The fortnight had gone extraordinarily quickly. Edith was drawn into Anthony's routine. On the Tuesday morning she arrived at court and was ushered into his office by Mrs Hughes for coffee and pain au chocolat. It was almond croissants on Wednesday morning after Edith expressed a preference for them. They dined together in the judicial dining room, luckily only HHJ Carson was sitting and he was too distracted by sharing his lunch with Mrs Hughes to enquire about the young woman who had nearly broken his nose earlier in the week. On Thursday Anthony bought them both sandwiches and they walked in the court grounds to a secluded bench. It was decidedly chilly but with brilliant sunshine. Her initial difficulties had completely dissipated; she found that Anthony was one of the few people in life she could talk to and they did talk and talk.

At the end of every day they took the tube home together and every day Edith prayed for leaves on the line or signal failures. On Wednesday some brilliant maintenance worker dumped a load of concrete into the signal box at Victoria and she and Anthony spent an hour and a half on the train reading that day's copy of the Evening Standard from cover to cover, discussing the news; laughing at the nonsense, sympathizing with the tragedy. The evenings became slots of time between leaving Anthony and seeing him again.

And, from somewhere, it had come back - she could draw. She'd stared at a blank piece of paper for most of Tuesday. It had never seemed more daunting, pristine, white. A gaping space of nothing, and her powerless to have any affect on its state. With a churning stomach Edith glanced up to the Bench and found Anthony looking directly at her. He flashed a small crooked smile, meant only for her and winked. Then, there it was, the pencil in her hand and an eye. The next day there was another and then a mouth and a nose, a whole face looking back at her matching the real one, offering another private smile.

Edith was delighted; she would be able to paint the portrait. A solitary fortnight at Snaresbrook would not be the end of it.

On the Friday morning Edith slipped into the empty courtroom from the Judge's entrance. She took her seat in the press gallery. Mrs Hughes gave her a carafe of water. From the corner of her eye she saw billowing black robes accompanied by shiny-suited Defendants. The door of the dock squeaked to allow their admission.

She could feel eyes upon her. She took three pencils from her patterned case. A torso encased in a dark navy suit appeared in her peripheral vision, a wig set down next to her tools. Slowly Edith raised her chin and arched an eyebrow. Chiseled cheekbones and blonde hair looked down at her, a mischievous smile, boyish, like one of Matthew's school friends who used to play in the gardens at Downton and tease her endlessly.

"Who are you sketching for?"

"Excuse me?"

"Which news organisation - Guardian? BBC?" Her confusion must have shown in her features, "you are a court artist?"

Realisation dawned, "oh, no, I'm not."

His eyes narrowed in response, "what are you sketching then?"

Edith gestured towards Anthony's empty chair at the front of the room, "the Judge."

The barrister scoffed his reply, "Strallan?! Why?!"

Edith's stomach churned, she wasn't entirely sure how to proceed given the need for discretion about Anthony's appointment, "I-". He continued to look suspiciously at her, with an eyebrow raised, a glint in his eye; she had a sense of how it might feel to face his ere whilst in the witness box.

The second barrister spoke without looking at them, he was leafing through a large red book, "Mike, I think the lady is trying to find a polite way to tell you to mind your own bloody business."

He looked over to his colleague and then back to her, "right." The smile came back to his face, "sorry. It's alright for Batesy there -" he waved a casual hand behind his back in the direction of the other barrister, "he's appeared in thousands of court drawings."

Behind him 'Batsey' looked up and rolled his eyes, he held up four fingers and mouthed the number, "four."

The blonde continued, "I have yet to be so honoured." He thrust a hand in front of her face, "Michael Gregson, defending." Edith shook it. He turned to the black haired barrister behind him and gestured, "and that's John Bates."

Bates nodded in her direction with a warm smile and said simply, "prosecuting."

With a slight flush to her cheeks Edith competed the introductions, "Edith Crawley, sketching."

Gregson laughed and turned back to her, "how are you finding the trial so far?"

She tried in vain to contain her grimace. The truth was that she'd been there for five days and barely heard any of it. It was merely background noise compared to the symphony of looking at Anthony. The dart of cheekbones, the intelligence in his eyes, the curving lilt of his lips, the smile that appeared to play across them when he caught her eye, the bands of his neck muscles tensing when he considered a difficult point. He must carry the tension right down to his shoulders, she could massage it away. She listened when he spoke, she couldn't help it. His voice - his court voice, she supposed, because it was different to his ordinary voice - was gentle but firm. It carried the room without the need for the microphone, imbued with a persuasive authority which she felt from the tip of her head to the ends of her toes. The portrait had to carry a sense of that voice, it was so much a part of him.

"Honestly, I've been very absorbed in my work and I would be lying if I said I had much to say about the trial at all."

