by Caro Fraser
‘Can I keep one?’ she asked, pulling out one of the photographs.
‘Of course,’ he replied. I must do it gradually, he thought. I must devise ways of slipping out of her life, letting the thing go. Perhaps that way she wouldn’t be so badly hurt. But it must start soon. Perhaps the affair had already served its purpose, anyway.
Rachel examined the photo she had chosen. ‘Who’s that next to you?’ she asked. ‘The blonde boy? He’s very good-looking.’
‘Just a friend from university,’ said Leo.
Her eyes met his, and he knew what she was wondering. That must always be at the back of her mind, he thought. Did you sleep with him? Why did you do it? How could you want any man the way you want me? ‘He was my lover,’ he added suddenly, and plucked the photograph gently from her fingers. ‘Choose another one.’
But Rachel merely set the photographs down on the table and slipped her arms around his neck. She didn’t care about any of them. That was his past, and it didn’t matter to her. What mattered was now, and tomorrow. ‘I missed you,’ she said, and drew her mouth towards his.
‘Aren’t you hungry?’ he asked between kisses. ‘I was going to take you to dinner.’ He did not feel like making love. He felt like sex, or food. No emotion, just appetite.
‘Later,’ she said. ‘Come to bed.’
He pulled back gently and studied her face. If he was going to have to go on fucking her for the next few weeks, he might as well make it interesting. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘And this time,’ he added thoughtfully, clasping her neck and pressing his thumbs gently against the base of her throat, ‘I’ll teach you something new.’
‘You see, Lord Chancellor, the matter is one of some delicacy – not something which anyone in the Judicial Appointments Group would wish to air openly – but it is clearly one which requires – well, your consideration.’
Colin Crane, a man naturally tentative in manner, spoke with greater emphasis than was customary with him. He had not been looking forward to this confidential interview with the new Lord Chancellor; the subject was a difficult one, and it irked him that he, of all the civil servants within the group, had been elected to broach it with Lord Steele.
‘But surely we have seen Mr Davies’ personal file?’ replied the Lord Chancellor. ‘I saw no mention of this there. And his name is already on the final list of suitable appointees.’ Lord Steele moved some papers round on his desk in a vexed and aimless manner. He disliked this business of prying into a man’s personal life, passing judgments upon his fitness for professional appointments. It was an aspect of his job which he did not relish.
Colin Crane sighed. ‘No – well, you see, Lord Chancellor, we have different channels of information. We cannot discount rumours which come to our ears, and I fear that this has a basis in fact. Mr Davies consorted with the young man for several months, apparently. They had, in short, a homosexual relationship. Of course, there is nothing to suggest that the boy’s subsequent death and the scandal surrounding it had anything to do with Davies. One can accept that. But the fact does remain that the boy was a male prostitute with dubious, not to say criminal, connections. And there are unsubstantiated rumours that Davies has had other similarly unsuitable … liaisons.’ Colin Crane paused, folding his long fingers together and gracefully crossing his legs, and waited for Lord Steele’s response.
Lord Steele frowned and sat back in his chair. ‘I find this hard to believe, you know,’ he murmured. ‘Very hard. I have met the man. I’ve met his – well, what would you say? His girlfriend, I suppose. He seemed in every respect a very decent man. I understand his record at the Bar is excellent?’ Lord Steele looked up enquiringly at Crane, who frowned and nodded briskly, indicating that this much, at least, was beyond question. ‘And, as I say, these rumours do not appear to have merited any mention in his file in the past?’ At this Colin Crane could only look grave and doubting, but said nothing. ‘Besides which, I have a special detestation of malicious gossip, you know.’
