Maybe the Horse Will Talk

by Elliot Perlman

  ‘Yes sir, I do.’

  ‘For your own sake, I strongly advise you to follow these instructions to the letter. Should something go wrong, no one in the partnership will confirm having entered into any prior arrangements or agreements with you and you will be seen to have acted on your own initiative with all the negative consequences that such a course of action would entail.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Now the form itself,’ Radhakrishnan continued, ‘is not one of those available as a standard precedent for all fee-earners to access. Only partners have access to these forms because of their value. Rather than trouble you with the mechanics of this, my secretary will print two copies for you, one as a spare in case something happens to the first one. She will place both copies inside a plain white envelope, which she will, in turn, secrete inside a copy of a magazine, say, the Law Institute Journal. Then she will put the Law Institute Journal inside a larger white envelope, which will have your name typed on it.’

  ‘Got it! Where will she leave the envelope? She could leave it for me at reception?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Radhakrishnan. ‘Is there anyone in the firm you could trust with your mail on a no-questions-asked basis?’

  ‘Hmm,’ Maserov was thinking. ‘Yes, a Second Year named Emery, he’s currently in the litigation department. I can ask him to hold it for me.’

  ‘Can you trust him to keep the envelope safe for you without opening it and without your needing to tell him not to open it, which could arouse his suspicion?’

  ‘I trust him. And if I tell him it’s my copy of the Law Institute Journal he definitely won’t open it.’

  ‘Do the Second Years not enjoy the Law Institute Journal?’

  ‘There is the view that they are not its target market. They like getting it but they don’t read it.’

  ‘If they don’t read it why do they like getting it?’

  ‘Several reasons. It’s frequently used as professionally sanctioned camouflage to cover whatever the given Second Year is really reading. Additionally, it can be brought out when waiting for someone in a bar or cafe to signal to everyone else there that the person occupying the table or seated at the bar is a lawyer. And, finally, the Second Years do like getting mail personally addressed to them. It’s an uncommon happening in the work setting. They show it to their parents.’

  ‘I see. And you’re absolutely sure you can trust this Emery?’

  ‘More than I can trust anyone else in the firm, other than you, sir, of course.’

  ‘No, for this you would need to trust him more than you can trust me.’

  ‘Certainly, if you advise it.’

  Maserov was to give Radhakrishnan an hour to do all he had described with the required form and its insertion in an envelope containing the Law Institute Journal. In the meantime Betga had called and convinced Maserov to leave the spare copy with him for safety’s sake. Then Maserov called Emery, casually, to see if he would be around if Maserov had to drop into the office in the next hour or so.

  ‘Well,’ said Emery, ‘I was thinking that if I got enough done in the next hour I would duck out to the Rainbow Mountains of China, which are said to be spectacular. But otherwise, yes, I’ll be at my workstation.’

  ‘Listen, Emery, if I get my copy of the Law Institute Journal delivered to you, can you hold it for me?’

  ‘You read it too?’ he asked Maserov with surprise.

  ‘Do you read it?’ Maserov asked with equal surprise.

  ‘I check the obituaries to see if anyone in the firm that I haven’t seen for a while has died and they’re not telling us. Listen, there’s something I need to talk to you about but I can’t do it right now.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll see you in about an hour.’

  Maserov’s heart went out to Emery when he approached his workstation from the elevator but before he could get there he was set upon by Fleur Werd-Gelding.

  ‘Maserov!’ she whispered. ‘Thank God! He won’t look at me. Emery won’t look at me.’

  ‘Have you approached him?’

  ‘I’ve tried but he won’t look at me. He turns away. There’s no way he’s going to tell HR to take me with him if he won’t even look at me. Am I too late?’

  ‘Relax, Fleur, you’re probably not too late.’

  ‘“Probably” means possibly I am. Am I or not? I’d rather know.’

  ‘Fleur, other than Bradley Messenger in HR, only Emery would know that.’

  ‘But he won’t even look at me.’

