you'll like them.'

* * *

She did. Not just the round church itself, but also the way the blues, purples and reds from the sunlight coming through the stained glass windows shone onto the dark marble pillars surrounding the Templar effigy tombs. This was her idea of the perfect day—and it had come from a very unexpected source.

‘That's William Marshal. He served under four English kings, and was the regent for Henry III,' Nick explained as they stood in front of the tombs. ‘Next to him is his son William.'

Stone effigies that were nearly a thousand years old, darkened by age, portraying knights wearing their mail armour, holding a shield and sword, with dogs at their feet. Sammy was entranced by them, particularly the little dogs, and took plenty of detail shots.

‘I love this church. It's so peaceful,' she whispered. ‘Though inside it doesn't look as old as it actually is.'

‘It was badly damaged in the second world war during the Blitz,' Nick whispered back, ‘so it had to be restored. But I can show you something really, really old.'

It turned out to be a Norman doorway with a rounded decorated arch, with beautiful geometric ironwork spreading across the wood. Again, Sammy took plenty of photographs, focusing on the details that caught her eye.

‘Come with me,' Nick said, and took her into the gardens.

There was a long, tree-lined avenue that Sammy found irresistible, and she made him pose in the centre of it.

‘This is the Broadwalk,' he said. ‘The London plane trees were planted here in Victorian times.'

And in the Peony Garden there was an ancient wall and an iron railing with wisteria tumbling down it. ‘It's amazing that these gardens are smack in the middle of the city and only a few steps away from the Thames,' Sammy said. ‘They're stunning. I thought I knew London pretty well, but I had absolutely no idea they were here.'

‘Most people don't—though the gardens are open to the public,' Nick said, ‘and it's the perfect place to chill out on a summer lunchtime. If I'm not in court, I'll sometimes eat a sandwich out here. It's a good place to think, too, when you're stuck on some knotty legal problem.'

Sammy found the brass sundial in the centre of one of the gardens equally fascinating. ‘Why is there a Pegasus in the middle of the sundial?' she asked.

‘It's the symbol of Inner Temple. It's said that it was chosen for Robert Dudley.'

‘The guy Elizabeth the First was in love with?'

‘At the time, he was her Master of the Horse,' Nick said. ‘He took part in the Christmas revels here in the middle of the sixteenth century, and his followers all wore the symbol of Pegasus. It's thought to come from there.'

‘It's a beautiful piece of brasswork,' she said. ‘Though I still think Dudley was a bit of a baddie. It was a little bit too convenient how his wife fell down the stairs and broke her neck. So did Amy Robsart trip or was she pushed?'

‘We'll never know the truth,' Nick said.

She paused. ‘Would you have defended Robert Dudley in a court of law if he'd been up on a charge of murdering his wife?'

He didn't hesitate. ‘If I was asked to, yes.'

She looked at him. ‘Would you defend someone you absolutely knew was a criminal?' Because that was something she really couldn't get her head round. ‘How could you defend someone you knew was guilty?'

Nick smiled. ‘That's the first question everyone asks a barrister. First of all, in law, everyone is presumed innocent unless proven guilty. Secondly, everyone has a right to representation and we're not allowed to refuse to represent someone just because we don't like them, or because we don't believe in their case,' he explained. ‘Barristers work under strict rules of ethics, and we're subject to the law. So if my client's guilty, I can't say in court that he's innocent, and I can't call anyone to give false evidence on his behalf, because that's perjury—I'd be struck off.'

‘So would he get away with it?'

‘It's the prosecution's job to prove the case to a jury so they're absolutely sure that the person in the dock committed the crime. The jury has to hear from both sides for the justice system to work properly,' Nick said. ‘So as a barrister I care about my client having the same human rights and entitlements as anyone else.'

OK, so Nick was professional. But what about the ethics he'd spoken of earlier? What about doing the right thing? ‘But if they'd admitted to you that they'd done whatever they'd been accused of?'

‘Then I would advise them to plead guilty to the charge, because the truth would come out in court,' he said simply.

‘And if they said they were still going to plead not guilty?'

‘Then I could walk away, because my first duty is to the court. And I could also refuse to take the case if I was going to be a witness in the case, because there would be a conflict of interests.' He shrugged. ‘Though sometimes innocent people appear guilty, and sometimes guilty people appear innocent, so it's really important that both sides are heard properly and all the evidence is put to the jury so they can reach a verdict.'

‘So you wouldn't try to get your client off if they were guilty?' That made her feel better about the situation.

‘Guilt isn't actually that black and white,' he said.

She frowned. ‘How do you mean?'

‘OK. Supposing I have a client—let's call him Tom—who's been accused of taking an expensive pen from a shop.'

‘That's theft,' Sammy said promptly.

‘Only if he intended to deprive the shop-owner of the pen permanently and dishonestly. Supposing he'd taken it accidentally and was on his way to give it back? Or maybe someone had threatened him—if he didn't take the pen, then that person would hurt someone he loved, which means he took it under duress. Or maybe,' Nick continued, ‘Tom's only nine years old—which means he's under the age of criminal responsibility. Or he has dementia, to the point where he's not responsible for his actions and didn't realise he'd taken the pen.'

Sammy looked thoughtfully at him. ‘So if Tom did take the pen, in those cases he wouldn't actually be guilty of theft.'