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by more than a dozen newspapermen, pencils poised in anticipation above their notebooks as they peppered him with questions.
    â€˜Will you be passing sentence today, Your Honour?’
    â€˜Have you spoken to the palace, sir?’
    â€˜Will it be life or death, Judge? Life or death? Will he be treated the same as everyone else?’
    Roderick kept his head down and marched determinedly towards the car, whose back door Leonard had opened and was standing beside protectively. Jane, as requested, kept her mouth shut but her head held high and she smiled at the gathered throng, disappointed that there were no photographers present. There were sure to be some at the Old Bailey, though, she knew that much. She was wearing a new hat for the occasion.
    â€˜Drive on, Leonard,’ said Roderick once they were safely inside with the doors closed again. ‘And quick as you like.’
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ came the reply from the front seat as the car shifted into gear and they turned out of the square en route to the Palace of Justice.
    â€˜I don’t think I can take much more of these damn busybodies,’ said Roderick, feeling a little more relaxed now that they were on the move. ‘What kind of a job is that anyway?’
    â€˜People are interested, Roderick,’ said Jane, shrugging her shoulders as if it was the most natural thing in the world. ‘You can’t blame them for that. It’s human nature. It’s also their job.’
    Bentley grunted and watched out the window. Summer had started to make its arrival felt. The trees along Southampton Row had sprung into life and he noticed one or two brave souls who had changed their winter jackets for lighter ones. It was an uncommonly warm June morning.
    â€˜Roderick?’ said Jane after a moment. ‘Have you heard from them at all?’
    A question from one of the reporters had stuck in her head, something she’d never thought of herself over the previous few months, and it made her wonder.
    â€˜Heard from who?’ he asked, turning back to look at his wife.
    â€˜From the palace,’ she said. ‘The king. He hasn’t been in touch, has he?’
    Roderick laughed. ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘You don’t seriously think that the king would try to influence a court case out of personal interest, do you?’
    â€˜Well I wouldn’t like to think so,’ admitted Jane. ‘But I wouldn’t be too sure either. He’s hardly the man his father was, now is he?’
    â€˜That’s neither here nor there,’ said Roderick.
    â€˜Do you realize that since the succession we haven’t been invited to Buckingham Palace once?’
    â€˜My dear, it’s hardly as if we were regular visitors in the past!’
    â€˜Not regular, no,’ admitted Jane, ‘but we were invited to the garden party in thirty-two, don’t you remember? When Queen Mary said such nice things to me about my hat.’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Roderick, who remembered the event but not the compliments and certainly not the pulchritudinous hat.
    â€˜And then there was the dinner party after you received your knighthood. And Ramsay MacDonald was there too, you remember,’ she added.
    â€˜Twice,’ said Bentley. ‘Twice in all these years does not make us intimates of the royal family.’
    â€˜No, of course not,’ said Jane. ‘But I do think it would be nice to be invited to more functions, don’t you? After all, the new king is of the same generation as us. He might enjoy our company.’
    â€˜The same generation as you, perhaps,’ said Roderick with a laugh. ‘I’m a good ten years older than him.’
    â€˜Well a few years here or there hardly makes a difference. We should try to get an invitation to the next state dinner perhaps. How would one go about such a thing anyway?’
    â€˜I have no idea,’ he replied, not caring much either way, for