"Well, Batesy is known for his ability to call the most boring prosecution case possible-" Bates muttered an expletive in Gregson's direction, "and this case is a multi-jurisdictional land grab fraud so the material wasn't all that fascinating to begin with." He picked up his wig and flicked it onto his head in a single easy motion. Anthony had that knack too, putting on the curious item as if it were nothing more than a jacket or a shirt.

Mrs Hughes spoke out behind them, "stand please." Edith caught sight of the door to the Judge's chamber opening.

Gregson put his hand on hers as she stood and whispered, "just wait until I call the defence case." He winked, "you'll be riveted." He drew his hand away, running his index finger from her knuckle to the tip of her finger, completely unnecessarily. Such smooth, practiced flirtation made her feel uncomfortable. Flirting had never come naturally to Edith, particularly not when she had no interest in the person and she could count the number of people she had been interested in on one hand. Half a hand, actually. She wondered if Anthony had heard it or seen the touch. She dismissed the thought; it would be an irrelevance in the context of his day, if he was looking her direction at all, which he wouldn't be.

"Mr Gregson - I wasn't aware Counsel addressed the Bench from beside the press desks." For the first time since she'd met him Anthony sounded annoyed. He was looking. Glaring, in fact, directly at them.

Gregson wrinkled his nose and plastered on a dazzling smile, turning, he bowed slightly, "forgive me, Your Honour, I was unavoidably distracted."

"This Court commences at 10am. That means Counsel at the Bar by 10am. Can I suggest that on Monday you find a means of avoiding the unavoidable?" Anthony's blue eyes darted towards her as Gregson meandered around the back of the courtroom to his proper position. Anthony had no smile for her, if anything it was the opposite, his brow furrowed. Edith's cheeks burned. She'd disrupted the whole trial and irritated him. A lump of frustration rose in her throat. She grasped her darkest pencil and pressed the tip to the cream pad. The lead snapped. The cylinder of gray rolled across the paper and settled in the corner.

The Jury came in and the trial recommenced in its usual unruly fashion. Edith stared at the lead in frustration. A yellow pencil sharpener was placed in the middle of the paper and her eyes darted up Mrs Hughes's arm, she nodded towards the Judge and Edith's eyes met Anthony's. He gave her his usual smile and a wink.

Forcing her lips together to avoid beaming at him like a smitten girl with a hopeless crush, which is exactly what she was, she sharpened her pencil and commenced an attempt at his upper body. Such joy from a pencil sharpener; she was in trouble, deep trouble.

The week finished at lunchtime. Mr Gregson insisted he required time with his client and no one involved was going to argue with an early Friday. Edith waited until the courtroom had emptied and Mrs Hughes let her into the judge's chambers. Anthony held out a steaming cup of peppermint tea as she came in, she slipped out of her coat and put her paper and pens onto the edge of his desk, "thank you."

"You're welcome."

Edith sat herself in the wingback chair, as she always did. Anthony had already taken off his wig and robes. He pulled on a grey jumper over his shirt. The static charged his hair into a fine cloud around his head and with a sheepish glance at her he smoothed it down.

He eyed her papers, "I've avoided asking you about it for the last two weeks, you know."

"The sketching?"

"Yes. Didn't want to put pressure on you. But I think –"

Both of their heads turned to the knock at the office door. Anthony looked over to her and gave a slight eye roll, "come in."

Mrs Hughes came in and gave a warm smile. Edith had never met someone who moved in a manner which reflected their personality but Mrs Hughes did just that. There was efficiency in the manner she entered and handed Anthony all the papers he'd left and the three law books – she carried all of that out of the courtroom, knocked on the door and opened it, seemingly without any difficulties.

"How have you enjoyed your time with us Ms Crawley?"

Anthony was suddenly fascinated by his cup of tea.

"It's been excellent, thank you Mrs Hughes, you've been very accommodating."

"I was given firm instructions -"

Anthony cleared his throat, "I only wish we had a more interesting trial for you."

"I don't think Ms Crawley has paid even one iota of attention to the trial." An almost imperceptible look passed between them and Anthony scowled.

"I'm afraid you've got me there."

Another knock. Leaning back in his chair Anthony cast his eyes to the ceiling. He spoke under his breath, "like bloody Piccadilly Circus." He sighed, "yes, come in, more the merrier."

HHJ Carson joined them, in his full regalia, "Strallan, you don't have –" He caught sight of Mrs Hughes and lost his train of thought. He seemed to have lost all sense of everything, actually, except her, "Mrs Hughes, hello."

"Your Honour."

"Good morning?"

Anthony looked at Edith and his eyebrows darted upwards, he took a sip of his tea and she returned the look with a surreptitious smile. Not that either Mrs Hughes or Judge Carson would have noticed any look that passed between them. The way they were looking at one another they wouldn't notice if she'd got up and kissed Anthony full on the mouth. There was a thought. She looked back at him, he leant back in his chair watching the scene play out between his clerk and fellow judge occasionally shaking his head or arching an eyebrow. He was the single most handsome man she'd ever seen. His pursed lips, incredulous at the unspoken affair taking place in his office, simply begged for that kiss.