  ‘Okay, look Fleur, I can’t stay long. Let me try to talk to him on your behalf. If I give you a nod, you need to be brave and do two things. First, approach Emery and, whether he looks at you or not, you need to ask him out for a drink. You know what to do.’

  ‘What’s the second thing?’ she whispered.

  ‘Once you’ve got Emery in your corner, you need to go to HR and tell them you want to share the role of Second Year rep with me. Oh hell, you can volunteer to take the whole thing from me. I don’t care. They’ll never entrust it all to you, anyway. Unless . . .’

  ‘Unless what?’

  ‘Unless Emery tells them to.’

  ‘You think he would?’

  ‘Well, that’s kind of up to you, Fleur.’

  ‘And you’d let HR make me the sole Second Year rep?’

  ‘Yeah, HR already knows I’m completely loyal. I’m in their pocket. You need to get there too. Let me go to Emery now. Remember, if I nod, it’s all go.’

  ‘And if you don’t?’

  ‘Well, Fleur, obviously it’s your call, but you may want to look at another firm before the end of the financial year. Discuss it with your agent.’

  ‘My agent? I don’t have an agent!’ she whispered in panic.

  With this, Maserov walked over to Emery’s workstation. When he saw the envelope with his name on it on Emery’s desk all he wanted was to get away as fast as he could without arousing anyone’s suspicion, not even Emery’s.

  ‘Maserov,’ Emery whispered, ‘Fleur Werd-Gelding keeps looking at me. It’s unnerving.’ Emery looked around and saw Fleur Werd-Gelding looking at him. ‘She’s doing it now! Is she going to fire me?’

  ‘Emery, she can’t fire you. She’s a Second Year just like you. In fact, if I give her a nod right now, she’s going to ask you out for a drink.’

  ‘She would never do that.’

  ‘She would. All I need to do is nod.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because she thinks you know things about the running of the firm that she doesn’t and that you have sway with HR.’

  ‘Why would she think that?’

  ‘She’s confused. I think I confused her.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I told her you know things about the running of the firm that she doesn’t and that you have sway with HR. Let me nod to her then I’ll go. Thanks for looking after my Law Institute Journal.’

  ‘Wait!’ said Emery in panic, holding on to Maserov’s sleeve. ‘What will I do if she takes me out for a drink and finds out I don’t know things about the running of the firm that she doesn’t and that I don’t have sway with HR?’

  ‘Your mission, Emery, should you choose to accept it, is to take this whole thing as far as you can and report back to me.’ Maserov turned towards the eagle-eye of Fleur Werd-Gelding and gave her an unambiguous nod. Then he stood up with the envelope that had been addressed to him, gave Emery a tiny pat on the back and headed back towards the elevator. When he was safely out of the building and blocks away from the Freely Savage offices, Maserov called Malcolm Torrent’s secretary and got the first available appointment with him, which was the following afternoon.

  On returning to Torrent Industries, Maserov called Jessica to his office.

  ‘Where did you get all that finance talk about “risk-adjusted net present value” or whatever it’s called? You blew me away with all that. And Malcolm Torrent too, I think,’ he asked her.

  ‘You know the bartender
at the Ghost of Alfred Felton?’

  ‘The tender bartender, the one who idolises you and can’t take his eyes off you?’

  ‘Yes, that one. Well, he used to work in finance before he was laid off and decided to make his living watching me drink. I got talking to him about what we’re doing at work and he started explaining this stuff, put it on a cocktail napkin too, along with his phone number if I needed to discuss it further.’

  ‘Have you been going there . . . without me, to the Ghost of Alfred Felton?’

  ‘Well, I always used to. I meet friends there . . . sometimes. I mean . . . I don’t see you every night.’

  Jessica immediately regretted reminding him that she didn’t spend every night with him. She hadn’t wanted to sound needy or vulnerable and, in any event, while her feelings had developed to the point that on any given night she did want to spend her time with Maserov more than she wanted to be with anyone else, she knew that to do that, to be with him every night, would inevitably unleash a cascade of consequences for a lot of people, including children. Even to say it out loud was dangerous. It could lead her to stumble into a future she was unsure of.

