by Caro Fraser
Anthony felt a little pang. It was absurd, he knew, but he liked to know that Leo was around, liked to hear him whistling on the stairs, to catch an occasional glimpse of him at tea or in the clerks’ room. When Leo was away, life for Anthony, even though he was remarkably busy himself, became a little bit emptier. Leo just had that kind of personality, that was all.
‘What will you do?’ he asked Leo, and took a sip of his Scotch.
‘Oh, go down to the country, I think, drink in the last of the summer in peace.’ He thought briefly of his house in Oxfordshire, and of its present occupants. ‘Relative peace,’ he added thoughtfully. Without looking up he could feel Anthony’s eyes on him, knew that he was wondering who would be there with him. Was he jealous? Well, thought Leo roughly, knocking back the remains of his drink in one, it didn’t matter to either of them if he was. That was all water under the bridge. And why was he even thinking like this? It had been a mistake to ask him for that game of squash this evening. It just made life more complicated.
‘I wish I had somewhere worth retreating to,’ observed Anthony. ‘I mean, somewhere like your place,’ he added awkwardly. ‘If ever I get anything adjourned, there’s always another piece of work to plod on with.’
‘Oh, what it is to be young and thrusting and ever so popular with solicitors,’ laughed Leo. ‘I remember being like that – don’t you, Stephen? Never turning work down, working all the hours God gave, buttering up your clerk, trying to cultivate a worldly image.’
Anthony smiled, and Leo was charmed to see him colour faintly.
‘Yes,’ observed Stephen dryly, ‘I understand that we’re particularly popular with lady solicitors.’
‘Oh, balls,’ said Anthony. ‘Anyway, no doubt it’s all very well when you’re middle-aged and established and don’t have to keep chasing fee notes.’
‘Less of the middle-aged,’ said Leo. ‘I feel quite coltish as I sit there in Number Five Court, listening to Marcus Field enlightening us all on the official policy of the Government of Qatar towards brokerage commissions. Thank God I’m off the hook till next Monday.’
Stephen drained his glass and shook his head. ‘I’m glad I’m not Anthony’s age any more. Too much cut-and-thrust … You have to be so energetic, so determined. Exhausting, just to think of it.’
‘Not thinking of retiring, are you, Stephen?’ asked Leo jokingly, crushing out the butt of his cigar.
Stephen smiled. ‘The fees at Marlborough won’t permit it, I’m afraid. Got to keep slogging away. Anyway, see you chaps tomorrow. I’d better be making a move.’ He rose and picked up his newspaper. ‘Goodnight.’
When Stephen had gone, Leo sat in silence with Anthony for a few seconds, then picked up his empty glass. ‘Another?’ he asked Anthony.
Anthony hesitated. He felt tired. He had an interlocutory application in the morning and he hadn’t even looked at the papers yet. But he wanted to stay. He glanced up and smiled. ‘Yes. OK, another, thanks.’
Leo brought the drinks and sat back down. Anthony looked on idly as Leo lit another little cigar, watching the lean, fine hands he had always found so fascinating. He enjoyed watching Leo, enjoyed his restless, elegant movements, the way he turned his head, the way the side of his mouth jerked when he made a joke. His mind strayed back to Leo’s remark as they had entered the pub earlier and he asked, ‘Isn’t Stephen senior to you in chambers?’
‘Yes. He joined two years before I did. Sixty-two.’ Leo blew out a little smoke and looked at Anthony. ‘Why?’
Anthony looked uncomfortable and turned his whisky glass between finger and thumb. ‘Isn’t it … I mean, wouldn’t you expect him to take silk first, or something?’
Or something. Still with that charmingly juvenile sloppiness of speech when embarrassed, thought Leo. He looked levelly at Anthony. ‘In the normal course of events, yes.’ He paused and leant back. ‘But one can’t wait around for ever for Stephen to dither his way through life. He should have applied two years ago, if he was going to go for it.’ Leo stroked the glowing edge of his cigar against the rim of the ashtray. ‘Maybe he did. Maybe he was turned down. All I know is, one has to be loyal to oneself, not to the other members of chambers.’
‘But don’t you owe the rest something? I mean, we are all one set of chambers.’
