The Baby Verdict. CATHY WILLIAMS

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      ‘No time like the present. Now, do you know the address of my office here?’ He rattled it off, and she hurriedly scribbled it alongside her complicated doodle. ‘Get a cab. You’ll get here quicker.’

      ‘Yes, but—’

      She heard the flat hum of the dialling tone and stared at the receiver in her hand with an expression of stunned amazement. He’d hung up on her! He’d decided that now was as good a time to answer questions as any, and hadn’t even had the common politeness to ask her what her plans for the evening might be!

      Was he so used to getting his own way that he simply took it for granted that the rest of the human race would fall in with whatever he wanted?

      She stood up, slipped on her jacket and coat, grabbed her handbag from the low, square table in the corner of her office and hurried out of the building.

      The more she thought about his attitude, the more exasperated she became. She could very nearly convince herself that she had really had exciting plans for the evening, when in fact her plans had included no more than a quick, pre-prepared meal in front of the television, a few law articles she wanted to have a look at, and then bed.

      Hardly heady stuff, she knew, but she had been working since eight-thirty in the morning, and a low-key evening was just what she felt she needed.

      It didn’t help that she had to trudge two blocks and wait fifteen minutes before she managed to hail a taxi. Thursday nights were always busy. Late-night shopping and the remnants of the January sales were enough to encourage even the laziest into the streets. She watched as taxi after taxi trundled past and was in a thoroughly foul temper by the time a vacant one pulled over to the side for her.

      I need a long soak in a bath, she fumed silently to herself, staring out of the window at the bright lights and the people, hurrying along to minimise the length of time they spent in the cold. Her suit felt starched and uncomfortable, her make-up had almost vanished completely and she wanted to kick off her shoes and let her feet breathe.

      His office block in the City was quite different from where she worked. Large, with a lot of opaque glass everywhere, and, when she entered, a profusion of plants strewn around an enormous reception area, in the centre of which the large, circular desk, manned by an elderly man in uniform, was a bit like an island adrift in the middle of an ocean.

      A group of three men in suits was standing to one side, talking in low voices, and they glanced around automatically as she entered the building, but aside from them it was empty.

      Because, she thought, everyone else has left to go home and relax, or else get dressed before stepping out to paint the town red.

      Jessica couldn’t remember the last time she had painted the town red. She had a sneaking suspicion that she had never painted it red—or any other colour, come to think of it.

      During her more active moments, when she’d been involved with a man, few and far between though they had been, she had gone to the theatre or had meals out Somehow, she didn’t think that that fell into the ‘Red Paint’ category.

      ‘Mr Carr, please,’ she said to the man behind the desk, now feeling gloomy in addition to exasperated and inconvenienced.

      He lifted the receiver, spoke for a few seconds, and then nodded at her.

      ‘Mr Carr’s expecting you,’ he said, and she resisted the impulse to tell him that she knew that already, considering she had been summoned half an hour ago. ‘Fourth floor, last office on the right. He said it’ll be fine for you to make your own way up.’

      ‘Oh, grand!’ Jessica said with a large, beaming smile. ‘That must mean that he trusts me not to nick anything en route.’

      She was standing outside his office door at a little after eight-thirty, quietly determined that she would stay no longer than half an hour. Long enough to brief him on the details of the case, find out his thoughts firsthand, and then anything more detailed could be arranged via their secretaries.

      That way, she would be back at her apartment in North London by ten at the latest, just in time to catch the news, microwave a meal and read for half an hour. Any law books would have to wait for another day.

      The thick, mahogany door was slightly ajar, so she knocked and pushed it open without waiting for a reply. The room, obviously his secretary’s, was empty. Jessica glanced around it, unconsciously noting that it was larger than most of the top directors’ offices she had been into in her lifetime, if a little lacking in character. A comfortable, functional room that spoke of high-octane efficiency and an ability to get on with the job without distraction.

      She strode purposefully towards a further interconnecting door, knocked and, without thinking, pushed it open. He had been expecting her, hadn’t he?

      Obviously not, because he was not alone, and his companion was not a fellow senior worker who might have popped in for a five-minute chat. Not unless his fellow senior workers resembled Barbie dolls.

      ‘I—I’m sorry,’ Jessica stammered, embarrassed, ‘I had no idea that I was interrupting...’

      ‘Come in.’

      Bruno looked not in the least disconcerted by her abrupt arrival. His female companion, however, clearly didn’t welcome the intrusion. She turned from where she was half sitting on his desk and looked at Jessica with no attempt to disguise her annoyance.

      ‘You could have knocked,’ was her opening line. Her voice, high and girlish, matched the rest of her. She was the perfect male fantasy package. Jessica acknowledged that without a trace of envy. Petite, curvy, with full breasts bursting out of a tight-fitting, long-sleeved top, a skirt that was short enough to leave little to the imagination, and high shoes, which had been discarded. The blonde hair hung in curls past her shoulders and her face was angelic, even if the expression on it wasn’t.

      ‘I didn’t expect...’ Jessica began, not quite knowing where to go from there.

      ‘You never said that your so-called meeting was with a woman!’ the girl accused Bruno, pouting.

      ‘I think it’s time you left, Rachel,’ he said, patting her arm to encourage her off the desk.

      ‘But we need to talk! You promised!’ She wriggled unhappily off the desk and stepped into her shoes. Her face was a mixture of frustration and pleading.

      ‘Perhaps you could come over to my place when you’re finished here.’ She turned to Jessica. ‘You won’t be long, will you?’

      ‘No, I don’t plan—’

      ‘Close the door behind you after you leave, Rachel,’ Bruno interrupted, swerving back behind the desk and tapping into his computer.

      Oh, charming, Jessica thought Was this how he treated all his women? She edged into the room, uncomfortably watching as the dismissed blonde stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind her, then she sat down facing him and placed a sheaf of papers on the desk between them.

      ‘I won’t keep you,’ she said icily. ‘I had rather planned one or two things this evening...’

      ‘Oh, really? What?’ He looked up from the computer with a mildly curious expression.

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