Free Dishonour by Helen Black

exhausted. What Raffy had said in answer to that charge played through her mind on a loop. Any jury that heard it would conjure up, not a frightened boy devastated by the loss of his sibling, but a cold and arrogant youth, capable of committing a terrible act to uphold his family’s honour. Perhaps that was exactly what he was. In which case he was hardly the vulnerable child she was painting him.
    Then there was Bell. Ambition radiated from him and Raffy was fuelling his fantasies. Did Lilly really want to get into a fight with him?
    Lilly poked at the unopened post. How on earth could she take on a high-profile and difficult case when she was incapable of even the smallest of tasks?
    ‘Impossible,’ she muttered to herself.
    ‘I was brought up to believe everything is possible.’
    Lilly turned to the voice. In the doorway was the face of an angel.
    ‘Sorry,’ said Lilly, ‘we’re not open.’
    The angel smiled. Her caramel skin was so even it was as if she had been dipped in liquid silk. Her features were so perfect, so timeless, it seemed the most naturalthing in the world that they were framed by a circle of black chiffon.
    ‘I can see you’re in a bit of a muddle,’ she said.
    Lilly laughed. ‘There are ship wrecks tidier than this place.’
    ‘You need help,’ said the woman.
    ‘Have you been talking to my shrink?’
    The angel smiled again, her eyes twinkling. She stepped into the reception and Lilly could see she was tiny, no more than five feet. Even the jacket of her black trouser suit, which fell past her thighs, couldn’t disguise her doll-like frame. Not even an angel then, but a cherub.
    She looked around the room and nodded as if unpacked boxes were commonplace in solicitors’ offices.
    ‘You really do need an assistant,’ she said.
    She let a surprisingly long finger slide across the pile of envelopes.
    ‘My name is Taslima.’ She handed her CV to Lilly. ‘I have a degree in law.’
    As tempting as it would be to have anyone, let alone this beautiful young woman, helping out, Lilly knew there was no way she could afford another member of staff.
    ‘I’m in no position to hire anyone,’ she said, and popped the CV in her bag.
    ‘I can answer the phone and use a computer.’
    Lilly shook her head. ‘I’m sorry.’
    Taslima gestured to the espresso machine. ‘I could get that working in a jiffy.’
    ‘I think I broke it,’ said Lilly.
    ‘Not at all. You’ve just overloaded this adaptor plug.’
    Lilly frowned and tapped the plug. ‘I followed the instructions.’
    ‘Electrics can be tricky,’ said Taslima.
    ‘You’re telling me.’ Lilly pushed the adaptor away in disgust.
    The office was once again plunged into darkness.
    ‘Oh dear,’ said Taslima, her voice honey in the shadows.
    Lilly took a deep breath. Hadn’t Rupinder said she wouldn’t be able to do everything on her own?
    ‘When can you start?’ she asked.
    Taslima stabbed the button for the lift.
    There was no response. It was out of action. Again.
    She took a deep breath, picked up her heavy bag and began the six-floor ascent.
    She pinched her nose against the smell of urine in the stairwells and tried to ignore the graffiti.
    Pakis Go Home.
    Taslima shook her head. ‘I’d love to.’
    Home. Taslima tried not to think about the house where she grew up on a tree-lined street in West London with a breakfast room where the sun streamed in and a study where the walls were shelved floor to ceiling with books. As a child she would sneak in to sit at her mother’s feet while she prepared her lecture notes, the smell of all those dusty pages filling the air.
    She deliberately quickened her pace. All that was behind her. This was her home now.
    When she got to her landing the next-door neighbour was waiting for her and scowled. Whoever saidJamaicans were laid-back had never met Evelyn Roberts.
    ‘You get a job today?’
    Taslima smiled and nodded. She was about to give details but Mrs Roberts had already turned