  Maserov, for his part, was about to ask her if she wanted to see him every night. But he caught himself just in time. He knew not to drive the conversation when he didn’t know where he wanted it to go, not when he wasn’t going to be able to erase the words and feelings that had fuelled the journey. They both felt that whatever was going to happen between them, they each wanted to be the one that made it happen. They didn’t want to be rejected, however honourable the reason. Equally, neither of them knew how far they wanted things to go notwithstanding that they both shared an unspoken horror of them ending. So, simultaneously, and with all the absurd illogic and contradiction inherent in the business of being human, they also longed to have the decision made for them by the other. And as this amorphous clutch of incompatible wants became ever clearer via the space framed by the words they did not say, Jessica went back to her office.

  VIII

  That evening Eleanor had parent–teacher night and had to go back to school and be a teacher well into the night. It was a private school so the children were her customers and their parents doubled as the customers’ financiers and the school’s shareholders. This was like an AGM and Eleanor and her colleagues had for weeks been preparing a reconciliation between the educational fantasies of the stakeholders and the truth. Ultimately, their jobs depended on it. She had asked and Maserov had agreed to stay with Jacob and Beanie after the nightly routine of bath, bed and storytelling. He had, however, forgotten to tell Jessica this when they had met at work during the day.

  He was on his way there when his phone rang. He thought it might be Jessica. He was going to have to tell her that he wouldn’t be able to see her that night due to family obligations. The call wasn’t from Jessica but from Betga.

  ‘Have you heard the news? We’ve got a few problems but I want you to stay calm.’

  ‘What news? I haven’t heard any news. What are you talking about?’

  ‘Malcolm Torrent’s in hospital. He’s had a stroke.’

  ‘A stroke!’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’re not finished yet.’

  ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘I don’t how bad it is. I’ll know more soon. I’m on my way down there. Don’t worry. We’re not finished yet.’

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Don’t get upset, Maserov. It’s not going to help anything.’

  ‘You’re on your way where?’

  ‘To the hospital. He’s in the ICU. I spoke to his private secretary. She told me which hospital. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Why are you going to visit him in hospital? They won’t let you into his room.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get in.’

  ‘Why do you want to get into his hospital room?’

  ‘You’ve got to get his signature, don’t you? I’m taking the spare form you left with me for safekeeping.’

  ‘Betga, you’re crazy. Don’t do this!’

  ‘Do what? I’m visiting a sick old man. There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, it’s admirable.’

  ‘Betga, it’s fraud, it’s obtaining financial advantage by deception, it’s forgery, falsification of documents, it’s —’

  ‘Maserov, you need to relax. First, it’s not obtaining financial advantage by deception because there’s no deception, ditto re fraud. You know this because you know what his intentions were before his stroke and what they will be again, if and when he recovers. It was his intention to make you the lawyer at Freely Savage responsible for all Torrent Industries files. Anything that furthers that intention is hardly deceptive or fraudulent. It’s giving effect to his wishes; it’s the opposite of deceptive.’

  ‘Betga, the Supreme Court wouldn’t like this.’

  ‘No, they’ll love it. They love cases like this. Trust me. And second, it’s not forgery if it’s in his own hand.’

  ‘You’re going to put a pen in his hand?’

  ‘It’s too early for me to know the extent of the assistance he requires, but yes, of course I’m going to help him effect his wishes to the best of my powers as his legally retained personal lawyer, and, of course, as someone who cares. Remember the hundred bucks he gave me. I won’t forget that in a hurry. I, for one, will not desert him.’

  ‘Betga, you’re going to put a pen in the hand of a stroke victim!’

  ‘I’m going to try, yes.’

  ‘I don’t want any part of this.’

