Errors of Judgment

by Caro Fraser

  ‘D’you remember Jess?’ said Leo. He shook his head. ‘Dear God.’

  Michael smiled and nodded. ‘She ran the bar thirty years ago,’ he told Anthony. ‘Long gone. Absolute battleaxe, face that would turn milk. Everyone was terrified of her, even the most senior people. I have never known a woman carry out the business of dispensing drinks so begrudgingly, or with such apparent loathing for her customers.’

  ‘People used to compete with each other to get her to crack a smile,’ said Leo, ‘or just be civil. But the more fawningly polite they were, the more they tried to butter her up, the worse she was.’

  ‘Andrew Carrick had the trick. Jess absolutely loved him. He was this very tall, pompous QC, who used to swan in and order drinks in the most lordly way, calling Jess “my good woman”, treating her like some parlourmaid. She lapped it up. It was the only time I ever saw her smile. He would lean over the bar and tell her filthy jokes, and she would cackle. The rest of the time she had a face like stone.’

  Anthony smiled. He’d heard all this before.

  ‘Of course, it’s not just the bar,’ said Michael. ‘It’s the whole place. Did you know,’ he said to Leo, ‘that they’ve closed the buttery?’

  ‘Really? That’s sad.’

  ‘And one evening last summer,’ went on Michael, ‘I came in, bought a drink, was about to take it outside, when someone told me the garden was out of bounds. Can you imagine? They were catering some outside event, so members of the inn weren’t even allowed into their own garden. I frankly don’t know what the place is coming to.’

  ‘I hear,’ said Leo, ‘that they’re thinking of turning this whole building over to offices.’

  Michael tut-tutted and shook his head. He and Leo sat silently sipping their drinks, deploring the way the world was going. ‘So,’ asked Michael after a few moments, ‘what was it you wanted to talk to us about? You’ve been most mysterious.’

  Leo set his glass down on the table. ‘I’m thinking of applying to become a High Court judge.’

  Anthony felt a momentary shock. He knew Leo had been sitting as a recorder here and there for the past eighteen months, which was one of the prerequisites, but he hadn’t really expected this. ‘I assumed you were just going through the motions,’ he said. ‘With the recorder thing.’

  ‘So did I. Maybe I am. But the idea has its attractions. I wanted to talk it over with you two, find out what you think.’

  ‘I think,’ said Michael, crossing his spindly legs and frowning into his whisky, ‘that you’re mad. I mean, think of the drop in earnings! You’re at your peak right now.’

  ‘I know that. On the other hand, if I want to qualify for the full pension entitlement, I need to serve twenty years on the bench. Judges retire at seventy. I’ll be fifty next year. Perfect timing.’

  Anthony couldn’t believe Leo, of all people, was sitting here talking about pension entitlements. Leo, who lived life for the moment, who despised conventions and those who lived by the rules, whose mercurial character he had always assumed to be above such mundane considerations, was actually making purse-lipped calculations about his retirement, like some accountant from the suburbs. ‘Very prudent of you,’ he observed. ‘You’ll be buying a pipe and slippers next. And a cardigan. How about a potting shed while you’re at it?’

  ‘You may sneer,’ said Leo mildly, ‘but when you’re my age, such things become important.’

  ‘What – potting sheds?’

  Leo smiled, saying nothing, and finished his whisky.

  ‘I’ll get another round,’ said Michael, and rose to his feet. ‘Anthony?’

  ‘I’m fine for the moment, thanks.’

  ‘You don’t seem too happy about my possible career move,’ said Leo to Anthony, when Michael was out of earshot.

