‘Of course they are people,’ Layla said, ‘but it is an issue, no?’ She shrugged her shoulders, but not in a dismissive way. ‘I am not to worry about such things, apparently.’
She looked over to him and Mikael realised that again he had misread her when she spoke on.
‘But I do.’
The coffee was lovely, Layla declared, thanking Joel profusely for the shake of chocolate on the top of her frothy milk. ‘What an amazing combination,’ Layla said, as if Joel himself had invented cappuccino.
‘You didn’t answer me before,’ Layla said once Joel had gone. ‘Are you nervous about today?’
‘I’m never nervous,’ Mikael said.
‘Never?’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m prepared for today.’
‘Good! So I will start my magical week listening to you in court. I’m looking forward to it so much.’
She wasn’t being sarcastic, but Mikael took a second to realise it.
‘Layla—’ he started, because what had seemed the most sensible idea when he had fallen asleep in the small hours felt more than a touch uncomfortable now. ‘Some of the things that I say today…some of the things you might hear..’
‘It’s fine!’ she dismissed.
‘It’s really not fine…’ He breathed out, for today he was going to discredit the deceased. Today was not a day during which Mikael would be endearing himself to anyone. But immediately Layla waved his concerns away.
‘I’ve been following the trial. I know what he did.’
‘What he’s accused of doing,’ Mikael corrected, but she just shrugged.
‘He should be fed to the dogs!’ she said, and then looked straight at him. ‘And in my country that isn’t just a saying.’
The whole café seemed to fall silent as the impossible happened.
Mikael Romanov laughed.
At seven a.m. near the end of a trial.
‘So,’ Mikael said as their breakfast was served, ‘apart from dancing and getting drunk, what else is on your bucket list?’ He chose to explain that before she asked him to. ‘Your to-do list.’
‘Oh…’ Layla smiled. ‘This.’
‘What?’
‘This is on my list—I wanted to share a meal in a restaurant with a sexy man. But in my plan it was in the evening and we were holding hands.’
‘This is a café,’ Mikael said, ‘and I don’t hold hands. What else?’
‘I’m not telling you,’ Layla said, popping blueberries in her mouth.
‘Go on,’ he pushed, ‘tell me.’
‘If you take me dancing tonight I will tell you some more.’
‘I’m not dancing till the jury is in,’ Mikael said, ‘and if today goes well then you’ll be long gone by then.’
‘Then you won’t ever find out.’ Layla shrugged.
‘How about dinner tonight?’ he offered.
‘Somewhere romantic?’ Layla checked.
‘I don’t do romance.’
‘Oh. Well.’ She shrugged again. ‘Your loss. I might have to find another person to fulfil my wishes.’
* * *
When they arrived at chambers a rather bemused Wendy took Layla over to the court while Mikael showered and changed into a fresh suit, and then he sat for a long quiet hour going through everything in his mind, over and over. He scratched out phrases, honed in on words, re-examined every angle, just to plant that seed of beyond reasonable doubt.
As court resumed Mikael glanced up at the public gallery just once to check that she was there.
She was smiling down at him.
In black robes and a wig Mikael looked even more incredible than he had when he had been on her computer.
His voice, when finally he commenced his closing argument, had the goosebumps rising on Layla’s arms, for it was rich and deep and reached every corner of the courtroom. It was her privilege to sit, absolutely mesmerised, as Mikael set to work.