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told me that at your party, much to my amazement.’
    ‘And of course he’s married.’
    ‘Then he ought to go home and pour custard over his wife.’ I was, in this conversation, taking the moral high ground. ‘I expect the ex-Old Bailey matron would send him away with a calming-down pill and a flea in his ear.’ I speculated on the scene in vain. ‘I can’t really imagine it.’
    Our tough Director of Marketing and Administration, who struck terror into the heart of Henry, seemed at a loss. ‘The trouble is, I don’t really know how to take this sort of approach. I mean, it’s the sort of thing that might come up in the middle of a relationship. But I wouldn’t have expected our Chair to have suggested it when - well, we’ve hardly got to know each other. Do you know what I mean?’
    ‘I think I can guess.’ I was surprised, well, I might even say gobsmacked, by the turn this conversation was taking. ‘But surely this is something which should be discussed between the two of you. In some quiet place like, for instance, the corner table of Pommeroy’s Wine Bar.’
    ‘Horace, as I say, you’ve heard it all. Life, Love, Murder, Deception and -’
    ‘Custard?’
    ‘That too, probably. I just don’t feel I can talk to our Chair about this at the moment. If I only knew how he really felt about me. Is it genuine, do you think? Or is it just -’
    ‘Peculiar behaviour with the condiments?’
    ‘I mean, you’ve known each other over the years. Has our Chair ever said anything to you?’
    ‘About his feelings?’
    ‘Yes.’
    I looked at her - the black trouser suit, the glistening boots worn by the mistress of the flip chart, the ace targeter and measurer of achievement—and it seemed to me that Luci was in desperate need of help. ‘Well, Soapy Sam hasn’t taken me into his confidence about his feelings as yet. But I could always bring them up casually, in the course of conversation.’
    ‘Oh, Horace, would you? Would you do that and let me know?’
    ‘I might,’ I said. ‘But, on another subject, I don’t think Henry’s entirely happy about writing an essay on his strengths and weaknesses. I think he’d find it extremely embarrassing. He’s used to assessing the strengths and weaknesses of barristers, but not to think about who he is.’
    ‘He can forget that.’ Luci was following my drift. ‘If only you could have a word or two with our Chair.’
    ‘I think I owe it to you,’ I told her, ‘for all the help you gave me in the Primrose Path affair. Meanwhile, what are you going to do about this e-mail he sent you?’
    ‘I shall keep it,’ she promised me. ‘Whatever happens, I shall keep it as a souvenir.’
     
    ‘Mr Rumpole, very good to see you back in your place in the Central Criminal Court. I trust you’re fully recovered.’
    ‘I was until I heard you welcoming me back,’ I might have said, ‘but now my breath has been entirely taken away by your Lordship’s good wishes.’ It was the second gob-smacking I had received in the course of a week. Soapy Sam’s interest in unusual sex had been rapidly followed by an appearance before Judge Bullingham, but our raging Bull was now translated into a gentle, soft-eyed old cow who lowed at me with warm and welcoming words from the bench. Had I gone mad, or had the whole world been turned upside-down?
    ‘I’m grateful to your Lordship,’ I managed to say. ‘I am, I suppose, as well as can be expected. Only, perhaps, a little surprised that your Lordship seems to have been missing me so much.’
    ‘Always a pleasure to have you before me.’ The old cow seemed to have taken to lying along with the personality change. ‘And now perhaps we should get on with the trial of Mr Timson. Yes, Mr Prosser?’
    So, after everyone had had a share of the New Bullingham warm welcome, Archie Prosser, the latest arrival at our Chambers, rose and opened his case. The story of the Underground station was told again in detail. Mr Hornby, the company