An Immoral Code

by Caro Fraser

  ‘This is awful,’ said Anthony. And it was. Godfrey Ellwood had been a guiding spirit in the case so far. Anthony, as he tried to digest this staggering information, felt as though he had been cut adrift. ‘Do you have any idea who they’re going to replace you with?’

  ‘Not a clue,’ sighed Ellwood. ‘It’s a bloody mess. I’m just sick and depressed by the whole thing. And no doubt our ever loyal instructing solicitor, Fred Fenton, will use it as an excuse for a discount.’

  ‘I can believe it,’ said Anthony unhappily. When they had finished speaking, Anthony hung up and sat back in his chair, pondering the possibilities. This would mean a new leader would have to be instructed, and they would be back at square one. Worse than that, there was a hearing coming up in two weeks’ time on another preliminary matter, involving a time-bar, and any new leader was going to have his work cut out to read all the papers by then. The action group committee weren’t going to be best pleased when they learnt about Ellwood. They had staked all their faith in the brilliance of their leading counsel, and now he was being booted out only months before the full hearing. Anthony covered his face with his hands and groaned. When word of this reached Freddie Hendry, a positive torrent of faxes would doubtless be unleashed on 5 Caper Court.

  The offices of Nichols & Co stood in Bishopsgate, not far from St Mary Axe, affording an excellent view of the soaring chrome and glass tower of the new Lloyd’s building. The coffee pot, Fred Fenton called it. Fred was a twenty-seven-year-old solicitor who had been with Nichols & Co for six years, and as he now stood in the office of his colleague, Murray Campbell, waiting for Murray to get off the phone so that they could discuss this latest catastrophe to befall the Capstall case, he cast a malevolent gaze through the window at Richard Rogers’ monstrous edifice. He now loathed anything to do with Lloyd’s of London. When he had been assigned to this case six months ago, he had been quite excited at the prospect of becoming involved in such an enormous piece of litigation. Now he wished that that dubious honour had been bestowed upon any other assistant at Nichols & Co except himself. He slept, ate and breathed the Capstall syndicate and its miserable history, and longed for a return to days filled with a variety of different pieces of work, instead of the dragging weight of this great albatross of a case.

  Murray, a tall, overweight Scot in his late thirties, put down the phone at last. ‘Sorry about that. Now – this business with Ellwood. We’ll have to find another leader pretty damned quick, someone who’s not already involved with some other piece of Lloyd’s business, and someone bloody good. Any ideas?’

  ‘One or two,’ replied Fred. ‘I had originally thought of Mark Dempster, at 4 Essex Court’ – Murray nodded approvingly – ‘but from what his clerk says – and this is only reading between the lines, mind – there’s a chance he could be made a judge within the next six months, and then we’d be scuppered twice.’

  ‘Quite. To lose one leader may be regarded as a misfortune, but to lose two …’ Murray sighed and rubbed his chin. ‘Who else, then?’

  ‘Well, neither Eric Wilson nor Leo Davies has anything major going on at the moment.’

  ‘Davies only took silk a few months ago, didn’t he?’ asked Murray. He got up, hitching his trousers, and began to pace the room slowly.

  ‘Well, yes, Wilson is a bit more seasoned, and he’s first class, but I reckon he’s not so good on his feet as Davies. There’s no one better in a courtroom than he is, and that’s important in this case, especially when it comes to cross-examining Capstall and the other side’s expert witnesses.’

  Murray paced silently for a moment, then he nodded. ‘Fine. Let’s give him a go. He’s in the same chambers as Anthony Cross, anyway, so that helps. Give his clerk a ring.’

  At that moment the door opened, and Mr Rothwell, the senior partner, looked in. ‘Thought I’d just tell you two that Rachel Dean – rather, Rachel Davies – will be rejoining us in a couple of weeks’ time.’

  Murray raised his eyebrows. ‘Return of the Ice Maiden, eh? Funnily enough, we were just talking about her husband. Ellwood’s had to drop out of the Lloyd’s litigation, and Fred was suggesting Leo Davies as a replacement.’

  ‘You could do a lot worse. I’m sorry to hear Ellwood’s been dropped. What’s all that about?’

  ‘Conflict of interest,’ said Fred.

  Rothwell shook his head. ‘Shame. Anyway, thought I’d pass on the news about Rachel.’

  When the door had closed, Fred remarked, ‘That’s a bit of a surprise. I mean, she had the baby only a few months ago. You wouldn’t have thought she’d bother coming back to work, given the amount of money her husband must be coining.’

