Free The Devil in Disguise by Martin Edwards Page B

Quentin’s bathroom scales probably screamed for mercy every morning. ‘But I expect we’ll survive. I must admit I find the scare stories rather wearing, though I noticed you two found plenty to discuss.’
    Kim’s pale cheeks coloured. Quentin patted her on the shoulder. ‘As you well know, Ms Lawrence is always worth listening to. And now, I’m afraid, I must leave you both.’
    â€˜Stay and have a drink.’ Harry would normally have felt that two was company, three a crowd. But something was up and he could not be sure that Kim would confide in him. Maybe after a couple of rounds Quentin might be ready to talk.
    â€˜Sorry. I was on duty last night and it takes its toll.’ He paused and added, ‘Besides, I’m sure the two of you have enough to chat about together.’
    Harry noticed Kim blush again and as Quentin made his way towards the exit, he asked, ‘What was all that about?’
    â€˜Any chance of that drink?’
    â€˜My God, is it as bad as that?’
    She gave him a thin smile. ‘Not really.’
    A couple of minutes later they had found the quietest corner of the room and Harry was savouring a pint of best. In the background, he could hear people grumbling about court delays and the cost of professional indemnity insurance. He said, ‘This is the last place I expected you to suggest for an evening out.’
    â€˜I needed to talk to Quentin. And besides, there’s something I want you to know.’
    She put her glass down on a small table and fiddled with the copper bracelet on her wrist. Her eyes had the downward cast of a bringer of bad news.
    It doesn’t matter , Harry told himself. How could she hurt him? As a boy he’d had to listen to the news that his parents were dead. Years later, two policemen had called at his flat early one morning to tell him that his wife had been murdered in a dismal back street. Not too long ago he had discovered that someone he liked was a killer. He had risked his life then and Kim had saved him. She owed him nothing. Besides, anticipation was always worse than the event. Whatever she had to say, it was better to get it over and done with.
    He touched her slender arm. ‘Go on.’
    She swallowed. Her hands were trembling slightly. It occurred to him that she had been dreading this moment, that she had rehearsed a little speech but now the right words were evading her.
    â€˜You know how much my work with MOJO means to me.’
    Puzzled, he nodded. She was regional chair of the Miscarriages of Justice Organisation and she admitted herself that she devoted more time to it than was healthy for her own legal practice.
    â€˜Ever since I was a law student,’ she continued hesitantly, ‘it’s seemed important to me to do everything possible to help people betrayed by the legal system.’
    â€˜God knows,’ he said, ‘there are plenty of them.’
    She managed a faint smile. ‘You understand, Harry. It’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you.’
    That sounded disturbingly like an epitaph. He ground his teeth, said nothing.
    â€˜So I’m hoping you’ll also understand what I’m about to say. You see, I’ve been offered a job.’
    He stared at her. ‘But you have your own firm.’
    â€˜Yes.’ She waved a hand dismissively in the direction of their colleagues, chattering over canapés. ‘But I’ve never felt as though I truly belong to the profession. Filling in forms, charging by the hour. The more I think about it, the less it seems to have to do with justice.’
    He grunted. ‘I know what you mean.’
    â€˜And I’ve come to realise that my work for MOJO gives me much more satisfaction than anything else. We can make a difference, Harry. And if we can help to put right even a few of the travesties that the law inflicts, then I can’t think of a more worthwhile way of spending my