Keep Me Alive Read Online Free PDF Page A

than usual?
    Belatedly Trish noticed a young redheaded woman in the corner watching Grant-Furbisher with fear in her eyes. Maybe he was stalking the halls to remind his employees of what he wanted them to say when they came to answer for their actions on his behalf.
    ‘Bully,’ Trish muttered as she settled the wig even more firmly on her smooth black hair, tucking it behind her ears to avoid muddling it with the grey horsehair curls. Some of her old-fashioned colleagues of both sexes looked like pantomime charladies wearing mops on their shaggy heads.
    ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Antony whispered over his shoulder as she slid into the bench behind his. ‘You look great.’
    ‘Not like a moulting eagle then,’ she whispered back, quoting one of their old clients, who had disapproved of her severe professional style.
    Antony’s eyebrows lifted again. Once the judge was in court, he would be all seriousness and devotion to duty. But there were
still a few moments to go, and his expression told her he was planning to make the most of them.
    ‘Not these days. If it’s got to be any kind of bird, I’d say a cormorant, with black feathers sleek and body sinuous as it dives for its kill.’
    ‘Steady on,’ Trish said, trying not to laugh out loud. In the old days, she’d never have believed her abrupt and tyrannical head of chambers could be capable of this kind of cheerful silliness. ‘I know you spin words for a living, but that’s way over the top.’
    As he turned away, she couldn’t help thinking about the kind of bird that might best represent him. He had peacock qualities, obviously, and a tendency to overbear anyone who irritated him, but he had too much cleverness and wit for any creature as small-brained as a peacock. And he was capable – occasionally – of the most surprising kindness.
    An usher appeared from the door behind the bench. Antony straightened his back. Everyone in court stood and bowed in silence, as Mr Justice Husking followed the usher. The judge was nearly as plump as Grant-Furbisher but a lot taller and more dignified in his black robes and neat wig.
    Trish was too old a hand to feel nervous at this stage. Later, after the defence had had their chance to rip into Will’s story, it would be different. Then she’d need some fear to get enough adrenaline pumping through her system to make her perform at her best.
    Will was called and made his way to the witness box. The sight of his shaking hands and visibly heaving chest made her add even more confidence to her smile.
    ‘Is your name William Applewood?’ she asked him.
    ‘Yes.’ He coughed to clear his croaking voice, then said it again.
    She established his address and occupation, before asking him to turn to page one of the witness statement in front of him, then the last page, which he had signed.
    ‘Could you please tell the court if this is your signature?’
    ‘Yes, it is.’
    ‘Have you had an opportunity to re-read the statement since you signed it?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Do you invite the court to accept that statement as your evidence in this case?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Trish had done all she had to do for the moment. She bowed to the judge and sat down, thinking of all the discussion that had gone into drafting the statement so that Will would come over as the careful but spirited entrepreneur she knew him to be, with the wildly emotional victim kept well in the background.
    Ferdinand Aldham, QC, Furbishers’ leading counsel, didn’t deign to acknowledge her. He paused for long enough to make everyone aware of his importance, then rose, barely even nodding to the judge, and directed a beetling glower at Will Applewood.
    ‘This statement is, of course, an unconscionable tissue of misinformation, isn’t it?’
    ‘No, it bl—’ Will caught himself up, nodded apologetically to the judge, then said moderately, ‘No. It is the absolute, unvarnished truth.’
    ‘Are you sure it is not the case that you were so over-excited by