by Caro Fraser
Anthony picked up the phone and rang Chay’s mobile.
Chay was totally engrossed these days in a scheme to renovate an enormous derelict brewery in Shoreditch and turn it into a museum of modern art, a task which was near completion. Leo was one of the museum’s trustees, and Anthony helped his father with legal aspects of the project.
‘It’s me,’ said Anthony, when Chay answered. ‘Henry said you rang earlier.’
‘Right, I did. Things are coming together faster than I anticipated and it looks like we could have the opening at the beginning of March if we can get the invitations out. The PR people reckon it would be excellent timing. David Bowie’s going to be in London around the seventh, and it would really boost publicity to have him there. I’m hoping Simon Callow and Maggi Hambling will be able to come, possibly Tracey and Damien. Hockney’s a long shot, but you never know. Anyway, I’m trying to arrange a meeting of the trustees for tomorrow night.’
‘That’s rather short notice, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, I know, but most of the others should be able to get here. I tried to get hold of Leo at lunchtime, but couldn’t track him down. Do you think you could have a word and see if he can manage to be there?’
‘All right,’ said Anthony.
‘And obviously, if you can make it, that would be useful.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Catch you later.’
Anthony put the phone down. He sometimes wondered, beyond the setting up of the original trust, what use he was to his father in this project. He seemed to like his presence at these meetings. Maybe it was, as Leo had once suggested, a way of validating himself in his son’s eyes, reminding him that he was no longer a failure. Chay was such a child in many ways. Anthony turned to the window and stared out at the building works going on at number 7, diagonally opposite. The top floor was being turned into an annexe to relieve the pressure on the already overcrowded chambers at number 5, and all day the sound of hammering and drilling filled the normally tranquil air.
A figure appeared in the courtyard below, hurrying from number 5 towards Middle Temple Lane, a young woman with chestnut hair, the blue bag containing her wig and gown slung over her shoulder, papers tucked beneath one arm. A pang touched Anthony’s heart as he watched her disappear through the archway. It was almost three months since his affair with Camilla Lawrence had ended. He hadn’t been out with any other girl regularly since. No doubt there were those, including many members of chambers, who would say that it was just as well, that it wasn’t healthy to conduct an intimate relationship with another barrister in the same chambers, but there had been a time when Anthony had thought he was truly in love. He wondered now. Since the relationship had been abruptly terminated by Camilla’s discovery that Anthony had had a brief fling with Sarah Colman while Camilla was away in Bermuda on a case, it was reasonable to assume that his feelings couldn’t have been as deep as he had supposed. Not that he would have had anything to do with Sarah if she hadn’t come on to him in the way she had … it was very hard at twenty-four to resist that kind of temptation. She had probably just been making mischief, as usual. Still, she had been the cause of their break up.
And the cause of his present rift with Leo. He turned away from the window and sat down, moodily winding a length of red tape round his fingers. If she hadn’t been there that evening, when he’d gone to see Leo, then there would be none of this wretched animosity. In truth, though, the animosity was on his part, not Leo’s. He had gone to Leo that night to tell him—to tell him what, exactly? That he regretted not becoming his lover three years earlier, that he couldn’t go on feeling about him as he did … That had been the idea. The whisky which Leo had poured for him might have been enough to bring it all out. But it hadn’t happened – and no doubt just as well. Sarah had suddenly appeared, wearing nothing but one of Leo’s shirts, hair mussed, looking delectable. He had been aware that she and Leo had known one another before she ever came to chambers, but he hadn’t realised quite how intimate that friendship was. Embarrassing and humiliating as it had been, it could have been worse. At least she’d come into the room before he’d had the chance to make a fool of himself.
Pointless to think about it now. He could do without all that emotional confusion. He was straight, always had been, and if it hadn’t been for Leo and his warped ethical view of the world, his belief that sexuality knew no moral boundaries, Anthony would never have had to worry about all this. Perhaps that wasn’t quite fair … He remembered those long days, sitting as a pupil in Michael Gibbon’s room, listening for the sound of Leo’s voice on the stair, his whistle, his rapid footstep. How he had held his breath at that last sound, hoping that Leo, as he sometimes did, would look in to have a word with Michael. He had a way of lighting up any room he came into. Anthony had loved him, loved his company, his charm, his looks, the brilliance of his mind and his easy erudition. He loved the fact that Leo, like him, had come up the hard way, from humble beginnings in a dreary Welsh town, to achieve a position as one of the most respected commercial silks in London. He regarded Leo as a kindred spirit. He had worshipped him back then, taken every chance to sit with him in court, watching and learning. He felt he owed much of his own present success to Leo.
