The day flies by as I tick off each job on my to-do list one by one. Bea tells me to slow down, that Rome wasn’t built in a day, and that there are things that can wait until tomorrow but she just smiles and nods when I tell her that things need to get done. She knows me well enough to see through my excuses. I am sitting in my office when I hear the front door open and close. A glance at the clock tells me that it is just gone six. I haven’t heard from Taylor since lunchtime when he texted me that things were going slowly but judging from his weary tread on the stairs it has been a long day for him. I am about to walk through to the living room when inspiration strikes. I quickly pull my dress over my head and drop my panties on the floor, with my bra following just after. I peek around the wall and can’t see Taylor so I guess he must have gone through to the bedroom. I quickly cross to the couch and get myself comfortable trying to arrange my body into a semblance of a sexy pose,

“Darling, this place looks superb,” Genevieve says as I pour out some tea from the white china pot in front of me. The day is awash with the showers that April is so famous for, casting dull shadows around my little garden. Thankfully the discreet up-lighters in each corner of the room brighten up what would otherwise feel like very dreary surroundings, despite the aromatic flora scenting the air. “Thank you,” I respond. “Though, of course, I didn’t know anything about this little surprise. Taylor and my mum cooked up this one all on their own.” I watch as Genevieve nods slightly, the knowing look on her face giving me the impression that she might have been in on the surprise as well. “Though maybe they had a little help?” I ask arching my eyebrow questioningly as suddenly I am flooded with the memory of standing in Genevieve’s orangery surrounded by an altogether too familiar smell. “The frangipani tree,” I gasp. “That’s why it seemed so familiar. It's from your house.” Genevieve

The view across the rooftop towards St. Paul’s Cathedral is stunning as the sun begins to set. I am sat in a restaurant called Madison which is at eye level with the building’s iconic dome and, if I turn my head, I also catch glimpses of the London Eye and The Shard, one of London’s newest landmarks. I find myself appreciating the blend of old and new as I glance at the horizon; it shouldn’t work, but actually, it does and for the umpteenth time I find myself grateful to be able to experience such a unique city. Less than five minutes walk away you can find the remains of the old Roman wall that once surrounded the original city right next to the Barbican, one of London’s many cultural icons. Wherever you turn ancient nestles with modern making this city, in my opinion, one of the greatest in the world. My original plan had been to surprise Taylor by picking him up outside of the Old Bailey, but things were running late at the Central Criminal Court so Henry promised to get him deliv

You can only ever put off reality for so long; no matter how many distractions you throw in its face, real life always has a habit of intruding. When I woke, it was to find a brooding Taylor staring at his phone like he wanted to put his fist through the wall. When he saw me watching him, he quickly slipped on a mask but I wasn’t fooled; we needed to address whatever happened in court yesterday. Friday the thirteenth…unlucky for some, horrific for Taylor. It was a day of questioning that bordered on interrogation and saw the Defence try to paint a picture where Taylor deliberately lied and fooled Hannah and encouraged Richard to play mind games with her until she was so terrified that she felt her only option to escape the Hudson madness was fake her own death. Stranger still, the Defence tried to imply that Taylor’s identification of the body under the bus, even though he only ever identified Hannah’s bag at the scene, was somehow part of an elab

Oh. My. God. Oh, my god. This is actually happening. I am physically shaking as I walk through the impressive entrance to The Old Bailey, otherwise known as the Central Criminal Court. I couldn’t help but stand outside in awe for a few moments taking in Lady Justice and her scales as the carving with the words over the entrance ‘Defend the children of the poor & punish the wrongdoer’ resonated in my mind. This iconic building has been immortalised in film and TV making it seem familiar even though I have never stepped foot in here before.  The building’s dome makes me think of St Paul’s Cathedral, which is only a short walk away but when I step through the entrance, the reverent quiet I am expecting is absent. Instead, people in wigs and gowns hurry through the groups of people milling around. I can see a couple of journalists and I duck my head down, hoping to avoid being seen. Emelia, who is leading the Prosecution’s case, qu