‘There is something you have to learn, Anthony,’ replied Leo, and his voice was hard, the blue of his gaze quite cold. ‘And that is, that you must put yourself first. Every time. Look.’ He leant forward. ‘I’ve run every case for the past two years without a leader. And won most of them. The time is right for me. I’d be a fool to pass it up this year. I don’t care what Stephen does or doesn’t do.’
Anthony thought for a moment. ‘But what effect will it have on Stephen’s career if you’re successful? Could he still take silk?’
Leo looked carelessly away. ‘Probably not.’ He drew on his cigar. ‘Almost certainly not. If it were to happen, one could take it that the Lord Chancellor’s Office had assumed that he wasn’t going to apply – or that they were sending out a signal that he wouldn’t get it if he did apply. Either way, the writing would be on the wall.’ He did not look at Anthony as he spoke. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘even if he did apply next year, there wouldn’t be enough work to justify another silk in chambers. There would be Sir Basil, Cameron, Roderick, Michael – and myself.’
You’re so confident, thought Anthony. But of course you are. Why shouldn’t you be?
He nodded and said, ‘So that would be it – for Stephen, I mean?’
‘Well, I suppose so,’ replied Leo. ‘Otherwise we’d be top-heavy. We might be, in any event. Unless Sir Basil retires.’
‘That’s not likely, is it?’ asked Anthony in surprise. Sir Basil Bunting, the head of chambers, was, admittedly, in his sixties, but he seemed to be riding with magnificent serenity on top of a lucrative and immensely successful practice.
Leo smoked in silence for a few moments. This was something he had thought about. Poor old Stephen was one thing – well, he had had his chance and not taken it. Why should Leo care? Considerations of Stephen were easily dismissed. One was loyal to oneself. Sir Basil was a different kettle of fish. Leo knew that Sir Basil’s practice wasn’t quite as flourishing as Sir Basil liked to make it appear. Clients nowadays liked younger men – they liked people on their own wavelength. Solicitors were the same, too, and God knows they seemed to be getting younger by the minute. If Leo took silk, he was confident of mopping up a good deal of work from the juniors in chambers. Sir Basil could be squeezed out. And that, thought Leo, might be no bad thing.
Just when Anthony was beginning to think that Leo hadn’t heard what he had said, Leo turned to him and flashed a wicked, attractive smile. ‘You never know what pressure might be brought to bear on Sir Basil,’ he murmured. ‘We might just have to hope that the Lord Chancellor wants another High Court judge.’
Anthony drew in his breath and stared at Leo. Will I ever become as ruthless? he wondered. Leo glanced briefly back at him and wondered the same thing. He had detected a slight toughening in Anthony over the past year or so. That touchingly tender aspect of his character seemed to be rubbing away, as the work poured steadily in and the money increased. Or was that just a physical illusion, something to do with the fact that Anthony’s face was older, less boyish, that he wore decent suits and shirts now, that he was more confident – even a little arrogant – as his practice grew more successful?
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, and drained his glass. ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds. And don’t feel too sorry for Stephen – he’s doing very nicely. Anyway, you never know – maybe he’s applying for silk this year, too.’
And we know which of you is more likely to get it, if that’s the case, thought Anthony. One way or the other, Stephen was the loser, and Leo, it seemed, couldn’t care less.
‘Want a lift anywhere?’ asked Leo as they left the pub. ‘The AA seem to have remedied its little defect.’
‘No, thanks,’ replied Ant
hony. ‘I’m going back to chambers. My papers are still there.’
Leo nodded, and the two men said goodnight and went their separate ways.
In the kitchen of Leo’s Oxfordshire house, a young blonde-haired woman was carefully laying sheets of pasta on the bottom of an oblong dish.
‘It’s not a problem for me,’ she remarked over her shoulder to the boy who stood looking out of the window, arms folded, at the dusk falling on the rainy garden. ‘I go back to Oxford in a month’s time. It’s just been another episode in my life.’ She paused briefly to gaze at her handiwork before moving back to the stove to stir a white sauce. ‘I like to think of my life as a series of episodes. Nothing final. Nothing static.’
The boy turned to look at her. Like her, he was blonde, but taller, and his face wore a sullen, dissatisfied expression. The girl’s face was airily serene as she moved about her tasks.
