Lorenzo's Reward. Catherine George
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Tell me you’re pulling my leg, Em!” said Jess, throwing open the door in dismay.
“Of course I’m not,” said Emily indignantly. “He’s hanging on as we speak, dearie, so get yourself to the phone.”
Jess shook her head violently. “I still can’t talk to him.”
“What on earth shall I say?”
“Tell him I’m in the bath. Asleep. Anything. Why didn’t you say I was out?”
“I didn’t realise a phone call was taboo as well.” Emily shook her head. “Honestly, Jess, any woman in her right mind would kill to listen to that voice purring down the line. Who would know?” She flung up her hands. “All right, all right. I’ll lie through my teeth and swear you’re prostrate with a migraine.”
“Perfect. If I’m not I should be!”
When Jess joined Emily minutes later her friend grinned as she ladled cream and smoked salmon over bowls of steaming pasta.
“I’m afraid the gentleman didn’t believe a word of it. But he was much too civilised to blame the messenger.”
“Damn, damn, damn!” said Jess bitterly. “Any other time I’d have been delighted to talk to him.”
“I believe you. Is he tall, dark and handsome to match the voice?”
“Not quite.” That particular description belonged to the third man in the equation. “Roberto’s tall enough, but fairish in that olive-skinned, Latin sort of way. A bit of a star on the ski-slopes, according to Leo.”
“Smouldering blue eyes, of course,” said Emily, smacking her lips.
“What have you been reading lately? Actually his eyes are dark like mine.”
“Smouldering black eyes, then. Even better.”
Jess’s heart gave a sudden lurch at the memory of dark eyes which had smouldered so effectively she couldn’t get them out of her mind. She ground her teeth in frustration. If only she’d been able to talk to Roberto he could have introduced her. Why did this kind of thing never go right for her? She eyed Emily hopefully. “I don’t suppose Roberto gave you his number? I could happily ring him tomorrow, after the trial.”
“Sorry. A second rebuff must have been too much for the poor guy.”
“I’ll bet. Especially as it’s not long since my sister jilted him. We Dysart girls really know how to treat a man, don’t we?” Jess ate her favourite supper with less relish than it deserved. “Maybe Leo knows his number. If so I’ll ring to apologise.” And casually ask who the friend might be.
“Don’t just apologise—grovel!” advised Emily.
“You haven’t even met the man.”
“I don’t have to! Just listening to that voice was enough.”
Next day the proceedings in court were over sooner than expected. The judge reminded the jury of the exact meaning of the indictment, of what the Prosecution was obliged to prove to win its case and what the Defence must have done to persuade the jury to acquit, and concluded by telling the jury it was entirely up to them to decide. The ushers took an oath to keep the jury in a private and convenient place, and Jess and her fellow jurors were led off to the jury room and locked in to make their deliberations.
This time the facts were so conclusive that the jury members were reluctantly unanimous, and back in court later Edward, their foreman, delivered the verdict of guilty. Up to that point Jess had been very sorry for the young woman in the dock, but to her surprise Prosecuting Counsel justified the jury’s verdict by disclosing a prior conviction of a similar nature before the judge passed sentence.
Afterwards the twelve jury members went off to the pub Jess had raced from the day before. But this time there was no sign of Roberto Forli and Jeremy Lonsdale, nor, most disappointing of all, of the third member of the trio.
“Let’s keep in touch, Jess,” said Simon Hollister, as they emerged with the others into hot afternoon sunlight. “If I give you a ring soon, will you have dinner with me?”
“I’d love to,” agreed Jess. “Not yet awhile, though. I’m off home to Gloucestershire for my sister’s wedding tomorrow, and I’m staying on for a few days.”
“Lucky old you,” he said enviously. “I’m back to the City grind on Monday. I’ll ring you in a week or so, then.”
Jess nodded, then beckoned to June. “Time I went. I’m giving our friend a lift. See you, Simon.”
The moment she got back to the flat Jess rang home. “Hi, Mother, it’s me. The trial finished today after all, so I can stay on after the wedding with a light heart.”
“Thank heavens for that,” said Frances Dysart with relief. “How are you, darling? Tired?”
“Exhausted. How are things there? Mad panic on all sides?”
“Not a bit of it. The bride is floating about on a pink cloud and Fenny, needless to say, is bursting with excitement. But Kate’s a bit tense. She’s only halfway through her exams.”
“I can’t believe she’s worried about failing! Kate’s the brains of the family.” Jess chuckled ruefully. “Leo got the looks and Adam the charm, whereas poor old me—”
“Whereas poor old you,” echoed her mother dryly, “are the sexiest, according to your brother.”
Jess was astounded. “Really? When did Adam say that?”
“This morning. He arrived with a carload of laundry—in time for lunch, of course.”
Jess laughed. “How did his Finals go?”
“He refuses to commit himself. He’s going back to Edinburgh to paint it red after the wedding, but for now I think he’s just relieved the exams are over.”
“I bet he is. And how about you and Dad? Are you worn out with all the excitement?”
“Not in the least. Everything’s under control. What time are you arriving tomorrow?”
“I’ll ring when I start off. Jury work’s more tiring than I expected—I really need a lie-in tomorrow before I have my hair cut. I should be with you some time in the afternoon. And mind you take it easy, Mother, don’t work too hard. See you tomorrow. Can you float the bride towards the phone now?”
Leonie Dysart greeted her sister with such exuberance Jess felt wistful, wondering how it felt to be so much in love. And to know with such certainty that her feelings were returned.
“Sorry, Leo, what did you say?” she said quickly.
“I asked how you were feeling after your stint in court.”
“A bit tired, as we speak, but don’t worry. I’ll be firing on all cylinders on the day.” Jess paused. “Leo, this is a bit of a long shot, but I don’t suppose you’d know how to contact Roberto Forli? Here in this country, I mean? You’ll never believe this, but I bumped into him yesterday—”
“Don’t I know it! What on earth was all that about? He rang here afterwards and told me you took one look at him in a pub somewhere and ran for your life. He sounded so stroppy I was surprised when he asked for your telephone number. Did he get in touch last night?”
“Yes, he did. But I couldn’t speak to him then, either.”
“Why not?” demanded her sister in astonishment. “I thought you liked him.”
“I do.” Jess heaved a sigh, then explained the problem in detail.
“Oh, Jess, what bad luck! I knew Roberto had a barrister friend he sometimes stays with in London.”
“Unfortunately the friend was Prosecuting Counsel on the case I was sitting in on. So I thought