  ‘A very chauvinistic attitude,’ replied Murray with a grin. ‘She wants her own career – doesn’t want to waste away as a bored rich housewife. And very creditable. She’s an excellent lawyer.’

  ‘Oh, granted,’ said Fred. ‘She just always struck me as the type who’d be happy at home with her babies.’

  ‘Who knows about women, Fred?’ said Murray, seating himself at his desk again. ‘Anyway, you’d better get on to Leo Davies’ clerk before someone else does.’

  ‘Mr Davies will want a brief fee of two hundred and fifty thousand, and a refresher of two thousand a day,’ said Felicity crisply.

  At the other end of the phone, Fred Fenton sighed. It was pure extortion, the amount these silks demanded. ‘Look, this isn’t some multinational corporation here. These Names can’t just chuck it about. Call it two hundred thousand for the brief fee, and a daily refresher of a thousand.’

  Felicity smiled. She never thought of it as money – it was just big numbers, and a bit of difference splitting. ‘You can’t get the best for peanuts,’ she reminded Fred, then thought for a few seconds. ‘Tell you what – two hundred and thirty thousand and twelve hundred refresher.’

  Fred hesitated. He hoped Davies would be worth it. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You’d better contact Ellwood’s chambers and ask them to send the papers over.’

  ‘Right ho,’ said Felicity cheerfully, and put the phone down. At that moment Leo came into the clerks’ room in his shirtsleeves and dropped some letters in the outgoing mail tray.

  ‘What are you smiling about?’ he asked morosely. ‘You’re always smiling.’

  ‘I just like to brighten your day up, Mr Davies. Actually, that was Nichols and Co asking if you’d like to be instructed as leader in the Capstall case. Godfrey Ellwood’s had to stand down. And I checked your diary and said you’d love to. How about that?’

  Leo regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Mmm. Well, now. That’s rather interesting, isn’t it?’ His manner was casual, but Leo felt an inner excitement such as he had not felt in a long time. To replace someone like Godfrey Ellwood in a case of this magnitude was something of a challenge. He’d had plenty of decent work since becoming a QC, but this could be landmark litigation. This could make his name in a very big way.

  ‘I’ll ring Brick Court and ask them to send the papers round, shall I?’

  ‘Yes, you do that. Though I imagine Anthony’s got any amount of stuff – we don’t want to duplicate too much.’

  As he made his way upstairs, Leo reflected on Anthony’s likely reaction to this news. Given the way he’d been actively avoiding Leo’s company for the past few months, he might not exactly relish having Leo as his leader. They would necessarily be spending a lot of time together from now on. Leo suddenly realised how much he genuinely liked that prospect. Since he had met Rachel, Anthony’s company was something he had missed. He had long ago learnt to suppress the physical and emotional attraction he had once felt towards him, had taught himself to think of his feelings as those merely of friendship and not love, but he would never be able to deny the pleasure which he took simply in being with Anthony, talking to him, watching him. And he knew that the pleasure was mutual – had been mutual, before Rachel. If it was a kind of love which existed between them, Leo did not believe events could entirely extinguish it. They would se
e.

  He saw Anthony in the common room at teatime that afternoon, and realised from his demeanour that he had not yet heard the news. Leo approached him, setting down his cup next to Anthony’s and dropping into an armchair opposite him. Anthony, who had just picked up a copy of the Evening Standard, gave Leo a glance and a smile that seemed half-cold. He turned his gaze to the paper.

  ‘You’ve got a new leader in the Capstall case,’ said Leo, and stirred his tea, watching with mild pleasure the way that Anthony’s languid expression suddenly sharpened with interest. He stared at Leo.

  ‘I hadn’t heard anything. How do you know?’

  Leo paused for a few seconds, sipped his tea. ‘I know, because Nichols instructed me this morning.’

  Anthony sat staring at him for a moment. ‘I see,’ he murmured. ‘I see.’ He nodded, then looked away. Leo, as he regarded him, had no idea what he was thinking. There had been a time once when he had been able to read every emotion in the younger man’s face, but this was a more mature, guarded Anthony, one who, as his success as a barrister grew, had cultivated a certain hauteur. Only occasionally was Leo able to glimpse the boy beneath the cool exterior. Anthony looked back at Leo again, his expression cold. ‘I’m rather surprised that Fred Fenton or Murray didn’t mention it to me first – I mean, before they instructed you.’