  Anthony said nothing for a moment. A vision had been building in his head of chambers without Leo, without the sound of Leo’s voice, his laugh, his footstep on the stair, his knock on the door. It would be lifeless, dead. From the first day Anthony had set foot in 5 Caper Court eight years ago, Leo had been, for Anthony, the scintillating heart of the place. His remarkable intellect, his exceptional eloquence and his brilliance as a cross-examiner set him apart from all the other solid, drab, clever members of chambers, including kind, pedantic Michael. On the surface he was the perfect embodiment of a successful barrister, destined to forge a career leading from the High Court Bench to the Court of Appeal, and to the ultimate pinnacle of the Supreme Court. Anthony knew all that. But he knew too that there was another side to Leo, a darker, more dangerous side. He knew Leo as a man who, free from the trammels of his professional life, took his pleasures where he chose, men or women, who had finessed the art of seduction, of love, of life itself. He had taught Anthony many things – including things which Anthony sometimes wished he’d never learnt. He simply didn’t believe that this side of Leo would be content with the humdrum life of a High Court judge.

  When he spoke, all he could find to say was, ‘Chambers won’t be the same without you.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, I haven’t even applied yet. Even if I do, the Judicial Appointments Commission could well turn me down. It happened to Jeremy. Twice.’

  ‘I doubt if they’d turn you down,’ said Anthony. ‘You’re too good. And they’re crying out for decent people.’ Michael returned at that moment with the drinks, and Anthony added, ‘Michael’s right – it’ll mean a massive drop in income.’

  ‘I’m not too concerned about the money. As long as I have enough to live comfortably, and to educate Oliver. One has to keep a balance in all things. No point in earning huge fees if the work is killing you.’

  ‘I didn’t realise it was that bad,’ said Michael.

  ‘Perhaps that’s overstating the case, but the fact is, I’m tired. I just seem to go from one big case to another, and the workload is beginning to get to me. In fact, I feel exhausted most of the time.’ Leo picked up his fresh drink. ‘Plus, I’m not getting any younger. Cheers.’

  ‘Of course, the title’s always an attraction,’ mused Michael. ‘I imagine more than a few chaps finish up on the bench because their wives fancy being called Lady whatever.’

  ‘That certainly isn’t high on my list of priorities.’

  ‘They say it can be a lonely life. Did you know Hugh Laddie?’ Anthony shook his head. ‘Leo will remember him.’

  ‘Patent barrister,’ said Leo. ‘Invented the Anton Piller order. Nicest man you could hope to meet.’

  ‘Tremendous chap,’ agreed Michael. ‘The least stuffy person you can imagine. Great fun. Exceptionally clever. Became a High Court judge, but found the job so boring and lonely he packed it in. First and last judge ever to do so.’

  ‘It’s not the most convivial life, I grant you,’ said Leo. ‘That said, grafting away on big cases gets pretty lonely. As for boring – I’ve reached the point where I feel as though I’m doing the same work over and over.’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Michael, ‘that at least being a judge allows you to try out new areas of law.’

  ‘Mmm. Then again, do I want to be sitting on fraud trials? Or hearing rape cases, for that matter?’ Leo swirled his Scotch in its glass. ‘But it shouldn’t just be about me – what I get, or don’t get out of it. There is the altruistic point, the public service aspect. Becoming a judge is a way of contributing. Maybe it’s time I put something back.’

  ‘Have you discussed it with Henry?’ asked Anthony.

  ‘Not yet. I’ll have a chat with him next week. I wanted to sound you two out first.’

  ‘Did you expect us to talk you out of it?’

  ‘No. I merely wondered if you had any arguments against that I hadn’t already thought of.’

  They carried on talking it through for the better part of an hour. When they left the bar, it had grown dark, and the late October air was chilly. Michael said goodnight and headed off to the tube station.

  ‘I’ll walk with you to your car,’ Anthony said to Leo.

>   They crossed the road together. ‘Did you mean that stuff about public service?’ asked Anthony.

  ‘You think I’m not sincere?’

  ‘Of course not. I was just surprised. I mean – and don’t take this the wrong way – that I don’t automatically think of you as …’ He hesitated. ‘That’s to say, I’ve always regarded you as more—’ He broke off, groping for the right words.

