by Caro Fraser
When Leo went into Anthony’s room, Anthony was staring in a trance-like fashion at the bookcase, his face wearing an expression of vacancy which Leo knew, from experience, masked deep thought. Anthony roused himself from his meditation and glanced at Leo, sighing.
‘I’m trying to work out how to draft this bit about the Lloyd’s solvency return.’
‘Well, if it helps to concentrate your mind, Felicity’s just told me that they’ve set the date for the full hearing in six weeks’ time.’
‘Oh, wonderful. How are we going to get our act together by then?’
‘If we have to, we will, I suppose.’ Leo strolled over to the window, hands in pockets. Anthony, looking up at him from where he sat at his desk, noticed the slack lines on the skin of Leo’s neck where the collar of his blue shirt touched it, the slight thinning of his hair, and reflected, as Felicity had, on Leo’s ageing. He must be heading towards forty-five, thought Anthony, making a rapid calculation. Or was it forty-six? ‘The thing is,’ said Leo suddenly, ‘I think I’ll have to bring in another junior. We can’t carry this workload between us.’
‘There’s always Camilla,’ said Anthony. He felt an unreasonable sense of intrusion at the idea of another barrister muscling in on the territory which was his and Leo’s. He liked the exclusivity of working with Leo, of maintaining the intimacy of the relationship which had been – still was – so important to him.
‘She’s very able,’ said Leo. ‘She’s a great help. Very bright. But there’s a natural limit to what she can do, as a pupil. Where is she, by the way?’ he added, glancing at the empty desk.
‘I’ve sent her off to dig up everything she can on asbestos. The Johns Manville business, the US court decisions, medical research, market reports, that sort of thing.’ He was quite glad that this work kept her out of chambers for stretches of time. He was too professional, and she too meticulous, to allow the fact that they shared a room to rob him of his powers of concentration, but there was no denying that her presence four feet away from him charged the atmosphere and inevitably distracted him. He had seen her every other evening since just after Christmas, ten days ago, and had got no further than prolonged and delightful spells of kissing her. There was, for someone of Anthony’s age and temperament, a natural physical tension when she was around. Although there was nothing calculating or predatory in his attitude, it was difficult not to succumb to the temptation of devising ways and means of taking her to bed. She was an entirely different proposition from Sarah, and he was not entirely sure how things were to develop.
Leo nodded, then said, ‘I think another junior is inevitable. Someone to devote their time exclusively to the asbestosis and pollution points and work up Camilla’s research. You can’t possibly do that as well as all the accounting stuff, and I’ve got to start drafting my opening speech.’
Anthony could see his point. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he murmured.
‘Anyway, I’ll attend to that. The other piece of news is that Sir Basil is going to be doing the full hearing.’
‘Sir Basil? That bodes well,’ replied Anthony.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well, leaving aside the point that no High Court judge who is also a Name would be allowed to hear our case, I can’t think of anyone more likely to be biased in favour of the Names. His brother-in-law, Frederick Choke, has lost an absolute bomb on Lloyd’s. He’s on every duff syndicate you can name – Feltrim, Gooda Walker and, of course, Capstall. He’s had to sell up his farmland, get rid of his vintage car collection, flog off the French chateau …’
‘My heart fairly bleeds,’ murmured Leo.
‘You remember Edward Choke, chap who used to be a pupil here?’
‘Vaguely.’
‘He’s Frederick Choke’s son, Sir Basil’s nephew, and he told me all this when I met him last week. Apparently his mother has been in an awful state about it all. So Sir Basil’s heart has doubtless been moved by the iniquities suffered by his sister at the hands of Capstall et al. Can only be good for us.’
‘If you say so,’ said Leo. ‘But I think you misjudge the righteous Sir Basil. I certainly wouldn’t bank on anything. He’s the kind of man who might deliberately lean the other way, if he thinks anyone might accuse him of bias.’