  Something in Anthony’s tone made Leo feel a sudden flash of anger. He put down his cup. ‘That is a quite extraordinary remark.’

  ‘Is it? I don’t see why you think so.’ Anthony was about to pick up the newspaper again, but Leo laid a detaining hand over it.

  ‘Anthony, for better or worse, I have been instructed as leader in this case. Now, if you don’t like it, you can always ask to be taken off it. I can think of many excellent juniors whom I would be happy to see in your place.’ As he spoke, Leo found himself wondering how this hostility had suddenly sprung up between them, when only a few hours ago he had supposed this might provide an opportunity for them to renew their friendship. Clearly that was not how Anthony saw it.

  Anthony gave a faint smile. ‘I’m sure you can. How about Leslie Curtis, that pretty blonde chap in 4 King’s Bench Walk? Just your type.’

  The restraint upon his temper which Leo had assiduously cultivated over the years very nearly snapped at this. But not quite. He smiled quickly in response, and glanced away. ‘My dear boy, in that regard, I can think of no one who could possibly exceed your own attractions. No, I was speaking more in intellectual terms.’ Anthony flushed. There was silence for a few seconds, and then Leo sighed and said in neutral tones, ‘Look, it’s going to be impossible for us to work together if things are to go on like this. Whatever is wrong between us, we have to straighten it out.’

  Anthony struggled for a minute to maintain his cold demeanour, and failed. ‘Christ, Leo …’ His voice was almost angry.

  ‘Come on,’ said Leo, glancing at his watch. ‘It’s quarter past four. Never too early for El Vino’s. Let’s go for a drink and sort this out.’

  ‘I’ve got too much—’

  ‘Forget it,’ Leo cut in. ‘Whatever it is, it’ll wait. This is more important. Besides,’ he added, ‘it’s Friday.’ He stood up and put his hands in his pockets, looking down at Anthony. For a moment Anthony hesitated, then, with a reluctant sigh, he rose, dropping the newspaper beside his empty teacup, and followed Leo out.

  They walked together in silence through Serjeants’ Inn and passed through the side door into the dim interior of El Vino’s, Anthony aware of some emotion at work within him which he could not quite define. Was it fear? Apprehension? As they sat down together at a corner table in the near-empty bar, Anthony watched Leo ordering a bottle from the waitress, and then suddenly realised that what he felt was a kind of excitement. Excitement, fear, pleasure – all these things mingled together. And relief – relief that after all these months they would be able to talk alone, and frankly. Then Anthony realised that he had no idea what he was going to say to Leo. Nor what Leo might say to him.

  The waitress brought a bottle of chablis and two glasses, and Leo lit a small cigar. He glanced at Anthony. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked. Without waiting for his answer, Leo turned to the waitress. ‘A round of smoked salmon sandwiches, please,’ he said.

  When she had left, Leo poured them each a glass of wine. Still Anthony said nothing. He sat regarding Leo, waiting. Leo sipped his wine in silence for a moment or two, drawing on his cigar occasionally, staring thoughtfully at the table. Anthony knew, from all the times he had watched Leo in court, the way in which he would keep his gaze averted from a witness for long, suspenseful seconds, that Leo was carefully formulating whatever it was he had to say. But now he could afford to take longer than he ever did in court. At last he looked up at Anthony.

  ‘I think,’ said Leo slowly, ‘that the best thing that you can do – the best thing, for all of us, the best thing for this case – is to try to find some forgiveness for what I have done. For whatever there is in the past that has made you feel towards me as you do now.’

  Anthony took a long drink of his wine. ‘I don’t know that that’s possible,’ he said.

  Leo sighed and sat back in his chair. ‘Anthony, you do genuinely bewilder me. Is it Rachel? Is it that you were so in love with her that you still feel like this? I don’t believe so.’ He leant forward again, stroking ash from the tip of his cigar against the rim of the ashtray. ‘I have seen you in love.’ Anthony looked up at him sharply, his face suddenly vulnerable and young. ‘You fall in love easily, and you recover easily. I know.’ His gaze held Anthony’s. ‘I don’t believe it has anything to do with Rachel. So tell me – what is it? What have I done that is so unforgivable?’