‘Don’t give me that. You love him.’
‘Oh, of course I do!’ She turned in smiling astonishment. ‘He’s divine, an utterly divine man. I love him to death. He’s the most wonderful fuck, and he doesn’t care in the least for me – that’s why he’s so attractive.’ She turned back to her work, still smiling. Then she added, ‘He doesn’t care for either of us. We’re just a – summer dalliance, you might say.’
The boy turned to look back out of the window. ‘At least you’ve got something to go to. What have I got when it’s over?’
‘Oh, get a job, James.’
‘That’s a laugh.’ He picked up a knife from the draining board and fiddled with it, running his thumb along the blade. ‘Anyway, I don’t want a job. I want to stay here.’ His voice took on a plaintive, childish tone. ‘God, Sarah, I really don’t want to have to go.’
‘You’re just insecure,’ remarked Sarah. ‘Pass me that grated cheese, would you?’
‘So what do I do? Go back to being a photographer’s assistant? Let him drop me just where he picked me up? No thanks. He owes us something, doesn’t he?’
Sarah flicked her hair back from her shoulders and licked at the finger she had just dipped in the sauce. ‘Not a thing. Not me, at any rate. After all, he’s paying us for being here – for being his …’ She paused and laughed, then sighed. ‘His companions. He’s fun. He’s amusing. This was just a holiday job – I told you. My parents think I’m working as a cook for someone.’
‘Well, you are.’ James’s voice was sulky, bored.
‘That’s all they know.’ She began layering mince and pasta together. ‘Put it down to experience, James.’
He said nothing, and she turned to look at him. Seeing the forlorn expression on his face, she came across and put her arms gently on his shoulders. ‘Come on, cheer up. We’ve had a good time, had a laugh, haven’t we? Anyway, it’s not over yet.’ She gave the tip of his nose a soft, pecking kiss.
‘That’s not the way you kiss me when we’re in bed with him,’ said James, staring into her eyes.
She smiled back. ‘No – but that’s work, isn’t it?’ She watched his troubled face and her smile faded. ‘Oh, James, what is it you want? Why can’t you just make the most of it, and be happy?’
‘Because it’s different for you, Sarah! Your family have got money. You’ve got something to fall back on. What have I got? You’ll just swan off back to Oxford and forget about all this—’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say that.’
He ignored the interruption. ‘—while I’m just sort of – thrust aside!’
‘Well, face it.’ She took her arms from his shoulders and went back to the dish of lasagne. ‘He doesn’t need you. You can see the kind of man he is. We’re just a little diversion in his life. Nothing special. He doesn’t want anyone to come too close. There’s nothing you can do about that. Anyway, let’s change the subject. What do you want to do tonight? Pub?’
‘That’s just about all there is to do, isn’t there?’ said James angrily. ‘He leaves us stuck here in this hole from one weekend to the next, expecting us to stick to his stupid rules, and be all bright and cheerful and eager to please when he turns up on a Friday night! I’m fed up with it. He’s not the only piece of excitement around here, whatever he thinks.’ James rammed his hands into his jeans pockets. ‘I met this bloke when we were in Ryecot. I’m going to ask him back.’ His voice was dogged.
‘Don’t be a berk, James. You know what Leo said.’ Sarah began to pour the cheese sauce carefully over the last layer.
‘What’s the point of having a place like this for the whole week if we can’t share it with a friend or two? I need a bit of company.’
‘Thanks. What about me?’
‘Well, like you said, that’s just work, isn’t it?’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’m going to ring that bloke now.’
‘Fun for me,’ murmured Sarah. ‘I’d better see what’s on telly tonight.’
‘If you’re very good,’ said James as he left the kitchen, ‘we might let you watch.’
‘Ha, ha,’ said Sarah to herself, as she stared admiringly at her lasagne.
She was watching the late-night film when she heard Leo’s car pull up in the driveway, the beam of its headlights brushing the curtained windows with a faint arc of light. She thought of James upstairs in bed with his friend. Leo’s bed. She knew she had at least thirty seconds in which to call up to them, warn them, and that James might just, possibly, be able to get him out through an upstairs window in time. She couldn’t be bothered. She heard the car door slam, then his feet on the gravel, and snuggled a little lower in her armchair. She was fed up with James, anyway. Always whining round the place. And with him out of the way, who could say how things might develop? Maybe she could make her position that little bit stronger. A man like that. Life would become divinely simple. She’d never wanted to settle down, but if it could be someone like Leo … Some hope, she told herself, and smiled wryly at the television screen as Leo opened the front door.