At that moment Camilla came in, bringing an aura of cold from the freezing day outside. Anthony felt an expansive internal pleasure at the sight of her, and she gave him a warm, fleeting smile as though she knew this. ‘Hello,’ she murmured to Leo.
As Camilla took off her coat, Leo glanced briefly from her to Anthony, and was aware of an imperceptible shift in the atmosphere, the unmistakeable tension that bound two people together and excluded the other. There’s something going on between them, he suddenly thought. He knew this instinctively and certainly, even though Anthony did no more than glance at Camilla as she sat down at her desk, setting down the bundle of notes she had brought in. His mind flitted over the times he had been with them recently, remembered the studied, offhand manner with one another at tea in the common room. A deliberate smokescreen. Well, put two attractive young people in close working proximity for long enough, and a certain chemistry was bound to evolve, he supposed. But he could not help feeling a certain pang at the thought that Anthony’s heart and mind should be devoted to another person, as they had once been to him. Leo knew that even after he left the room Anthony and Camilla would continue to behave with exactly the same circumspection as they did now, but even so, his perception of how matters stood made him feel that he should leave. ‘Don’t forget Murray Campbell is coming over with Snodgrass and Carstairs at four,’ he said. And he left, aware that he was childishly and irrationally irritated by the idea of Camilla and Anthony together. So far as life in chambers went, he was too accustomed to regarding Anthony as his own special property.
Henry felt that suffering in silence for a week was long enough. Since work in chambers had resumed after the Christmas holiday last Tuesday, Felicity had behaved as though nothing had happened that night after the chambers party. Henry could hardly believe it. He had spent all Christmas in agonies of longing and doubt, and when he had come into chambers on the morning after Boxing Day, he had expected to know the best – or the worst – from Felicity. Now he could stand it no longer. It was nearly lunchtime, people were drifting out of chambers towards sandwich bars, and Felicity was sitting in front of the computer, chewing on her thumbnail and swearing horribly under her breath.
Henry came up behind her and said tentatively, ‘Felicity?’
‘Bloody hell! “To copy edit com files from the DOS directory to the FRUIT directory …” What’s a frigging fruit directory when it’s at home?’ she demanded, turning and looking up at Henry. Henry sighed and leant over to press a couple of keys on the keyboard, and the files that Felicity wanted sprang up on the screen. He could smell the faint fragrance of that perfume she wore – some cheap thing, but he didn’t care, it was hers, Felicity’s.
She grinned in delight. ‘You are brilliant. Thanks.’ She pattered at the keyboard for a few seconds, and then leant back. ‘Sorted. Yeah, what was it?’ she asked, swivelling round in her chair.
Henry paused as Roderick passed by, pulling on his jacket and dropping a brief in the basket on his way out. He waited until Roderick had left, and then said, ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you.’ After a moment’s hesitation, he added, ‘I mean, in case you’d been wondering …’ He faltered again. This was not easy.
Felicity folded her arms, which elevated her generous bust slightly, and frowned at Henry. ‘Wondering what?’ Her glance slid briefly to the clock. She hoped this wasn’t going to take long. It was ten to one, and she was meeting Vince for lunch. He’d had an interview that morning with a security firm and she was impatient to learn if he had got the job.
‘Well, wondering why I hadn’t said anything. Since that night.’
‘What night?’
‘The night of the chambers party. When we – wh
en I took you home in the taxi, and – and—’
He seemed terribly embarrassed, almost unable to get his words out. Felicity had forgotten all about that evening. The bits which she had ever been able to remember in the first place. What on earth was Henry driving at? Then a cold, awful fear crept upon her. He couldn’t mean … They hadn’t … had they? Oh God, no! No, she would remember … wouldn’t she? She’d been drunk all right, but what if …? She couldn’t remember anything between getting tight on champagne and waking up in her bed the next day.
She leant forward, her manner suddenly sharp, startling Henry from his confusion. ‘What? You took me home and what?’
‘Well … you know … in the taxi.’ Henry looked down at his hands, plaiting his fingers together.