  ‘Selfish. Out for the main chance. Only interested in number one.’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘Only because you’re too polite. But it’s true. I’m all of those things. I know myself better than anyone. I take what I want when I want it, and am prepared to let very few things stand in the way of my enjoyment of life.’ They had reached Leo’s car. He turned, the street light etching the sharp planes of his face, glinting on his silver hair. His gaze sought Anthony’s. ‘As regards my private life – by which I suppose I mean my sex life – I have few morals and even fewer scruples. However, where my professional life is concerned, you know how I’ve always striven to maintain the highest standards, to work with the utmost integrity. I suppose the law is one area of my life where I actually want to be a force for good. I believe in the common law of our country, I’m proud to be one of its practitioners, so I think maybe it’s time I did my bit. Not a bad aspiration. Look at Tom Bingham, and the legacy he’s left. The work he did as a judge will shape the law for years to come. Not that I expect my contribution would ever amount to as much, but still.’

  ‘Very noble.’

  This remark seemed to exasperate Leo. ‘It’s not about nobility, Anthony. I remember the day I won my first scholarship from Middle Temple. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to allow me to keep studying, to do my pupillage without starving. I knew then that despite everything, despite growing up piss-poor in a Welsh mining village and having none of the advantages of all those public school types around me, my intellect and ambition were recognised and valued. This profession would let me climb as high as I wanted, if I was prepared to work hard enough. I’ve never stopped striving. Maybe now it’s payback time.’ Anthony was aware that the lilt of Leo’s Welsh accent had grown slightly stronger. ‘Do you understand? Because if you don’t, you should.’

  ‘I think I understand.’ There was a long silence. When Anthony spoke again, his voice was bleak, lost. ‘I just don’t want you to go.’

  ‘Nothing’s decided yet. I’m still thinking it through.’ Leo gazed at Anthony. ‘Whatever happens, I’ll never go. Not in that way.’

  From where she stood in the shadows, Gabrielle could hear the low murmur of their voices. She wished she could hear what they were saying. And she wished the younger one would just go, and leave the field clear. If she didn’t make her move now, maybe she never would. As she watched, she suddenly saw Leo lean forward, silhouetted in the gleam of the lamplight, and kiss the younger man. Not a light kiss, but passionate and lingering. And the kiss was returned. Gabrielle stood rooted to the spot.

  Leo unlocked his car, got in and turned the engine, and the moment when she could do or say anything had passed. The Aston Martin purred over the cobbles and out of the Inn.

  Gabrielle walked slowly down to Embankment. This was all getting too confusing. Was Leo Davies gay? She couldn’t believe it. It didn’t make sense. She thought about it as she walked to the station, and came to the conclusion that it made no difference whether he was gay or not. The point was that yet again she’d blown her chance. It was the last time she could afford to let that happen.

  Anthony headed aimlessly through the dark courtyards and alleys of the Temple until he reached the Strand. He stood there for a moment, pretending to himself that he had been intending all along to go home, catch up on some work and have an early night, and that he was only now changing his mind. But if he’d meant to do any of that, he would have gone to the Tube. What was the harm in going to Blunt’s two nights in a row? Rigging up in his mind the little pretence that he was doing this because he might bump into Edward, he flagged down a cab.

  When Rachel went upstairs to put Oliver to bed, she found him sitting on a beanbag, deeply absorbed in a Richard Scarry book which Leo had given him for his last birthday. She crept across the room, pouncing on Oliver and tickling him till he squirmed giggling off beanbag. ‘Come on,’ she said, picking him up together with his book, ‘into bed.’ She dropped him onto the bed, then lay down next to him as he scrambled under the duvet.

  ‘Is Daddy coming to my concert on Friday?’ asked Oliver, thumbing through the book for his place.

  ‘I don’t know, darling. He’s got a very, very important case on at the moment, and he’s working every evening.’

  Oliver lay back, his eyes distant. Sometimes he looked so like Leo. She smoothed his dark, soft hair. ‘I could ask him. You never know.’

  His eyes brightened. ‘Yeah?’ Rachel nodded. As far as Oliver was concerned, it was as good as accomplished. ‘Wait till he hears me play the recorder. I’m sick!’

  ‘No, you mean you’re very good. “Sick” isn’t the right word.’ That was one problem about having a childminder. Oliver tended to pick up some unfortunate street slang from Lucy’s teenage children.

