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Camilla, it had been bliss just to be so near to him, to smell the wondrous faint scent of his aftershave, to watch the way he held his pen, crossed his legs, yawned … all for two whole hours.
    Felicity was able to gather this much just by glancing at Camilla’s face, and added, ‘The hearing, I mean.’ Felicity had already been the recipient of Camilla’s shy coffee-break confidences regarding her hero.
    ‘Oh, fine! Ellwood is really brilliant. We’re bound to win.’
    ‘I’m delighted that you think so,’ remarked Anthony, flicking through his mail and handing a couple of things to Felicity. ‘If you’re right, I’ll buy you a drink to celebrate as soon as we get the judgment.’ He strolled off to his room, and Felicity grinned and arched her eyebrows meaningfully at Camilla.
     
    A week later, it turned out that Camilla’s confidence had not been misplaced. Godfrey Ellwood rang Anthony at the end of the day to tell him that the House of Lords had found in their favour.
    ‘Our clerk brought the judgment up a moment ago,’ said Ellwood. ‘I think this calls for a small celebratory drink, don’t you?’
    ‘Absolutely,’ agreed Anthony, recalling his promise to Camilla.
    ‘Shall we say, the Edgar Wallace at six?’
    ‘Fine.’ Anthony hung up and went in search of Camilla, anticipating with a certain kind-hearted vanity her pleasure at being taken for a drink by him. He found her in the clerks’ room, with Felicity and Henry, the head clerk, gossiping the end of the afternoon away. Deciding that an enigmatic approach might boost Camilla’s ego, he gave her his best mysterious smile and simply said, ‘How about that drink, then?’
    As he left with Camilla, Henry shot a questioning look at Felicity.
‘Really?’
he asked.
    ‘Don’t be daft! Anthony? He’s just at that age when it does his ego good to have an adoring young thing in tow,’ replied Felicity, in her twenty-three-year-old wisdom. She shook her head as she thought of Camilla. ‘Isn’t love beautiful?’
    Henry said nothing. Felicity had been at 5 Caper Court for just a year. Henry, who was only thirty, but had been made head clerk when the old clerk, Mr Slee, had retired with heart trouble, had wrestled uncomfortably with his feelings for her throughout that time. She had just been another typist at first – nice, admittedly, with her curly brown hair and infectious laugh, but in the beginning he had been too busy keeping chambers’ business flowing smoothly and cultivating an air of knowing authority to pay much attention. But there was something about Felicity that was irrepressible. She had enthusiasm,took an interest in everything and everyone, and refused to be intimidated by the loftier senior members of chambers. For those reasons, when Henry had realised some months ago that he needed an assistant if life at 5 Caper Court was not to descend into chaos, he had promoted Felicity to the post. This had not gone down well with the word-processing sorority, but that didn’t trouble Felicity. She had taken to her new job like a duck to water. She had the right blend of savvy and common sense, she was energetic, and she was good with people – all the right qualities for a barrister’s clerk. What she lacked in organisation she made up for in quickness of thought and tongue, managing to negotiate good fees for the barristers and taking no nonsense from solicitors. In any event, Henry often thought that the typing pool was better off without her, since her spelling and secretarial skills left much to be desired. Admittedly, she did not possess that quality of polished deference which was the hallmark of the old school of barrister’s clerk, like Mr Slee, but Henry realised that that was probably becoming a thing of the past, in these days of high-tech and egalitarianism. She handled the members of chambers firmly and with cheeky good humour, and they liked her for that.
    But, in addition to his appreciation of Felicity’s