‘Oh, Lord Chancellor!’ replied Crane swiftly, startled by the evident anger in the other man’s tone. ‘This information hardly ranks as that. The Judicial Appointments Group thought long and hard, I can assure you, before determining to raise the matter with you. It is supported by evidence. The issue goes well beyond idle speculation. We are all – as I am sure you are – mindful of the importance of ensuring that judicial appointments are conferred upon those whose conduct is beyond reproach – and beyond compromise. I need hardly remind you, Lord Chancellor, of your own recent experiences in Scotland – blackmail, and so forth—’
‘Yes, yes, Crane, I do not need reminding of that. The point is taken. I am anxious, however, not to allow any sort of prejudice to enter into the matter of these appointments … If Davies is homosexual – and I have to say that I have seen nothing in his conduct or his company to indicate such a thing, I might add – then, what of it?’
‘If that were all, Lord Chancellor – if the matter of rent boys did not enter into it, then …’ Colin Crane raised his hands slowly and let them drop onto his lap. He did not see the need to elaborate. The information had been imparted, and he had no wish to discuss Leo Davies further. He had been given this unpleasant task, and he had discharged it.
Once again, the Lord Chancellor sighed, raised his bushy eyebrows and nodded at Crane. ‘Yes. Very well. You may tell the Judicial Appointments Group that the matter has been brought to my attention and is under consideration.’ He paused, drumming his large fingers on the surface of his desk. ‘I have yet to have consultations with the judges of the Commercial Court, and, of course, I shall be inviting comment from the Lords of Appeal upon all the applications for silk, including that of Mr Davies. No doubt this matter can be considered further at that stage.’ There was a moment’s silence. ‘Thank you, Mr Crane.’
Colin Crane gave a slight nod in acknowledgement of his dismissal, rose and left.
Leo and his application for silk were slight enough things in the vast empire of the Lord Chancellor’s Office, with its many mighty functions, but this little tale of scandal found its whispering way back to the Temple, and to the ears of Sir Frank Chamberlin. What distressed Frank most about this new rumour was its well-roundedness, its factuality. If it were true that Leo had been known to consort with male prostitutes, then his prospects must be seriously compromised. But where had this tale arisen? Who had disseminated this information? No one seemed to know, yet all seemed to share the view that this must damn Leo’s chances.
‘Not just this year, mind you, but for all time,’ pointed out Sir Mungo Stephenson, as he sat with Frank and Sir Mostyn Smith over their whisky in Brooks’s. ‘I mean,’ he added, taking a little puff of his cigar, ‘such a thing does not go away. It never leaves a man.’
‘I do not like this kind of scandal,’ said Sir Mostyn firmly. He had a warm and vivid recollection of Leo’s young lady friend, and found it impossible to believe that Leo could ever have been involved with young men, especially prostitutes. It was not within his sphere of moral comprehension. ‘And I find it particularly odd that the rumour – for that is all it is, as I see it – should surface now, just when Davies is applying to take silk. There are malicious spirits at the Bar, one must remember that.’
‘You are surely not suggesting,’ said Sir Mungo, who rather relished all this intrigue, ‘that someone would deliberately spread lies about the man? I rather doubt that. Besides, if the Lord Chancellor has been officially informed, then there must be some substance to it.’
‘I don’t care how much substance there may be to it,’ snapped Frank. ‘The man’s conduct is presently irreproachable, he certainly seems to be a very long way from consorting with rent boys, and he is one of the most able men at the Bar. I don’t see why an incident from the past should jeopardise his future. No one is suggesting that he had anything to do with the death of this young man, whoever he might have been, are they?’
‘No,’ said Sir Mungo, crushing the stub of h
is cigar into the brass ashtray and picking up his glass, ‘but I should have thought that the mere association was taint enough. Still, I concede that it is unfortunate. Very bright man, Davies. Rather lovely girlfriend, too.’
‘Mmm. That I do find curious. One would certainly never get the impression he was queer,’ murmured Sir Mostyn. ‘Still,’ he added, ‘our views will be canvassed in due course. Each of us can take his own line on the matter.’
‘I wonder,’ mused Sir Mungo, ‘whether Redvers will be asked to have his say. Given that he is retiring from the Bench this summer, I mean.’
‘I imagine he will be,’ replied Frank gloomily. ‘I don’t see why not. One can imagine what his view is likely to be. If Sir Redvers Carlisle had his way, he’d hang every bugger in England.’ He sighed and reached for his pen, shaking out his newspaper.