Mrs Hughes, at last, remembered that there were other people in the room. She turned to Anthony, "sorry, Your Honour, anything else you need?"

Draining the last of his tea he shook his head. Edith went to take the cup off him and placed it together with hers on the tea tray.

With a last look at Judge Carson Mrs Hughes excused herself, "next week then. Hope to see you again Ms Crawley." And with that, she was gone. Judge Carson stared at the closed door as if willing it to open again with her on the other side.

Edith bit her lip and Anthony cleared his throat. Carson looked down at him, as if surprised to find him in the room, "you wanted something Charlie?"

"Did I?"

Edith laughed.

"Yes, you came into my office asking if I had something and then you got distracted."

"Right. Cannot remember for the life of me what I wanted now. I'll - " he cast an eye at Edith, "leave you to it."

"Charlie, you know why Edith has been here the past couple of weeks?"

"Marshaling?"

Perplexed, Edith inquired, "Marshaling?"

Anthony looked unhappy, "when law students shadow judges - for the experience." He turned back to Carson, "No, Charlie, Edith is not marshaling. She is not a law student. Or any other kind of student. She's painting my portrait." His eyes darted to hers for a moment, "possibly."

"Why?"

"I'm taking Red in the Autumn and John's require a portrait." He waved a hand, the details didn't matter, "The appointment is confidential, as you'll appreciate. I'm telling you because Mrs Hughes is coming with me." Carson's mouth fell open and Edith's chest constricted in sympathy, "It's a promotion for her too Charlie."

"Of course, good for her and you – good." The disappointment was palpable.

The silence hung around them before Anthony interrupted it with his best judicial voice, "You need to tell her you're in love with her Charlie - before we leave - you'll regret it if you don't." Edith's eyes widened and she looked at Anthony. He'd spoken as if it was the most natural conversation in the world. He cared for his colleagues and he saw, as Edith had, that they might be perfect for one another and had decided to give them a push in the right direction.

Carson's face reddened very quickly. He stammered a few incoherent syllables and let himself out.

Anthony considered the closed door for a moment and turned back to her, "What were we talking about?"

Edith smiled broadly, "that was a lovely thing you just did."

"What? Embarrassing Charlie?"

His deflection would get him nowhere, "You know exactly what I mean. Giving love a helping hand."

He waved away the praise and busied himself putting his books into his bag, "don't know what came over me. I don't interfere in the lives of colleagues, or get involved in any of that personal nonsense. I'd just had my fill of seeing them make puppy-dog eyes at one another."

"No."

"No?"

"No, I don't believe you. It was a nice thing to do, that's why you did it. I don't accept that annoyance compelled you to do it. You are a good person and you did a good thing." Anthony carried on busying himself with his books and files, but Edith caught the smile playing on his lips and the croak he cleared from his throat.

When he had finished packing he came around to the front of his desk and leaned on the heavy wood right beside where she sat, "we can no longer dance around the issue Edith."

She looked across his hips, up his torso, to his face and wondered what issue they were dancing around. She was dancing around several, her thoroughly inappropriate and unrequited attraction to him being top of the list, "w-what do you mean?"

"The portrait."

Idiot. "Oh, right, yes, that."

He kicked out his legs and pulled himself up to sit on the desk in front of her, suddenly a schoolboy with a schoolboy smile, "So? Can you do it do you think? I've noticed your pencil at work." He picked up the ball of pink ribbon and passed it from hand to hand, "of course, you could have been mindlessly doodling. Or sketching some infinitely more interesting subject - Mrs Hughes perhaps –" he paused, "or Gregson."

Edith shook her head slowly and met his eyes. He really had no idea. There might as well be no one else in the court room given the way he, and only he, held her attention, "No, just you. I've done eyes, nose, mouth, shoulders and neck. Today I even tried your ears." His hand reached to one of them as though double-checking he had ears.

"And?"

"I can paint the portrait."

Anthony gifted her a smile like no other, right up into his eyes. It was too much, she was just bones in the chair and her heart beneath her ribs, thumping. She dropped her chin to her chest, breaking his gaze. With a shrug and a laugh, she hedged, "it might be terrible, don't get too excited."

He squeezed her shoulder, "it won't be." Then his hand was gone. Edith looked at the ripples in the cotton fabric where it had been. He stood and put on his coat. She did the same, stashing her pens and papers in her rucksack. He grabbed his bag and they headed to the tube station.

As they strolled across the court driveway, he asked, "so, what's next?"

"I don't know. I told you I've never done this before."

He laughed, "blind leading the blind."

"I suppose we do a proper sitting. The court has terrible light."

"Do you want me to come to you?"

Edith was caught between wanting to see Anthony in her flat, around her things and wanting to see where he lived, to see his life outside the courtroom, "No. I don't think so – we should do it at yours."