Anthony flung the tape aside and sighed. Maybe he shouldn’t get so hung up about all this. Sarah could sleep with Leo if she wanted. She’d slept with just about everyone else. The truth was that it was Leo he blamed. He took his pleasure where he pleased and did untold damage. It had been that way with Rachel. No sooner had Anthony set his sights on her than Leo had moved in, seduced her, married her for God knows what selfish reason, all without regard for Anthony’s feelings. Not that Rachel had ever cared about Anthony, but still … The fact was, he had been angry with Leo ever since finding Sarah at Leo’s flat that night, and he couldn’t seem to get rid of the feeling. Not that it seemed to bother Leo much. He scarcely acknowledged that there was anything wrong. At the bottom of it all, Anthony knew, lay his own jealousy. He was jealous of anyone who took Leo’s time and affection. He hated Leo’s promiscuity as much as he hated the deep emotional attachments Leo occasionally formed, as he had done with Joshua. In fact, he was thoroughly confused and fed up with caring about Leo. Well, it was finished. He didn’t want to become part of Leo’s weird world. He’d just have to try and get rid of this feeling of resentment and make something civilized of their relationship. He hadn’t spoken properly to Leo for ages. He’d make a start later this afternoon by going to tell Leo about the meeting of the museum trustees tomorrow night.
Leo was gathering up his belongings at six when Anthony knocked on his door and looked in. Leo paused in bemused surprise, then carried on putting papers into his briefcase. That Anthony should come to see him meant nothing. It might simply be about chambers business. Leo closed his briefcase, waiting for Anthony to speak. Anthony glanced round the room, which was quite different from his own, light and modern, the desk of polished ash, clear of clutter, the pictures on the walls expensive abstracts. Its appearance, like Leo’s, was of expensive minimalism, giving nothing away.
Anthony came into the room and closed the door, then said diffidently, ‘I just came to tell you that Chay rang me earlier.’
‘Oh?’
‘He couldn’t get hold of you. Asked me to tell you that he’s holding a meeting of the trustees tomorrow evening. It’s short notice, but he’s decided to try and bring the opening forward to early March and he wants to discuss arrangements.’
Leo flicked open his diary. ‘That’s all right. Did he mention a time?’
‘No–no, I forgot to ask. I’ll speak to him again tomorrow and let you know.’
Leo nodded. He lifted his briefcase off the desk and crossed the room to take his coat from the hanger on the back of the door. Anthony still stood uncertainly in the middle of the room. He was looking for a way to use this opportunity to make peace, Leo realised. Well, let Anthony take the initiative – it had been he,
after all, who had created the antagonistic atmosphere of the past few months. He turned to look at him, and was suddenly moved by the uncertain, vulnerable expression on the younger man’s face. Anthony might have toughened up a lot over the past few years, but he still found it hard to deal with certain things.
Leo took pity on him. ‘Are you going to the meeting tomorrow evening?’ he asked.
‘Yes–yes, I am. At least, Chay asked me along.’
There was a pause, then Leo relented completely. ‘I’ll give you a lift, if you like. Assuming the thing’s around half-seven, as it usually is, we could go for a drink beforehand.’
Anthony grasped this olive branch gratefully, knowing that by rights he was the one who should have made the first move. He just hadn’t known the appropriate thing to say. ‘Great. Yes, let’s do that.’
Leo was touched by the way Anthony’s expression suddenly lightened with relief. He opened the door of his room and they went out together.
‘By the way,’ remarked Leo as they went downstairs, ‘did you see that practice direction about assigning two-judge management teams to longer cases?’
‘Yes,’ replied Anthony, ‘quite a good idea, in some ways.’ They carried on chatting for a few minutes on the landing outside Anthony’s room.
