Trinity’s voice trailed off as they walked across the road and Layla looked to where Trinity’s eyes had been drawn.
Perfect!
‘Oh, look,’ Layla said, walking over to the window of the baby boutique that held Trinity in its spell. ‘Oh, Trinity, look at these sweet clothes—there is nothing like this in Ishla…’ From Trinity’s rapt expression, Layla knew her chance to escape was surely about to come. ‘Let’s go in.’
They did just that.
It wasn’t just clothes on display but teeny-tiny shoes and socks, and little cashmere baby blankets too, and of course, the assistant told Trinity, they’d be only too happy to ship to Ishla.
‘Why would you use a ship when we have a plane?’ Layla asked, but Trinity wasn’t listening—instead she was gazing at those little blankets and had the lost look in her eyes that Layla recognised from her cousins who had had babies.
Layla slipped outside unnoticed, pulling an envelope out of her bag as she did so. If Trinity saw her Layla would say she was just stepping out for some air.
On the street there was a yellow cab driving towards her, and Layla put up her hand as the clips she had watched on her computer had shown her she should.
It obeyed!
The driver did not get out and open the door for her, which made Layla cross, and she was glad that the window was wound down as the driver asked her where she wanted to go for it was a very smelly car.
Layla gave him Mikael’s address. ‘I need you to hurry.’
She did need him to hurry, for Trinity was racing out of the boutique.
‘Layla, wait!’ she shouted.
‘I shall be fine, Trinity.’ Layla threw the letter she had written in Arabic out of the window and shouted instructions to Trinity as the taxi pulled away. ‘Get Zahid to read this and do not tell my father.’
She refused to feel guilty for ruining their honeymoon. Okay, maybe she felt a little guilty—but, Layla reminded herself, Zahid had had this sort of freedom for close to two decades when he had lived in England. Trinity had had it all her life.
Layla just wanted a week.
* * *
Mikael’s day had not improved—not that he let anyone know it. He sat with his face impassive as he listened to the closing arguments from the prosecution barrister, who boo-hooed where Mikael had been expecting him to. A couple of members of the jury were even in tears. But then the prosecution hit him with an argument Mikael had not foreseen.
Deliberately Mikael refused to reach for his notes or react.
He just noted it in his head.
Tomorrow his response would be savage.
Tomorrow he would use every letter of the law that he had at his disposal.
‘I’m gone, aren’t I?’ his client said before heading back to the cells.
‘I haven’t closed yet,’ Mikael responded, though he gave no pep talk. He certainly wasn’t here to reassure or make friends with his clients. All he required from himself was to offer the best defence.
It was a long walk back to chambers.