‘It will be interesting to see who is appointed in his place. Although I suppose there are a handful of obvious choices,’ observed Sir Mostyn, gazing idly at his glass and wondering whether to have another. His doctor had told him to cut down.
‘Difficulty Siegfried initially encountered with a horse. Four,’ said Sir Frank.
‘Snag,’ replied Sir Mungo after a moment. ‘Well, there’s Alexander Porritt. Possibly Carstone.’
‘God, I hope not,’ murmured Sir Mostyn. ‘He has such an ingratiating manner. I always cringe when he is before me.’
‘Well, if he’s on the Bench, you won’t have him appearing before you any more. There is that compensation.’
‘No, but he’ll be around more.’ Sir Mostyn made up his mind and rang for the steward. ‘Give us another clue, Frank.’
‘Retirement from the bank, question mark. Ten. Third letter “T”.’
‘Withdrawal,’ replied Sir Mostyn and Sir Mungo together, then smiled. ‘Feeble,’ added Sir Mostyn. ‘There was a time when that crossword was fairly taxing. Seems to be designed for cretins now.’
‘Sir Basil Bunting,’ remarked Sir Mungo, lighting another cigar. ‘Now, he’s a very likely choice.’
‘He’s head of this man Davies’ chambers, isn’t he?’ said Sir Mostyn. ‘Maybe that will help Davies, if Sir Basil is put on the Bench. Caper Court may need more silks.’
Frank thought of Stephen Bishop and said nothing. There was no point in mentioning any of this to Leo – why cause the poor fellow more distress? Things looked bad enough for him. He had done all he could to help matters. Now it was in the lap of the gods. He sighed and gazed at his paper. ‘Beginners gouge round the shellfish,’ he announced. ‘Seven.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Leo began to take tentative steps towards limiting the amount of time he spent with Rachel. It was not difficult. He could easily plead pressure of work during the weekdays, and February would provide two weekends when he could be away, one watching the Rugby International between Wales and England in Cardiff, and the other at Murrayfield, watching Wales play Scotland. But on the occasions when he did see her, he could not bring himself to change the tenor of their relationship. He was fond of her. He enjoyed looking at her, found her conversation more amusing than that of most women. It was not in him to manufacture arguments, or to behave badly towards her. And, of course, the main impediment to any cooling in their affair was Rachel’s great and unshakeable love. Leo had never been the object of such sincere, kind feeling before.
They were lying in bed together one evening when Rachel said it. She had been lying on her stomach while he stroked her back, and simply rolled over, looked up at him and said, ‘I love you.’
Leo did not know what to say for a moment. He leant on one elbow, looking at her, his eyes scanning her face, with its radiantly trustful expression.
‘Don’t say that,’ he said, tracing round her lips with his finger.
‘Why not? Don’t you want to be loved? Does it worry you?’ She was smiling as she spoke.
What was he to say in reply? That he loved her? There was no difficulty in lying, but telling her what she wanted to hear was not the answer. It would only make it more difficult for him to extricate himself.
‘I don’t think you should love someone like me. I’m too old for you—’
‘Rubbish,’ she murmured, and stretched up to kiss him.
‘—and, anyway, I’m not worth loving. I don’t go the distance. I’m an emotional coward.’
‘It seems to me we’ve come quite a long way already.’
Oh God, this was going to be one of those conversations.
‘Rachel,’ he said, his voice uneasy, ‘don’t invest too much in me. I’m not worth it. It’s not a good idea.’
‘Why not?’ Her voice seemed to have lessened, shrunk with fear. She had caught the bleak sincerity in his voice. He looked away, but could feel her eyes still fastened on his face.
‘You know why.’ He paused. ‘You know the kind of things I’ve done, the way I am.’
‘But you said all that was over.’ She tried to keep her voice easy and cool, but felt the rise of a faint panic.
He said nothing, merely gazed at the ceiling. Then he turned to look at her. ‘Just don’t expect too much of me.’