‘Hello,’ he said, as he came into the room.
‘Hello,’ she replied, and smiled winningly, briefly, at him round the side of the armchair. Then she stared at the television again. Her heart was thudding a little at the thought of Leo finding James. ‘A midweek surprise,’ she murmured. ‘Just as well I made some lasagne this afternoon. I was going to put it in the freezer for Saturday.’
‘Good.’ Leo rubbed his face and gazed blankly for a few seconds at the television screen. ‘I need a drink. No – I think I’ll go upstairs and change first.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ said Sarah. ‘I’ll fix you a drink while you’re up there. You’ll need it,’ she added under her breath.
It was difficult to concentrate on the film with doors banging and voices shouting and feet thumping on the stairs, but at last they died away. She heard the front door close. Leo came into the room.
‘I’ve poured us both a drink,’ she said. ‘Yours is over there.’
Leo picked it up. ‘James is packing,’ he said. He crossed the room and switched off the television, then turned with a sigh to Sarah. ‘I’m afraid,’ he added, ‘that you’re next.’
She smiled the impudent, tantalising smile that he had always liked. ‘Oh, well. All good things come to an end.’ She raised her glass. ‘Cheers, anyway.’ She took a sip. ‘Can I at least stay tonight?’
Leo pushed back a stray lock of grey hair, then tugged his tie loose. He sighed, the anger gradually dying away. That bloody boy. He had known it was a mistake to let it all go on this long. It should have ended ages ago.
Sarah put down her glass and rose, moving forward to embrace him, pressing her body gently against his. ‘After all,’ she said softly, ‘two’s company. And three was a bit of a crowd …’ She kissed him, parting his lips gently with her tongue. As he put his arms round her waist she felt some drops from his glass of whisky fall on the back of her skirt. His hand was shaking. She knew that his anger at the discovery upstairs had left a little legacy of excitement. Weird old Leo.
‘All right,’ he
replied. ‘Just for tonight.’ He had always preferred her to James, anyway. She was far more inventive. He would be sorry to see her go, in a way. ‘You go first thing in the morning,’ he added, more firmly.
‘First thing,’ she agreed. Probably just as well, really. She had enough saved for a couple of weeks in Cyprus with Alicia. And there was always tonight. ‘First thing,’ she repeated with a smile, before he closed his eyes to kiss her properly.
CHAPTER TWO
The grounding of the MV Valeo Trader off Almirante on Monday, the 8th of September, was of significance to several people, but Felicity Waller, as she rummaged through her knicker drawer in her Brixton flat, was not one of those immediately affected by the event. Her ultimate involvement would be of the most peripheral nature, largely confined to the misfiling of relevant documents and the photocopying of a series of nautical charts in the wrong order and at the wrong size setting. But as the vessel, with its cargo of lemons, minneolas and bananas, lay with its hull resting on a sandbank in the Pondsock shallows some thirty-two miles west of its putative position (based on the chief officer’s navigational chart), bathed in the gentle glow of a Pacific sunrise, Felicity was troubled by nothing greater than the task of finding a pair of run-free tights for work.
The possibility of the tights being clean, too, did not enter into it; she merely wanted a pair without rips or holes. She wished to make an especially good impression that day.
‘Bleeding bloody hell,’ murmured Felicity, as she pulled from the drawer the only remaining undamaged pair, lime-green Sock Shop originals. She glanced across at the crimson Lycra skirt and black sweater which she had salvaged from the weekend laundry bag (which she hadn’t managed to take to the launderette) and thought that at least she would look colourful. That might cheer her new boss up a bit. As she scrambled into yesterday’s knickers and hooked herself into a greying M&S bra, 36D cup, she told herself she would not go to the pub tonight. She’d stayed too long last night, she admitted to herself, ruefully surveying in the mirror her round, pretty face, smudged and drawn with lack of sleep and the remnants of mascara. Why couldn’t she stick to all the good resolutions she made?