In the taxi? No – that wasn’t possible. In the taxi? ‘Henry, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.’ He raised his eyes to hers, and she waited with faint dread.
‘Well, you kissed me – I mean, I kissed you, and – well, a bit more than that. Nothing much, really.’ He was finding this painfully difficult. ‘And you just seemed to like it. We both did. Then I dropped you at your flat. And it was – the thing is, afterwards, it sort of made me think …’ He stopped, stared at her. All he wanted to do was say, ‘I love you, Felicity,’ but the words would not come out.
And then she did that awful thing. She giggled. She put her hand up to her mouth and laughed, mainly from relief, and partly because it struck her as funny. The sound made Henry feel as though he had been slapped. He blinked. She sat back in her chair and laughed again. Then she said, ‘Oh God, Henry, I didn’t mean – look, I didn’t think what you said was funny, or anything. It’s just that I thought, when you were going on about what happened in the taxi and everything, that we’d – well, you know. Done it.’
He gazed at her, realising that it had been no more than a light-hearted piece of drunken fun for her, what she could recall of it. She was even suggesting that it was not beyond the bounds of possibility for her to have had sex with him in the back of a taxi, just because she had been tight. He felt faintly appalled. Did she really think he would have, could have done such a thing? He looked down, untwining his hands and rubbing his palms against his trouser legs. ‘No,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t worry. It was nothing like that.’ He remembered the softness of her flesh as he had touched her, caressed her, and could almost have cried.
She was silent for a moment, puzzled. Why was he bringing this up? Then she realised that whatever had happened in the taxi – and it clearly hadn’t been much – he had misinterpreted it, had been hoping that it meant something. She had always known intuitively that Henry had a bit of a thing for her, but now she saw that matters had got out of proportion, thanks to the aftermath of the chambers party. She broke the embarrassed silence. ‘Well, then,’ she said gently, leaning forward as if to reassure him, ‘that’s all right, then. No harm done.’ There was a pause. Still Henry did not look at her. What a fool he felt. ‘Listen, Henry,’ she added, ‘I really like you. We’re good mates. But whatever went on, it didn’t mean anything. I was just drunk, that’s all. I’m sorry.’
He sighed. ‘No. No, I know.’ He rose. ‘Anyway, look … just forget I mentioned it. Just forget it altogether. Please.’
She nodded slowly and watched him walk out of the clerks’ room, then sat for a while, thinking how sad things were for some people, how they always picked the wrong people to fall in love with.
Rachel was lunching with a friend from the firm of solicitors where she had worked before joining Nichols & Co, a woman in her early forties called Anthea Cole. She was small, spare and energetic, expensively dressed in a businesslike fashion, with a face which was still gamine and pretty, but with the faint aridity of early middle age. Anthea had been Rachel’s mentor at her old firm, had seen her through her articles, and had encouraged her to develop an assertive manner, aware that beneath Rachel’s hesitant manner there lay genuine talent and ambition. She had been pleased when Rachel had been offered a partnership at Nichols & Co, and at Rachel’s and Leo’s wedding she had watched and wondered, hopeful that her protégée would not be consigned ultimately to a life of domesticity and child-rearing, yet half-envious, too. She, Anthea, had no children. Now she sat listening to Rachel’s tale of discrimination at the hands of her fellow partners.
‘Of course, Rothwell fobbed me off with some stuff about a salary review in the new year, but so far as I can see everyone’s pay, including Fred’s, has gone up by a couple of thousand. Which leaves me in exactly the same position. And yesterday I discovered, quite by accident, that they’ve given him a car as well.’ Rachel shook her head. ‘I honestly can’t believe it.’
Anthea sipped her coffee and gave Rachel an expressive look. ‘You’re only a woman, my dear. What do you expect? No doubt they imagine that, being married to Leo, the salary issue is neither here nor there. That’s the way their minds work.’