Anthony felt happier in his heart than he had for some time. He was glad they’d broken the ice. But he was still resolved that he was finished for good with the intense, emotional side of their friendship. He wanted no more than a platonic, amicable relationship.
‘Right,’ said Leo, glancing at his watch. ‘I’d better go. I’m meeting someone in ten minutes. See you tomorrow.’
Anthony went back into his room and closed the door, wondering exactly who it was Leo was going to meet, trying to persuade himself he didn’t really care.
CHAPTER TWO
‘… which brings us, my Lord, to the Brussels Convention, which has the force of law in the United Kingdom by virtue of Section 2 (1) of the Civil Jurisdiction and Judgments Act, 1982. Articles 7 to 11 in Section 3 deal with jurisdiction in matters relating to insurance, but article 12 sets out an exception which I must quote in full …’ David Liphook had been on his feet for the past forty-five minutes, earnestly addressing the court in the vexed matter of a contractual dispute between three Lloyd’s syndicates and a Dutch offshore company, regarding property hired out to a Yugoslav enterprise for purposes connected with the construction of a breakwater in Algeria. Sarah Colman, his pupil, sat next to him, taking notes now and again when she could be bothered – which wasn’t often – and discreetly trying to suppress her frequent yawns. She and her flatmate, Lou, had been out clubbing the night before and they hadn’t got in until half-three, and Sarah was feeling distinctly ragged. She’d been in such a rush to get into chambers on time that she’d only had time for a cup of coffee, and now, at eleven-thirty, she was famished.
She sat back and glanced up at David; he was a stocky man in his early thirties, moderately attractive, Sarah supposed, but far too much the public-school type for her liking. He was an OE, and in a barrister the Old Etonian blend of ability, arrogance and perfect good manners was a distinct success. High Court judges, like upper-middle-class mothers, loved him. They could say what they liked, thought Sarah, but the class system was alive and thriving at the Bar, and always would be so long as most of the high fliers and judges came from public schools and Oxbridge colleges. Like all tribal animals, they felt most comfortable with their own kind. Sarah reckoned she could spot the products of different public schools a mile off. OEs acted like they owned the place (which more often than not they did), Wykehamists were too brainy for their own good, with a tendency to twitch, Salopians were failed rebels with leftist leanings who held down establishment jobs despite themselves, and Carthusians were snobs, academics, poets or queers, depending on which house they’d been in.
She glanced up at the judge, Mr Justice Stobie, and tried to assess him. He had a sort of pale, Catholic look about him. Ampleforth? Then again, his name sounded Scottish, so possibly Fettes or Glenalmond. She liked assessing the people around her, weighing up their lives. It gave her a heightened sense of detachment. She was with them, but not of them. For instance, Sarah reckoned she knew exactly the kind of wife David Liphook would eventually marry, the kind of children he would have, where they would be schooled, the sort of holidays he would take, the age at which he would take silk, then eventually seek elevation to the High Court … The predictability of it all was stunning.
‘I must interrupt you there, Mr Liphook.’ Mr Justice Stobie’s mellow tones disturbed Sarah’s idle thoughts. ‘You appear to be suggesting that the word “interest” is used here in the technical sense to refer to the nature of the tide to property held by the person insured. Might there not be an argument for saying that the word is intended in a broader sense, perhaps simply to describe property in connection with which a risk can give rise to loss?’
