Contempt of Court – Part 1: All Rise

"All rise," said Adam, who had set the study up himself.

It did not look like a courtroom. It looked like a book-lined room with a green leather chair behind a desk, a gavel borrowed from a charity auction and a single wooden chair set in the middle of the carpet. But Helena had put on her old judge's robe, the real one, retired with her last day on the bench, and Adam felt the back of his neck prickle.

He was forty-three, a barrister, with a courtroom manner in public and an old wish in private. She was forty-seven, a retired judge who had sentenced criminals for twenty years and who, at kitchen tables, had a dry, delighted sense of humour. They had been married nineteen years.

"The rules," said Helena, in her own voice. "Say them."

"No marks. Nothing real. Nothing that outlasts the night. The word is Appeal."

"And the Court will ask you, every half hour..."

"If I wish to proceed. I will answer truthfully."

"Good." She sat. The robe settled. The gavel tapped once, and the study transformed. "This hearing is in session. The defendant will stand."

He stood in the wooden chair's shadow. Her voice dropped into a register he had last heard from the bench, a calm, slow, absolutely level instrument that had once silenced a roomful of lawyers.

"Mr Adam Cole, you are charged with contempt of this Court. How do you plead?"

"Guilty, Your Honour."

"Wise." A pause. "The Court will hear mitigation. Briefly."

He gave it, stammering. She let him run out of words and then, without any heat, dismantled every argument in four short sentences. He felt his knees go weak. It was the best, strangest feeling of his working life.

"Do you wish to proceed?" asked the Court.

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Then we will proceed to sentence."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Sentence.