Mine: The hot new thriller of 2018 - sinister, gripping and dark with a breathtaking twist

I laughed nervously at the mention of his client. I had come early, without David, without Martin, for two reasons. The thought of being alone with Martin was one that filled me with both terror and excitement. I had not seen him since I had left his Spitalfields loft two days earlier. We had texted like teenagers the afternoon I had received my leather bag and panties, but our correspondence had tailed off to more sober exchanges that involved me reassuring him about the First Directions meeting, and the anxiety that had invariably followed had made me think that my forgotten medication had been more damaging than I thought.

But I also wanted to come early to see her. To see Donna. I did not want my first sight of Martin’s wife to be in a windowless courtroom, when I knew that all eyes would be upon me, and I could not be trusted to hide my curiosity and my emotions.

‘I’m very well, Robert,’ I said, glancing around the corridor. ‘So where are your troops? I thought you’d be locked in conference.’

‘Jeremy Mann is here. We’re just waiting for the client,’ he said, starting to send another text before he diverted his full attention back to me. ‘So. Tell me about the rumour that you are applying for silk this time around.’

I gave a good-natured snort. I figured it wouldn’t do my career any harm if word got out that I was applying.

‘Would it mean you might instruct me every now and then?’ I asked him pointedly, not needing to remind him that he was one of the few leading family law solicitors who had never done so. I suspected it was because Robert Pascale was a snob and, despite the fact that his stock in trade was representing women, he was also a dyed-in-the-wool misogynist.

He leant in and touched me on the shoulder.

‘If you are applying for QC, Francine, go easy on any headline-grabbing stunts. This is a divorce case, two people’s lives, not a professional showcase,’ he said with a hint of warning.

‘You know I always play fair,’ I replied as I glanced up at the big clock and knew that David and Martin would soon be here.

I excused myself and went to find a free interview room, texting David to let him know where he could find me.

I pulled the small bottle of Evian water from my bag and took a sip and glanced around the room. The Central Family Court lacked the grandeur of the Royal Courts of Justice on the Strand, where you could feel the years of history. It had the look and feel of a comprehensive school and the room in which I was sat was cold and bland.

After a few minutes I heard the door open behind me and David and Martin came into the room. I had been willing myself to remain calm, but at the sight of him I felt my heart race and all I could think about were the words of a text he had sent me two days previously.

I like the taste of your cunt.

I avoided shaking hands by motioning towards the table. They sat down and I launched into a prepared speech about what we could expect that morning, how I proposed to apply for a high court judge to preside over the Financial Dispute Resolution, how to keep things as straightforward and non-confrontational as possible.

‘Jeremy Mann has brought Richard Sisman with him,’ I informed David.

‘Who’s that?’ Martin cut in.

I took another sip of water and noticed that my hand was trembling.

‘Richard is Jeremy’s junior counsel.’

Martin frowned.

‘Shouldn’t we have someone else?’

His voice had a note of accusation and panic in it.

‘You don’t need anyone else at a First Appointment.’

‘Then why have they got one?’

His hostility unnerved me. I didn’t know what I had been expecting. Had I expected him to flirt with me? Comment on the new leather bag I had brought with me?

‘The attendance of counsel isn’t necessary at these preliminary meetings,’ I said, feeling my heart pound faster.

‘Then why are you here? And why’s Donna got two barristers?’

I glanced at David Gilbert and shifted uncomfortably in my chair.

‘Games,’ I said with as much authority as I could muster. ‘Two barristers at a First Appointment is the legal equivalent of a military show of might. The Russians parading their weapons. But it’s pointless, unnecessary and expensive. I’m all for a bit of posturing, but within reason. Robert Pascale, on the other hand, is an expert at spending other people’s money.’

‘But perhaps that’s why he’s so successful. Spend to earn.’

‘Martin. You have to trust us.’

Our eyes locked and I saw a softening apology in his expression. I knew I had to take everything less personally, but it set my resolve to do whatever I could for him.

‘It’s almost ten,’ I said, scooping up my files. ‘We should go.’

We walked in silence to chambers, one of the small courtrooms used for more informal proceedings.

The judge was already in the room at the head of the long conference table. Jeremy Mann and his junior were also sitting down. Robert was standing in the corner of the room checking his messages. I could not see Donna Joy anywhere.

I took a seat opposite Mann and arranged my papers and collected my thoughts. I put my pen horizontally above my file, pointing to the left. A mechanical pencil and a block of Post-it notes were put to the left and right like a knife and fork.

Soft murmurs rippled around the room, otherwise all we could hear was the ticking of the clock on the wall.

It was now a few minutes after ten o’clock and still there was no sign of Mrs Joy. I glanced towards District Judge Barnaby and caught his eye. He was a judge of the old school, on the verge of retirement, irascible but efficient, and I could tell by the arch of his brow that he was anxious to get on with another day at the coal-face of the breakdown of human relationships.

‘Are we ready?’ asked District Judge Barnaby finally.

Robert Pascale looked unhappy.

‘We’re just waiting for my client,’ he explained.

Barnaby tapped his pen lightly against the table.

‘And are we expecting her soon?’ he said pointedly.

‘Any minute,’ Pascale said glancing at his watch. ‘I’ll just go and wait outside for her. She might have got lost.’

I didn’t dare look at Martin, who had started muttering to David in such a low voice that I couldn’t hear what he was saying.

Robert left the room for what seemed like a very long time. When I heard the door open again, I couldn’t resist turning round, expecting to see her, immaculate and unflustered despite her late arrival, but instead it was Pascale, looking unusually agitated.

‘No sign,’ he said.

‘Have you called her?’ asked Jeremy Mann pompously.

‘I’ve tried, but it’s going straight to message. I spoke to her yesterday, and she was all set for today.’

‘Maybe there’s bad traffic.’ Martin said it as if he didn’t believe it.

‘Five more minutes,’ said Barnaby witheringly. ‘I have a very busy court list.’