It’s no use, thought Sarah, as she digested this observation and listened in fascination to the speed and enthusiasm with which David replied. Not in a million years could she be a commercial barrister. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand the law, or couldn’t make sense of David’s various cases – since her shaky beginnings six months ago she now took a vague pleasure in being able to strip an apparently complex set of instructions down to the essentials. It was simply that she could never care enough. David cared. He was entirely engrossed. Sarah sighed. So what was she doing here? She’d originally taken up law because it was a family thing, and she couldn’t think of anything else to do, though her studies at Oxford had been largely peripheral to her social life. After that she’d gone to Bar school because the thought of becoming a solicitor was too awful to contemplate, and when she’d done that she’d sought a pupillage in Leo’s chambers because it seemed like an amusing thing to do. Too much ability and absolutely no ambition, that’s my problem, thought Sarah, as she half-listened to David droning on about risks and interests. And it was true. She was very bright but had no real interest in the arduous business of carving out a career at the Bar, or anywhere else, for that matter! On days like these – days when she hadn’t had enough sleep, or was hungover, or just bored or dispirited – she sincerely wished that women weren’t expected to pursue careers. Not enough to have it all, you had to do it all as well. The curse of Cherie Blair. She and the likes of Nicola Horlick had a lot to answer for. Sarah had recently begun to think that she could quite happily jack it all in, marry someone rich and do nothing at all besides lead a comfortable life, spending someone else’s money. She glanced across at Vivienne Lamb, the barrister on the other side. She was formidably bright and had a terrific reputation, which was all very well … but it was the prospect of having to work so hard that Sarah couldn’t bear. Where was the attraction in slogging away throughout your twenties, trying to get a foothold on a ladder which could be pulled away from under you as soon as you had your first baby, trying to find a marriageable man along with all the other thirty-somethings, biological clocks ticking merrily away? She could see increasing attractions in marrying someone now and never having to work again. Play your cards right, and your social life needn’t suffer. Lovers could be had discreetly, and there were plenty of ways of keeping a lively intellect stimulated.
She yawned and shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench, glancing round the courtroom. Not that she could ever imagine herself becoming a Mrs Liphook, or a Lady Stobie. But what other prospective pool did she have to fish in? Apart from barristers, her male social circle consisted mainly of merchant bankers, chaps in PR and advertising, City types and the odd journalist. Merchant bankers were too boring, PR people were fine to go out with but you’d hardly want to marry one, City types led lives which were financially too precarious, whatever the highs, and journalists – fell …
Her mind floated back to the reason she was sitting here now. Leo. She had wangled her way into a pupillage at 5 Caper Court because she liked to be part of
his life. It had to be admitted that, however casual she pretended her attachment to him was, he had always exercised a fascination for her. One strong enough to make her want to work in the same chambers as he did. Now, didn’t that tell her something? She smiled as she doodled in her notebook, amazed that she’d never really given proper thought to the marriageability of Leo. He was perfect – wealthy, and likely to carry on being so, good-looking, excellent company, witty, stimulating … and wonderful in bed. There was the minor problem of his proclivity for young men, but since the kind of marriage she had in mind was one of mutual freedom, and as Sarah’s own nature was strictly amoral, that was hardly a problem. From a social point of view he was ideal – well-connected, and more than likely to make it right to the top of his profession. He’d make a beautiful law lord when he hit sixty or so. Sir Leo and Lady Davies … she could see it now. And life with Leo would never be boring. He was different from other barristers she knew. His path to his present, eminent position at the Bar had been far from conventional, his modest beginnings had made life an uphill struggle, one he had won by dint of sheer intellectual ability and brilliance. She liked that. His tastes and interests were eclectic, and his behaviour often unpredictable. She knew enough of that from the summer she and James had spent with him … Yes, marrying Leo could be a stroke of genius.
Sarah sighed and glanced at the clock. Almost lunchtime, thank God. The trouble was, Leo wasn’t the marrying kind. All right, there had been Rachel, but as Leo himself had once admitted, when his guard was down, he’d only married her to deflect gossip at a time when his private life was under scrutiny and threatening his prospects of becoming a QC. How ruthless and selfish could you get? Yet for Sarah those aspects of Leo’s character held a peculiar attraction. She understood him. They were both cynics, used to using people. Rachel had been beautiful, insipid, an obvious victim. Still, the fact that he hadn’t married Rachel for love didn’t take things much further. It just made it more likely that Leo would never marry anyone unless there was something to be gained by it. He would be a tough nut to crack. The toughest. It had to be admitted that there was no real reason why Leo, if Sarah really decided to make a serious play for him, should ever consider taking her on. She might be young and attractive, but pretty young things, of whatever gender, weren’t hard to come by if you were Leo. Sarah was nothing if not a pragmatist. Still, she had certain advantages, cards which were uniquely hers to play. First of all, he liked her. Secondly, she knew him well, better than most people, and that counted for a good deal. Thirdly, everyone got lonely. Even Leo. And she didn’t doubt that forty-six was a vulnerable age for most men, no matter how successful …