  Oliver shrugged. ‘Whatever.’ He buried his nose in his book again. ‘Can you read to me?’

  ‘Which story would you like?’

  ‘The one where the bears go to the hospital,’ said Oliver, handing the book to Rachel and snuggling down expectantly. ‘And you’ve got to do the doctor’s funny voice, the way Daddy does.’

  Rachel propped herself up on the pillow next to Oliver and found the page. ‘I’ll try,’ she said, ‘but I’m not promising anything.’

  She wasn’t promising anything about Leo going to the concert either, but that wasn’t the way Oliver saw things.

  When she’d finished the story, Rachel tucked Oliver in and kissed him goodnight, then switched the light off and went downstairs and rang Leo’s home number. He answered on the first ring.

  ‘You’re working,’ said Rachel.

  ‘Too right. The hearing’s coming up soon, and I have to prepare my cross-examination.’

  ‘Oliver asked me tonight if you would be coming to his concert on Friday.’

  ‘I don’t know. This case is killing me. I’ve still got—’

  ‘You don’t have to say yes,’ she interrupted. ‘Just maybe.’

  ‘Maybe, then. It’s not as though I don’t want to. What’s he doing?’

  ‘He’s in the recorder group, and he’s been practising like mad. I tell you, listening to a six-year-old play Bob the Builder over and over on the treble recorder every evening for three weeks should come under Amnesty’s definition of torture. Forget waterboarding.’

  ‘I’d love to be there. I’ll try.’

  ‘I said I’d ask you, and he thinks it’s a done deal.’

  ‘The pressure is registering, trust me.’

  ‘OK. Let me know.’

  Rachel hung up, then went to her study and switched on the computer. She had already made up her mind to deregister from those online dating sites. How had she ever let herself be talked into it? At the time, with two glasses of wine inside her and Sophie at her shoulder, signing up had felt amusing and daring. Now it seemed utterly demeaning. When she went on to The Times site, she was surprised to find three messages in her inbox. Why should she be surprised? Just because she didn’t take this seriously, didn’t mean there weren’t men out there who did. She hesitated, then curiosity got the better of her and she clicked them open. The first was from a man called James, a tree surgeon from Luton who listed among his hobbies paragliding and white water rafting. ‘Sorry, James,’ murmured Rachel, and moved on to the next. This was Andy, a banker from Barnes. His photo showed a tubby, cheerful man with a moustache, and the photo’s ragged edge, not quite meeting the side of the frame, indicated that some partner had been excised from it. His letter was sweet, but Rachel didn’t think she shared his interest in heavy metal music,
nor did three teenage sons sound like a good thing. Why was she even reading these? She had absolutely no intention of taking this ridiculous thing any further.

  At that moment the phone rang. Rachel picked it up. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Rachel, it’s Sophie. How are you? I’ve been meaning to call and see how you got on with the online dating thing.’

  ‘Well, strange coincidence,’ said Rachel, ‘I’m just looking at some replies as we speak. They’re awful. Actually, I only logged on to delete my registration. I’ve decided this really isn’t my kind of thing.’

  ‘Don’t be daft – you haven’t even given it a chance. Listen, I’ve just put the kids to bed. I’ll come over and have a look with you.’

  ‘You don’t really—’ But Sophie had already hung up.

  She arrived a few minutes later, and followed Rachel through to her study and sat down next to her at the computer.

  ‘God, I see what you mean,’ she said, peering at James and Andy. ‘Let’s see the third one.’

  Rachel opened the email. ‘Hi, my name is Andrew,’ read out Sophie. ‘I liked what you say about yourself, and think we have possibilities, blah blah. Works as a commodities broker, likes films, books and art.’ She put her head on one side. ‘His picture’s nice.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I told you – I’m not up for this.’

  ‘Rachel, you know the rule. Give it a chance. Give him a chance. He looks OK, he ticks all the boxes – what have you got to lose by going for just one drink? He may be awful, and he may be really nice. You won’t know till you try.’