‘I don’t expect anything,’ she replied. ‘I just want to love you.’
He smiled, deciding that the atmosphere needed lightening. ‘You are sweet and adorable and far too good for me,’ he replied, and ran one finger down her cheek, then took her in his arms again, which always made everything all right with her.
‘Will I see you tonight?’ asked Rachel the next morning, as he drove them both into the City.
‘I can’t, I’m afraid,’ said Leo, swinging the car off the Embankment and into Temple Place. ‘I have to go and visit our clerk in hospital. I feel rather bad that I haven’t been before.’ He hesitated as he pulled up opposite Temple Tube station, then added with a smile, ‘I’ll call you.’ She returned the smile, nodded, kissed him and got out.
As he went into chambers, Leo met Sir Basil coming out of the clerks’ room, pulling on his overcoat with a preoccupied expression. Leo murmured ‘Good morning’, but Sir Basil appeared not to hear.
‘Where’s he off to?’ Leo asked Henry.
‘Lord Chancellor’s Office. They called a couple of days ago,’ replied Henry, and handed Leo some papers. ‘Those instructions from Crump’s have come in.’
‘Thanks,’ said Leo. ‘The Lord Chancellor, eh? Well, I think we can guess what all that is about, don’t you?’
‘Too right,’ replied Henry with a grin.
Sir Basil was not accustomed to feeling nervous, but as his taxi made its way to the House of Lords, he was conscious of a distinctly schoolboyish sense of excitement. This summons meant only one thing, and he was still uncertain as to how he intended to respond.
A flinty secretary ushered him into the Lord Chancellor’s large dark-panelled room, where Lord Steele sat behind his desk, flanked by Colin Crane and another distinguished personage from the Judicial Appointments Group, a Grade One civil servant, no less.
Lord Steele rose and shook Sir Basil’s hand cordially, and after brief enquiries into mutual health and well-being, invited Sir Basil to take a seat. Then he introduced the two attendant civil servants.
‘I imagine, Sir Basil,’ said Lord Steele in his light brogue, one blue eye fixed on Sir Basil’s serene countenance, the other somewhere to the left of his right ear, ‘that you have some inkling of the purpose of the invitation here today?’
Sir Basil coughed, smiled and tried to look deferential and knowing all at once. ‘I confess I was not without my suspicions,’ replied Sir Basil, at which he and Lord Steele both laughed lightly and the sidesmen smiled and recrossed their legs.
‘We wish to know whether, in view of the retirement of Sir Redvers Carlisle from the Bench this summer, you would be prepared to consider an appointment by Her Majesty to the position of a judge of the Commercial Court,’ continued the Lord Chancellor, his tone slightly more businesslike. ‘You are aware, no doubt, that it is my view that we h
ave too few judges on the Commercial Bench at present, and that this accounts for our sadly overcrowded lists. I shall be proposing to Her Majesty that two appointments be made at the commencement of the Michaelmas term’ – he smiled at Sir Basil, who wondered which eye he should be looking at – ‘and we are anxious to know whether you would be prepared to take up one of them.’
Beneath his carefully buttoned waistcoat Sir Basil’s heart swelled. Conflicting feelings struggled within him. He had previously determined to reach no decision on the question until receiving this invitation from the lips of the Lord Chancellor himself. Now he paused for a long moment before replying. He thought of 5 Caper Court, of his pre-eminence there, the familiarity of his daily life in chambers. A position on the Bench was not financially rewarding, compared with his earnings as a top silk. Then he thought of the prestige of the Bench, of the charm of sitting in judgment instead of pleading causes. He was weary of the burdens of commercial litigation, he realised. The offer that the Lord Chancellor held out to him was infinitely tempting.
‘I should,’ replied Sir Basil at last, ‘be honoured to receive such an appointment, Lord Chancellor.’ He spoke with decision. Lord Steele beamed with gratification and sat back in his chair, the sidesmen smiled approvingly, and as they fell to the discussion of practicalities, Sir Basil wondered when would be the right moment to bring up the matter of his pension.
