Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Cynthia Princeton pushed back on her comfy office chair and pulled up the large sash window of her wood-panelled office. She looked at the case file in front of her. Rape, her speciality. And she had dealt with enough criminals to know an innocent when she was faced with one. This poor lad was so likeable, came across as so honest, too. Which was great for a jury if it went that far.
Her colleagues would say that she should never be so confident, as it would get her into trouble one day. She most certainly had intuition on this one, but admittedly not a lot of evidence. It was the young girl’s word against his. Always tricky, always grey. But his family were putting up the money for a top defence lawyer and a top defence lawyer was what they were going to get.
She was just about to call her assistant when a text came through. It was her husband.
Therapy tonight, be home 9ish. I’ll eat en route.
‘ Quelle surprise ,’ she said aloud. She honestly didn’t know why she stayed married to Scott. She knew he was sleeping with someone or other at the moment, as she had smelt cheap perfume on him all too frequently. They had separate rooms, aside from the occasional drunken coitus, lived separate lives, really, but they occasionally rolled each other out for a necessary dinner party and they did genuinely like each other.
Scott Princeton made a good friend but a diabolical husband. The romance had long gone, but until Emma was at university, there was no way that she would leave him. Cynthia’s childhood home had been broken when she was small and, despite her very successful career, it had done her no favours.
She pushed her glasses to the end of her nose, undid a button on her crisp white shirt and called the new intern through. He sat himself nervously down in front of her. She could tell he was trying not to look at the tiny glimpse of white lace bra that was now showing. Imagining his firm ebony skin pressing against her paleness, she leant forward slightly.
‘Luke, I’m going to my Cornwall house this weekend to get my head around the Duke/Simpson case.’
‘That sounds like a sensible idea, Mrs Princeton.’
Cynthia pushed her glasses up and nonchalantly asked, ‘Do you think you could come with me?’