Falling For Mr. December. Kate Hardy
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ceremonial legal dress,’ he said. ‘Normally in Crown court a male barrister wears a wing collar that attaches to the shirt, and court bands.’ He took them out of their cases for her.
‘So the bands are the things that hang down like a two-pronged white tie?’
Despite himself, he smiled. ‘Yes. Actually, they’re symbolic. The Lord Chief Justice said back in the sixteenth century that they were two tongues. One for the rich, for a fee, to reward our long studies; and one without reward to defend the poor and oppressed.’
‘I like that,’ she said. ‘So you defend the poor and oppressed?’
‘I’m usually a prosecutor,’ he said, ‘but English barristers can defend as well as prosecute. I guess in either case I’d be defending my client’s interests, and it’s not for me to call them poor or oppressed.’
* * *
Sammy liked that little bit of humility. Given that Nicholas Kennedy QC was a top barrister, she’d half expected him to be a bit on the arrogant side, but she instinctively liked the man she’d just met. He had kind eyes, a deep rich brown. And, even though he clearly wasn’t very comfortable with the idea of being part of a shoot for the charity calendar—especially now he knew the photographer was female—he’d obviously made a promise to someone and had the integrity to keep that promise.
She could see exactly why the committee had asked him to pose for their calendar. Talk about photogenic. His bone structure was gorgeous. He could’ve been a model for a top perfume house, advertising aftershave. It was rare to have that kind of beauty teamed with an equally spectacular intellect. And it made him almost totally irresistible.
But she was going to have to resist the pull of attraction. She was here to work, not to drool over the eye candy. Right now she was supposed to be putting the man at his ease. And hadn’t she just told him that she never hit on her models?
Well, this wasn’t going to be a first for her.
Be professional, she reminded herself. She wasn’t going to let herself remember the little shiver of desire that had rippled down her spine when he’d shaken her hand. Or wonder how that beautiful mouth would feel against her skin. She was going to focus on her job.
Besides, he was probably committed elsewhere. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but that didn’t prove anything. A man that beautiful would’ve been snapped up years ago.
‘Your hair’s very short,’ she commented. ‘Do you have a military background, or is the haircut necessary because you have to wear a wig in court?’
‘It makes the wig a little more comfortable, yes,’ he said. ‘Speaking of which...’ He took out the wig next.
There were short, neat rows of curls all the way round the pale grey wig, and two tiny tails hanging down at the back with neat curls at the ends.
‘The wig is what everyone associates with lawyers in court,’ she said. ‘You’ll definitely be wearing that, and probably the gown—though I might do some shots without the gown as well.’
‘What else do I get to wear?’ he asked hopefully.
‘Not the trousers, the coat or the shirt, I’m afraid. Even though they’re nicely cut and made from good material.’
He flinched.
‘You can wear the collar and tie thingies.’
She could see in his expression that he was dying to correct her terminology—but he didn’t. Clearly he was resisting the temptation to be nit-picky and was trying to be co-operative. Teasing probably wasn’t the kindest or most appropriate thing she could do right now.
‘Thank you. I think,’ he said.
She smiled. ‘As I said, to me you’ll be simply a life model.’
But she needed him to relax so the strain wouldn’t show on his face when she photographed him. Given what he did for a living—and that he’d agreed to wear some of his court dress for the shoot—she guessed he’d be more comfortable talking about his work. ‘Talk me through the court layout, so I can decide where to put you.’ Even though she knew perfectly well where she was going to ask him to stand. She’d done her research properly, the way she always did before she took a portrait.
‘Right in front of us is the judge’s bench.’
‘Where he bangs his gavel, right?’
He laughed. ‘I think you’ve been watching too many TV dramas. English judges don’t use gavels.’
She knew that, but he didn’t need to know that she knew. It looked as if her plan to make him more comfortable was working. Except, when he laughed like that, it made him look sexy as hell—and that made it much more difficult for her to keep her part of the bargain, to be detached and think of him as a life model.
Not that Sammy was looking for a relationship right now. She was too busy with her job, and she was fed up to the back teeth with dating Mr Wrong—men who ran for the hills in panic, the second they learned about her past, or who saw themselves as her knight in shining armour and wrapped her so tightly in cotton wool that she couldn’t breathe. None of them had seen her as a woman.
Then again, she wasn’t really a whole woman any more, was she? So she couldn’t put the blame completely on them.
And after Bryn had finally been the one to break her heart, Sammy had decided that it would be much easier to focus on her family, her friends and her job and forget completely about romance.
Though the wedding she’d photographed a couple of months ago had made her feel wistful; now both her best friends were loved-up and settled. And although she was really happy for both of them, it had left her feeling just the tiniest bit lonely. And the tiniest bit sorry for herself. Even if she ever did manage to meet her Mr Right, there was no guarantee of a happy ending. Not if he wanted children of his own, without any kind of complications. She couldn’t offer that.
She pushed the thought away. Enough of the pity party. She had a great life. A family who loved her—even if they were a tad on the overprotective side—friends who’d celebrate the good times with her and be there for her in the bad times, and a job that really fulfilled her. Asking for more was just greedy.
‘No gavel, then. So what else am I looking at?’
‘OK. In front of the judge you have the clerk of the court, the usher, and the person who makes the sound recording of the trial or a stenographer who types it up as the trial goes along. They face the same way as the judge.’ He walked over to the benches facing the judge’s bench. ‘This is where the barristers sit, though we stand when we’re addressing the court. The defence barrister is nearest to the jury—’ he indicated the seats at the side of the room ‘—and the prosecution barrister is nearest to the witness box. The solicitors sit behind the barristers, and at the back is the dock where the defendant sits. Over there behind the witness box you have the public gallery and the press bench.’
‘So it’d make the most sense to photograph you where you’d normally stand in court,’ she said. Exactly where she’d always planned for him to pose—and where her equipment just so happened to be waiting. ‘OK. Can you stand there for me?’
‘Dressed like this?’ he asked.
She smiled. ‘For the moment, yes—though if you wouldn’t mind putting on your gown, that’d help with the light meter readings.’
He shrugged on his gown and went to stand at the barristers’ bench. She noticed that he was looking nervous again.
‘You’re really not going to end up on the front page of the newspapers with headlines screaming about “top barrister flashes his bits”,’ she reassured him. ‘The point of the calendar is to sell gorgeous men posed artistically.’ And Nick definitely fitted the bill on both counts. ‘If the bench doesn’t cover your modesty, so to speak, then you can hold a bunch of papers in a strategic place. Don’t