‘Five o’clock?’ she asked, turning to look at him in surprise. ‘Why on earth—?’
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ he said. ‘I’ll be all right once today’s over.’
‘You do look tired,’ said Jane after a pause, a suitably sympathetic look crossing her face. ‘Poor Roderick. It’s really taken it out of you, hasn’t it?’
A loud commotion muffled its way up to the window from the street below and Roderick stood up and parted the curtains slightly to see what was happening out there.
‘Oh for heaven’s sake,’ he said in an exasperated tone.
‘What?’ asked Jane. ‘What’s going on?’
‘It looks like two reporters are getting into a fight over who has the better position on the pavement and the others are cheering them on,’ he said, closing the curtains again. ‘Probably taking bets on it too, the bloody parasites. Perhaps they’ll knock each other out.’
‘The neighbours won’t be sorry when this is all over,’ said Jane. ‘Catherine Jones called me yesterday to ask when you would be passing sentence.’
‘And what did you tell her?’
‘I said you never discuss your cases at home. That there’s such a thing as judicial integrity. Well, I didn’t put it in quite such stark terms but I think she got the idea.’
‘Good girl,’ said Bentley, nodding his head in approval. ‘You did right.’
‘Roderick?’
‘Yes?’
‘You will be passing sentence today, though, won’t you?’
Roderick thought about it and bit his upper lip, breathing heavily through his nose as he did so. Jane had been right about one thing; he never did discuss his cases at home. But then he had been a judge for almost fifteen years and he had never presided over a case with quite so much notoriety and public interest as was attached to this one. Nor had he sat on the bench for one which had caused this level of difficulty and media intrusiveness for his family. Or his neighbours. He decided that on this occasion, and on this occasion alone, it would not damage his integrity too much if he bent one of his rules a little.
‘Yes,’ he said finally. ‘Yes, it will all be over today. You can be sure of that.’
‘And what will it be?’ asked Jane in as casual a manner as possible, not looking in his direction now but scooping a little of the offending scrambled eggs on to a slice of toast in order to imply her lack of interest in the answer. ‘Life or death?’
‘Now, Jane,’ said Roderick, smiling slightly at the wiles which his wife employed to trick him into answering; he had grown familiar with her tricks over the years and rarely found himself trapped. ‘You know I can’t tell you that.’
‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Roderick,’ she said as if it was a trivial matter and hardly worthy of her time anyway. ‘You’ll be telling the whole world in a couple of hours. You can tell me now, can’t you? If I promise not to say anything to anyone in the meantime?’
There was a polite tap on the bedroom door and Jane frowned and called for the visitor waiting outside to enter. It was Sophie, the maid-of-all-work, with the morning edition of The Times which had just been delivered.
‘Oh thank you, Sophie,’ said Jane. ‘Just lay it on the bed there, would you? And could you run my bath for me too please? I’ll be getting up in a few minutes.’
‘Already, ma’am?’ asked Sophie, surprised, for her mistress normally liked to luxuriate in bed for a little longer before rising to face an inferior world.
‘Yes, I’ll be accompanying the judge to the Old Bailey this morning so it’s rush-rush and all hands to the pumps.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Sophie, leaving the room quickly and heading in the direction of the bathroom.
‘You’re coming to court?’ asked Roderick when she had left. ‘You’re attending the sentencing?’
‘I decided last night,’ said Jane. ‘You don’t think I’d miss it, do you? I want to show you some support. To let you know that you’re not alone in that chilly courtroom. And besides, everyone will be there.’
‘Everyone won’t get in,’ said Roderick irritably. ‘There’s not enough room for everyone.’
‘Well there’ll be room for the judge’s wife, I expect,’ she said, setting her tray aside, the food only half eaten. ‘What time is it now anyway?’
‘Ten past nine,’ he said, unsure whether he should be flattered or nervous about his wife’s presence in court. She always attracted the attention of the reporters and seemed to thrive on batting their questions aside like a skilled cricketer.
‘Oh my,’ she said. ‘Well then, I better hurry. What time are you leaving at, around ten?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well don’t,’ she said, stressing the word, ‘leave without me.’
Roderick nodded and watched as his wife got out of bed and went to the wardrobe for her robe. Even now, even after all these years, he could barely take his eyes off her. It wasn’t just that he had been inexperienced with women when they had first met and it wasn’t just that she’d given him the kind of sensual life over two and a half decades that he had never previously imagined would be part of his destiny. It was also the fact that she was the type of woman who grew more and more attractive with age and every day brought fresh delights. To be by her side, to enter the Old Bailey with her on his arm, made him feel like a young man in the throes of his first romance again. Everything about her energized him; he loved her.
As a young woman Jane’s hair had been a pretty shade of blonde and now that she was in her forties the brightness of it had faded a little but that only made her seem even more knowing, more complex, more attractive. And she had cut it shoulder length recently too, a brave move that had worked wonders. Jane Bentley was not a woman who had any intentions of pretending to be anything other than her years and knew that her forties could be just as sensual as her twenties or thirties, even more so, if she allowed them to be. She didn’t suffer fools and had an aristocratic bearing that had taken her years to perfect.
‘What?’ she asked, turning around and noticing her husband staring at her. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing,’ said Roderick, shaking his head. ‘You’re a beautiful woman, Jane. Do you realize that?’
She opened her mouth to make a joke but saw that he was being serious. She felt a rush of warmth for him, a gushing wave of appreciation. She had chosen well all those years ago, there was no question of that. Marriage to a kind and decent man who she didn’t love, or the creeping misery of remaining a spinster daughter in a family whose wealthy days were long behind them; there had been no real difficulty in making her decision. His comment required no reply; it was an honest compliment and she decided to take it as such.
Passing by the bed she picked up The Times for a moment and glanced at the headline, turning it around to face her husband for a moment, who looked away, closing his eyes.
‘Tomorrow’s fish wrappers,’ he said.
‘Royal sentence expected today,’ she announced, reading it aloud. ‘Bentley expected to be lenient.’