‘I’ve heard the prawn cocktail is very good,’ I said.
She laughed. I liked the sound of it. Gave me an idea I’d probably regret.
Twenty minutes later and our starter arrived. I was having creamed truffled goat’s cheese, with asparagus and pickled beetroot. My partner, as they say, plumped for the twice-baked Norfolk dapple souffle with a mixed-leaf salad and a herb vinaigrette. No drop scones and fish eggs for us.
I took a sip of my lager, picked up my fork and was about to spear a beetroot when my mobile phone rang. Noisily. I smiled apologetically at the diners at the neighbouring table and fished it out of my pocket.
Even as I looked at the caller ID Kirsty snatched it out of my hand. She saw who was calling too and switched the phone off, throwing me a withering look as she did so.
‘I cannot believe that woman.’
Alison Chambers, of course.
Moments later her own phone trilled – a lot more quietly than mine had. I shrugged at the neighbouring diners again. What could you do?
‘Kirsty Webb?’ she answered. A degree of coldness that would have chilled an Inuit creeping into her voice.
She listened for a moment or two and then nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll tell him.’ She hung up without waiting for a reply and served me a cool look.
‘That was Alison,’ she said.
I had gathered that much.
‘She’s down at Paddington Green nick.’
‘And…?’
‘And she’s there representing one of your clients.’
‘Good for her, but I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t wait until morning.’
‘Sean Chester has just been murdered.’
I put my fork down, the uneaten beetroot still speared on its tines. Sean Chester had been one of our clients. The ex-producer on one of the biggest continuing dramas as they called them nowadays.
‘What happened?’
‘He was shot dead two hours ago, Dan. And they’ve arrested your favourite star Melinda Hamilton for it.’
Another one of our clients. ‘They booked her?’
‘No. She’s not been charged yet, but your hotshot lawyer girlfriend reckons it’s a matter of hours, not days.’
I sighed, finished my beer and reached for my jacket.
‘Well, are you coming or not?’ I said.
‘I’m off the job,’ Kirsty replied.
‘Not any more,’ I said, standing up and giving her the full Dan Carter wattage.
‘Welcome to Private.’