‘But they shouldn’t care who I’m married to! I’m me! What if – what if I was on my own, and had to rely on my money to bring up Oliver? Why shouldn’t I be treated exactly as Fred is treated? They made some noises about “commitment” and how they wouldn’t expect the same dedication from someone with a young family, but that’s rubbish. I know it is. I should be paid for the job I do. Everything else is irrelevant.’
‘You’re right, of course. But it doesn’t always pay to be right. When I was your age – well, a few years younger, just starting out – I saw the way the cards were stacked. I decided that I simply had to outperform any man around me.’
Rachel smiled. ‘Which you did.’
‘Which I did,’ agreed Anthea briskly. ‘But one discovers, eventually, that women can’t have it all. The great Shirley Conran myth is a lie. You can’t work from nine till five, and be a wonderful mother, an amazing cook and hostess – not without an army of help. I thought I could make a career for myself, a really good one, and still have time for all the rest. A family, the lot. Then I began to look at the other women around me and saw that the deal wasn’t cutting that way.’
‘It’s true,’ murmured Rachel. ‘My nanny, Jennifer, clocks off just when I get in, and there’s still washing to do, ironing to attend to, meals to cook, shopping at the weekends …’At least, thought Rachel, as she catalogued the domestic chores which crammed her hours outside work, it keeps me from dwelling too much on where we’re all going, how we’re going to be in five years’ time.
Anthea nodded slowly. ‘I realised it was a question of priorities, and so I decided to put my work first. Max and I agreed that we wouldn’t start a family until I’d got a really secure footing in the hierarchy at work. It seemed to me that lots of women put off having children until they were in their late thirties, and it didn’t seem to matter. If anything, you had more money to spend on bringing them up. That was what I thought.’ She broke off, staring at her coffee. ‘And then we discovered it wasn’t as simple as all that. Babies don’t just come to order. God, when I think of all the time and money we spent, the tests, the endless visits and consultations … The worst of it was being told that if I’d decided to get pregnant in my twenties, I probably wouldn’t have had any problems.’ She glanced up at Rachel. ‘But that’s the breaks. No children, but a powerful, lucrative job and no domestic ties.’ Rachel noticed that Anthea’s knuckles as she crumpled her napkin in her fist were white. Even in her moments of vulnerability, Rachel realised, Anthea was terse, unemotional. ‘What a choice. I think, now, that I would sacrifice every paltry thing I’ve gained over the last twenty years, if we could only have a family. What is it, after all?’ She looked up at Rachel and shrugged. ‘It’s just a job, when all’s said and done. Just a job.’
Rachel thought of Oliver and nodded. ‘At least you still have Max,’ she said.
‘You say that as though the having of Leo might be in some doubt,’ said Anthea in arch surprise, her moment of semi-confession past.
Rachel smiled ruefully. No, she would not
tell Anthea. She couldn’t bear to explain to anyone how things were. She had been able to tell Charles, though. Why was that? She sighed, and looked away. ‘You never know. I mean, with Leo. That’s partly why I’m so anxious to make a success of my job. To be taken seriously. Not to be palmed off with second best just because everyone thinks that Leo is the answer to everything. I want to feel that if ever it’s just Oliver and me, I can still hack it. Make a decent life for both of us. I live in fear, I suppose.’
‘I don’t know what to tell you about the set-up at work. Go to see your employment partner, I suppose. I’m sure you could get a sex discrimination case off the ground, if that’s what you want.’
Rachel shook her head. ‘That’s not what I want. It seems too petty. It’s like whining about the unfairness of everything. And what chance would I stand of an equity partnership if I stirred things up like that? No, what I want to do is to prove myself. There’s a Pacific Rim conference coming up in Australia in a month’s time, and I’m thinking of telling the partners that I’ll present a paper. The Japanese clients I’ve been telling you about give me a sort of edge. The thing is, if I go, it means leaving Oliver.’
‘Go. You’ve got a nanny. That’s what nannies are for.’
‘But it means asking Leo to be home early each evening to take over, and he’s got this Lloyd’s hearing coming up sooner than he expected. I think he’s got too much to do for me even to ask him.’
