‘Good. Then you’ll be comfortable with the setting,’ she said approvingly.
True, but he really wasn’t comfortable with what he was about to do. ‘Usually I’m fully dressed when I’m in this room,’ he said.
She indicated his cases and suit carrier. ‘This lot contains what you wear in court, I assume?’
He nodded. ‘I brought all of it because I wasn’t sure what you’d need.’ Though he knew it would be a lot less than he would prefer.
‘OK. Talk me through it,’ she invited.
He took his work clothing out of the cases he’d brought with him, piece by piece, and laid each one in turn on the judge’s bench. ‘Tunic shirt, waistcoat, pinstripe trousers and frock coat.’
‘You don’t wear a normal business suit under your lawyer’s gown?’ she asked, sounding surprised.
‘I did before I took silk,’ he said. ‘That is, before I became a QC—a Queen’s Counsel.’
‘Which is a senior barrister, right?’
‘Yes. So that’s why I wear the frock coat.’ He took out the gown. ‘And this.’
‘And that gown’s silk, I assume?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘May I touch it?’
He frowned. ‘Why?’
‘So I can move it about and see how the light affects it,’ she said. ‘Obviously I’ll be careful with it. One of my best friends is a wedding dress designer, and I’ve taken most of the shots for her portfolio and website, so I understand how to handle material without marking it.’
‘Ah. Of course.’
His fingers brushed against hers as she took the gown from him, and it felt as if pure electricity were running through his veins. What on earth was the matter with him? He never reacted like this. Especially to a complete stranger.
Maybe he was overreacting because he hadn’t dated in a while, and his body’s natural urges were making themselves felt because Sammy was really attractive. Well, tough. This was business and he really didn’t have time for this. Behave, he told his libido mentally. You know relationships are a disaster zone.
She peered at the material carefully from several angles, then nodded in seeming satisfaction. ‘OK. Do you wear lace at your collar, or am I thinking of something else?’
‘That’d be ceremonial legal dress,’ he said. ‘Normally in Crown court a male barrister wears a wing collar that attaches to the shirt, and court bands.’ He took them out of their cases for her.
‘So the bands are the things that hang down like a two-pronged white tie?’
Despite himself, he smiled. ‘Yes. Actually, they’re symbolic. The Lord Chief Justice said back in the sixteenth century that they were two tongues. One for the rich, for a fee, to reward our long studies; and one without reward to defend the poor and oppressed.’
‘I like that,’ she said. ‘So you defend the poor and oppressed?’
‘I’m usually a prosecutor,’ he said, ‘but English barristers can defend as well as prosecute. I guess in either case I’d be defending my client’s interests, and it’s not for me to call them poor or oppressed.’
* * *
Sammy liked that little bit of humility. Given that Nicholas Kennedy QC was a top barrister, she’d half expected him to be a bit on the arrogant side, but she instinctively liked the man she’d just met. He had kind eyes, a deep rich brown. And, even though he clearly wasn’t very comfortable with the idea of being part of a shoot for the charity calendar—especially now he knew the photographer was female—he’d obviously made a promise to someone and had the integrity to keep that promise.
She could see exactly why the committee had asked him to pose for their calendar. Talk about photogenic. His bone structure was gorgeous. He could’ve been a model for a top perfume house, advertising aftershave. It was rare to have that kind of beauty teamed with an equally spectacular intellect. And it made him almost totally irresistible.
But she was going to have to resist the pull of attraction. She was here to work, not to drool over the eye candy. Right now she was supposed to be putting the man at his ease. And hadn’t she just told him that she never hit on her models?
Well, this wasn’t going to be a first for her.
Be professional, she reminded herself. She wasn’t going to let herself remember the little shiver of desire that had rippled down her spine when he’d shaken her hand. Or wonder how that beautiful mouth would feel against her skin. She was going to focus on her job.
Besides, he was probably committed elsewhere. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but that didn’t prove anything. A man that beautiful would’ve been snapped up years ago.
‘Your hair’s very short,’ she commented. ‘Do you have a military background, or is the haircut necessary because you have to wear a wig in court?’
‘It makes the wig a little more comfortable, yes,’ he said. ‘Speaking of which...’ He took out the wig next.
There were short, neat rows of curls all the way round the pale grey wig, and two tiny tails hanging down at the back with neat curls at the ends.
‘The wig is what everyone associates with lawyers in court,’ she said. ‘You’ll definitely be wearing that, and probably the gown—though I might do some shots without the gown as well.’
‘What else do I get to wear?’ he asked hopefully.
‘Not the trousers, the coat or the shirt, I’m afraid. Even though they’re nicely cut and made from good material.’
He flinched.
‘You can wear the collar and tie thingies.’
She could see in his expression that he was dying to correct her terminology—but he didn’t. Clearly he was resisting the temptation to be nit-picky and was trying to be co-operative. Teasing probably wasn’t the kindest or most appropriate thing she could do right now.
‘Thank you. I think,’ he said.
She smiled. ‘As I said, to me you’ll be simply a life model.’
But she needed him to relax so the strain wouldn’t show on his face when she photographed him. Given what he did for a living—and that he’d agreed to wear some of his court dress for the shoot—she guessed he’d be more comfortable talking about his work. ‘Talk me through the court layout, so I can decide where to put you.’ Even though she knew perfectly well where she was going to ask him to stand. She’d done her research properly, the way she always did before she took a portrait.
‘Right in front of us is the judge’s bench.’
‘Where he bangs his gavel, right?’
