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

‘Yes, my birthday,’ I said, surprised that he had remembered. ‘That seems a long time ago now.’

He held my gaze and I could count the spots of rain on his forehead.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘My office is round the corner. I wanted to pop into the wine shop downstairs on the way home.’

‘Sounds good.’

‘It had better be.’

There was a brief silence. I didn’t know whether to make my excuses and leave, although I didn’t want to.

‘So I’m seeing you on Friday …’

I nodded. ‘The First Directions hearing. It’s all pretty harmless.’

‘Harmless? Donna has a lawyer whose nickname is “the Piranha”.’

‘Well, you don’t want to know what they call me …’

‘Are you going to buy that?’ His voice was soft and low, with a rasp that hinted of late nights and cigarettes.

I looked down and saw that I was still clutching the bag. My hands had made two long sweat marks across the leather.

‘Sorry, no. They probably think I’m about to steal it,’ I said, setting it back on its plinth. ‘I should let you go and buy your wine.’

He still hadn’t taken his eyes off me.

‘Any last-minute tips for Friday? In fact, while you’re thinking, come with me. Come and help me choose a good red.’

Before I could even think about refusing him, I was following him down the escalator into the basement, conscious of the thrill heightening as the escalator descended.

‘Just over here,’ he said as I followed him into the wine room.

I was impressed. It was large, well stocked and came complete with a bar that looked as if it belonged on the set of some glamorous Manhattan-based movie. There were racks of wine glasses hanging from the ceiling. The light was rich and low.

‘Drink?’ asked Martin. ‘Or do you have to rush off?’

‘I think I can stay for one,’ I replied without even thinking.

We walked towards the bar and he motioned towards a stool. The bartender handed me the menu. I wasn’t supposed to drink but I chose the 1909 Smash, a delicious-sounding concoction of gin, peach and mint. After all, that’s what you were supposed to do in the movies.

I perched awkwardly on the stool and wished my cocktail would hurry up.

‘So … Friday’s court hearing.’

I glanced over to him and realized that he was probably trying to get free information. There were no time sheets here at Selfridges’ wine shop, and suddenly I felt disappointed and duped.

‘Tips for Friday?’ I said, as coolly as I could. ‘Just stay calm.’

‘Why, what are you expecting?’ he said with a slow, cynical smile.

‘It can get quite heated and that generally doesn’t solve anything.’

The bartender returned with our cocktails. I took a sip and it was cold, sweet and refreshing on my tongue.

Martin swilled a stirrer around his drink so the ice cubes clinked against the glass.

‘David speaks very highly of you.’

I tried to brush off the compliment with a modest shrug.

‘David’s good. Really good. And I don’t just mean because he recommended me as counsel. Why did you choose him?’ I asked, always interested in the process.

‘I googled “top divorce lawyer” and his name came up.’

‘That’s how it works, is it? Like picking a plumber.’

‘Something like that,’ he said, looking at me over the rim of his glass.

‘And thank you for instructing me. Most men prefer male lawyers. I suppose they think they’ll be more macho in a fight. So hats off for not thinking like an alpha male.’

‘Actually, I did have my doubts about you,’ he said, putting his glass on the marble counter.

His candour caught me off guard.

‘Ouch,’ I said into my drink.

‘I’m just being honest. I know divorce isn’t about winning, but I wanted a QC. And I was worried that you’re not.’

‘The word “junior” is a bit of a misnomer,’ I said, looking back at him. ‘There are some barristers I know who were called to the Bar thirty years ago and who aren’t silks, not because they’re not brilliant but because it wasn’t the right decision for them.’

‘Is that the case with you?’

‘I’m probably going to apply this year.’

‘So if my case drags on, I won’t be able to afford you.’

‘I doubt that.’

‘To Francine Day QC,’ he said, clinking his glass against mine. ‘I’m glad you’re representing me. Although you’re going to have to explain what’s the bloody point of having both a solicitor and a barrister.’

I laughed. It was a question I got asked a lot and I gave the standard answer.

‘It used to be the right of audience in court,’ I shrugged. ‘That’s changed now, but I would say barristers are generally more comfortable with the advocacy side of things. Solicitors come to us with the more complex issues too.’

‘So you’re saying you’re cleverer than solicitors.’