  There was silence for a moment, and Anthony poured some more wine, then drank to fortify his nerve. He shook his head. ‘I don’t know that I can say this. It’s beyond me. I simply don’t think I can.’ Leo said nothing. Anthony drew a deep breath, then looked up at Leo. ‘Do you remember that evening just after you had announced your engagement, when we had drinks in chambers?’ Leo said nothing, merely lifted his chin slightly as he drew on his cigar, his eyes fixed on Anthony’s face. Anthony looked down at his wine glass, twisting the stem between his fingers. ‘I’d had a bit to drink, I know, but I stopped you just as you came out of chambers afterwards—’

  ‘I remember,’ said Leo, and nodded.

  Anthony looked up at him. ‘Do you remember what I said?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Leo. This was a dangerous conversation, he realised. He had no idea where it might be leading and, scrupulous lawyer that he was, he did not relish that kind of unpredictability. He took a sip of his wine, then met Anthony’s gaze. ‘You asked me if I loved Rachel more than I had loved you.’ In the brief silence they regarded one another intently.

  ‘And did you mean what you said in reply?’ asked Anthony quietly.

  Leo looked away and pondered this, and for an instant Anthony saw a lost, hollow look pass across his face. Then it was gone. Leo nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, I meant it. I have never loved Rachel as much as I did you.’

  Anthony shook his head slowly. ‘That’s it, you see. That’s all.’

  Leo gazed at him sadly. ‘Anthony, I would make you my lover tomorrow, if you wanted me to. But you don’t – and it’s not possible, anyway.’

  Anthony sighed. ‘That’s not what I meant. It’s just that you – you have been so important to me … and – and I feel as though I have somehow …’ He struggled for words. ‘Somehow lost you.’ He paused. ‘And you know something else? I sometimes wonder whether I even like you. I mistrust you. I mistrusted you when you married Rachel, because I didn’t believe in what you were doing.’

  This touched an instant nerve in Leo and he looked quickly away. ‘That has nothing to do with you.’

  ‘I know,’ sighed Anthony. ‘It’s just – so many things don’t add up. I once thought I understood you, the kind of man you are.’ He shook his head. ‘Now I don’t.’

  A
gain Leo sat thinking for a long moment before speaking. ‘Whatever has happened,’ he said at last, ‘I want you to understand that I have – I always will have – a deep affection for you. Nothing can alter that. I would never do anything willingly to hurt you.’

  ‘And Rachel?’

  Leo took a deep breath, then glanced at the bottle. It was half empty. He poured the remains into their glasses. ‘Anthony, don’t judge me. I will not permit anyone to judge me. Just accept what I say. After all the things that have passed between us’ – his memory flickered back to a moonlit room, to an embrace which he had thought promised so much, and ended in nothing – ‘the least we can do is remain friends.’ He paused, and added softly, ‘Don’t you think?’

  Anthony stared for a long time at his wine glass. ‘Yes. Yes, I know you’re right. I suppose it’s because things have changed, and I wish they hadn’t. Something like that. I don’t know …’ He raised his eyes and Leo smiled at him. Slowly Anthony smiled back. The waitress arrived with their sandwiches.

  ‘You’d better start eating those,’ said Leo. ‘No point drinking on an empty stomach.’ He glanced at the waitress. ‘Another bottle, please.’ He looked back at Anthony. ‘Now, you’d better start filling me in about this case of ours.’

  It was half past eight when Anthony left El Vino’s. Although he had switched to mineral water an hour ago, when Cameron Renshaw and Michael Gibbon had joined them, he was conscious of feeling pleasantly tipsy. The chill of the October air felt fresh, bracing, after the smokey fug of the wine bar. He crossed the cobbles and went through the cloisters into Caper Court, letting himself into chambers with his entry pass. He went upstairs, conscious of the silence of the empty building, and flipped on his light. As he put together some papers for the weekend, Anthony was aware that his conversation with Leo had left him feeling happier than he had been for some months. The tension between them had been unsettling, and it was a relief to be able to resume a friendship upon which he had relied so much in the past. He paused, looking down at the Capstall file in his briefcase, and realised that he was glad that Leo had been instructed as leader. There was something sure and certain about Leo which gave him confidence. He wondered what Freddie Hendry and Charles Beecham and the rest of the committee would make of him. Then as he closed his briefcase a flash of recollection blotted out thoughts of Leo and everything else. He had suddenly remembered the girl from the pub last night, Sarah. She had said she would be there this evening. He glanced at his watch. Twenty to nine. Damn, damn! he thought. God, he had spent most of the morning thinking about her, and had then completely forgotten. There probably wasn’t much chance that she’d still be there. Hastily he grabbed the rest of his things and hurried out of chambers, locking the door behind him.