  ‘Maserov, you’ve done all you need to do, my friend. I’ve got the form to be signed, I’ve got the pen and I’ve got the resealable ziploc bag. I’ve even brought him his favourite bible. It’s a Gutenberg special, autographed. You relax with your family . . . or your lover, whomever . . . Know that I won’t judge you.’

  ‘A resealable ziploc bag?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s for the pen . . . after he signs it.’ There was silence at the other end of the phone. ‘Preserves his DNA on the pen. Everyone loves DNA evidence. It’s so reassuring. Listen, Maserov, I’ve got to find somewhere to park the car. I’ll call you when I’ve been in to see him. I’ll give him your love.’

  IX

  When Betga arrived at the hospital and found a sizeable contingent waiting to check on the welfare of Malcolm Torrent, he went back to his car and took himself out for an Italian dinner in North Melbourne that lasted until it was much too late for people who respected convention to still be in a hospital waiting room. At around 10 pm he returned to the ICU nurses station, introduced himself, flashed his driver’s licence faster than a speeding bullet, and enquired gravely in an almost whispered tone, ‘Okay, you can level with me, what’s the prognosis? How bad is this?’

  ‘Are you family, sir?’ the nurse asked Betga without looking up. ‘Or do you work with Mr Torrent?’

  ‘Actually, I’m both. We tend not to talk much about the family connection because, frankly, there are people in the firm who are jealous enough of our closeness as it is and it really can get in the way. And I have to remind myself that most people will have trouble understanding a relationship like ours; in and out of each other’s offices, private jokes, knowing what the other’s thinking without the use of words. We have been blessed. Until now. Where are we? And don’t sugar coat it because of our relationship.’

  ‘Mr Torrent presented unconscious with the typical features of a stroke. He’s in the process of being investigated and managed appropriately.’

  ‘What does that mean re his prognosis?’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s too early to speculate on the timing and extent of any recovery or even if there will be a favourable one.’

  ‘Oh my God! Can I see him?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. Visiting hours are over and he needs to rest.’

  ‘Are you sure I can’t just . . . for a moment?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry, sir. I know this must be a terrible time for you.’

&nbs
p; ‘It is, it is, Nurse . . .’ Betga peered at the nurse’s name tag, ‘Nurse Penberthy. I’ve had a hell of a day, as you probably have every day. It’s kind of hard to imagine how we’ll proceed without him, if we have to, which I hope we won’t for a very long time. Would you mind if I just sat here for a moment?’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘It’s just been such a shock. I still can’t quite . . .’

  ‘Of course,’ Nurse Penberthy said, allowing him to trail off while she looked at a computer screen in front of her. She was somewhere between forty and forty-five and her experience and clinical education as an intensive-care nurse suggested to Betga that this was not going to be as easy as it might have been. He was going to have to wait.

  X

  Eleanor had headed off into the night, back to the school where she taught English and history. Maserov was in the house they had bought together all those years earlier. He looked at the furniture, no longer new and never so alluring once it had left the catalogue. But it was theirs, held their history, absorbed it, soaked it up, a history only they knew or cared about; the artefacts of a shared life. Or was it just a chapter within a life? And was this distinction a choice, his choice?

  Why did she want him back now, suddenly? Was it really simply because of the children? Why just now? And was getting back together again solely because of the children a good enough reason? Maserov dismissed the possibility that she was influenced by the prospect that he might be made a partner. This wasn’t the Eleanor he knew. He’d been an underpaid teacher when she’d agreed to marry him and a lawyer when she’d asked him to leave. Maybe she had found the drama teacher wanting. Or was it that Carla had hinted that the possibility of reconciling, a choice that had been Eleanor’s ever since she’d kicked him out, might be taken away from her? After all, Eleanor now knew at least of the existence of this mysterious female work colleague, someone Carla herself thought well of. It was likely more than one thing, he reasoned. If they got back together he’d have the chance to find out. If not, perhaps it wouldn’t matter. Until perhaps one day it would. And then it would be too late.