Page 79 of Private Lives

‘Breach of privacy? Her sister thought she was in a secure area.’

‘And the citation for that?’

Sid fell silent.

‘Sienna Miller versus Xposure Photo Agency,’ suggested Toby Meyer more confidently. ‘She’d been on the movie set and the paparazzi had taken nude photos of her with a long lens.’

‘Correct,’ said Helen, pleased that her trainees weren’t complete idiots, but careful not to show it. ‘Al

though privacy damages aren’t huge, so sometimes it’s not worth the client’s time.’

She stabbed her finger down on to the table.

‘But the case we are going to win is this one,’ she said, turning her gaze on each of the team one by one. ‘Jonathon Balon is relying on us. He employed us because he believed we could prove in court – and to the public – that these charges are groundless and malicious. We have a reputation to uphold, both ours’ – she looked directly at Anna as she said this – ‘and his. It’s not enough that we win this case; we need to destroy the opposition’s arguments and prove ours beyond a shadow of a doubt. This is war, people.’

She tapped her hand on the desk.

‘Okay, let’s go to work.’

Anna leaned over and handed a twenty-pound note to the cabby. What was this? Her sixth cab journey today? And it was only 3.30 p.m. She felt as if she was on a piece of elastic. In the course of the morning she’d shuttled back and forth between court and the offices twice, grabbing another stack of files or looking up some vital piece of case law. So far they’d only scratched the surface of the Balon case, but at least they were under way; after weeks of intensive preparation, the whole team was hyped up and full of energy, keen to win at all costs. The day had begun with Nicholas Collins QC delivering the claimant’s opening statement, and right now the barrister for the defence was putting his initial case. She’d drunk a gallon of coffee and had at least three blisters from speed-walking along the marble corridors of the High Court, but Anna was in her element. This was exactly the sort of work she’d joined Donovan Pierce to do. Meaningful, exacting work that required meticulous preparation, but which nevertheless was edge-of-the-seat stuff: most libel cases settled long before they got to court and if they didn’t, both sides must believe they had a decent chance of winning. The courts were buzzing, because you never knew exactly what the other guy was going to throw at you.

Anna walked across the road to the office, skirting around a flaming red Ferrari that was parked halfway onto the pavement, and took the stairs to the Donovan Pierce reception.

‘All right, gorgeous? Buried any good actors lately?’

Her heart sank as she saw Wayne Nicholls coming her way. Wayne was an East End wide boy who owned one of the most notorious picture agencies in town. He was rich, cocky and had the sort of unshakeable self-regard that allowed him to wear cowboy boots and sunglasses indoors. They had crossed swords more than once: the photographers contracted to Wayne’s agency seemed to take gleeful pleasure in flouting the privacy laws firms like Donovan Pierce were there to protect.

‘Pleasure to see you, Wayne,’ she said, knowing the sarcasm was wasted on him. He kissed her on the cheek, almost overpowering her with his aftershave.

‘Nice picture of your sister in the Sun this morning,’ he said with a wink. ‘I wish we’d had it, could have made a few quid on that. Hey, how about winging some exclusive little wedding snaps of her bash in Italy over to me? I’ll make it worth your while.’

‘Wayne, what are you doing here?’ Anna said, changing the subject. ‘I’d have thought it was like Dracula walking over consecrated ground.’

‘Doing a job for your boss, aren’t I?’

‘For Helen?’ she said, wondering why she hadn’t heard about it.

‘The other one, Matty D,’ said Wayne, tucking his shirt into his tight jeans.

‘Really? What sort of job?’

Wayne tapped the side of his nose.

‘Privileged information, darling. You wouldn’t want me to abandon my principles, would you?’ He glanced at his chunky Jacob & Co. watch. ‘Must fly, sweetheart. Car’s on a meter.’

‘Let me guess – the badly parked Ferrari?’

‘That’s her. Any time you fancy a quick spin, my door’s always open.’

Anna couldn’t help laughing.

‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ she said, watching him prop up reception to try his luck on Sherry, the telephonist.

Anna walked slowly, thoughtfully, past her own office towards Matt Donovan’s and lingered at the door. She hadn’t really spoken to him since their showdown in the kitchen and had no desire for a rematch, but given that he was, as Wayne had helpfully reminded her, the boss and she needed to hold on to her job, it would be good politics to try and help him out. She looked inside – Matthew was bent over his computer screen, tapping away at the keys, his brow furrowed.

‘Dipping your toe into the shark-infested waters of media law, are we?’ said Anna with a smile. Matthew glanced up.

‘Why do you say that?’