by Caro Fraser
A week later, it turned out that Camilla’s confidence had not been misplaced. Godfrey Ellwood rang Anthony at the end of the day to tell him that the House of Lords had found in their favour.
‘Our clerk brought the judgment up a moment ago,’ said Ellwood. ‘I think this calls for a small celebratory drink, don’t you?’
‘Absolutely,’ agreed Anthony, recalling his promise to Camilla.
‘Shall we say, the Edgar Wallace at six?’
‘Fine.’ Anthony hung up and went in search of Camilla, anticipating with a certain kind-hearted vanity her pleasure at being taken for a drink by him. He found her in the clerks’ room, with Felicity and Henry, the head clerk, gossiping the end of the afternoon away. Deciding that an enigmatic approach might boost Camilla’s ego, he gave her his best mysterious smile and simply said, ‘How about that drink, then?’
As he left with Camilla, Henry shot a questioning look at Felicity. ‘Really?’ he asked.
‘Don’t be daft! Anthony? He’s just at that age when it does his ego good to have an adoring young thing in tow,’ replied Felicity, in her twenty-three-year-old wisdom. She shook her head as she thought of Camilla. ‘Isn’t love beautiful?’
Henry said nothing. Felicity had been at 5 Caper Court for just a year. Henry, who was only thirty, but had been made head clerk when the old clerk, Mr Slee, had retired with heart trouble, had wrestled uncomfortably with his feelings for her throughout that time. She had just been another typist at first – nice, admittedly, with her curly brown hair and infectious laugh, but in the beginning he had been too busy keeping chambers’ business flowing smoothly and cultivating an air of knowing authority to pay much attention. But there was something about Felicity that was irrepressible. She had enthusiasm, took an interest in everything and everyone, and refused to be intimidated by the loftier senior members of chambers. For those reasons, when Henry had realised some months ago that he needed an assistant if life at 5 Caper Court was not to descend into chaos, he had promoted Felicity to the post. This had not gone down well with the word-processing sorority, but that didn’t trouble Felicity. She had taken to her new job like a duck to water. She had the right blend of savvy and common sense, she was energetic, and she was good with people – all the right qualities for a barrister’s clerk. What she lacked in organisation she made up for in quickness of thought and tongue, managing to negotiate good fees for the barristers and taking no nonsense from solicitors. In any event, Henry often thought that the typing pool was better off without her, since her spelling and secretarial skills left much to be desired. Admittedly, she did not possess that quality of polished deference which was the hallmark of the old school of barrister’s clerk, like Mr Slee, but Henry realised that that was probably becoming a thing of the past, in these days of high-tech and egalitarianism. She handled the members of chambers firmly and with cheeky good humour, and they liked her for that.
But, in addition to his appreciation of Felicity’s practical and intellectual merits, Henry had rapidly grown aware that feelings of an altogether more lyrical kind stirred within him. He was an unremarkable young man, of medium height, with thinning dark hair and a pleasant oval face, softly spoken and mildly jovial, but he possessed a passionate heart. Such girlfriends as he had tended to be mild-mannered, unexciting girls of his own type, but in Felicity, with her volatile ways and raucous spirit, he felt he had met the woman of his dreams. She was unpredictable, often vulgar, and occasionally bad-tempered, but Henry had discovered that he loved all of these qualities, just as he loved her shocking pink angora sweater and her black lycra micro-skirts. But he felt she was far beyond his reach. He knew all about her turbulent life with her boyfriend, Vince, and felt he could never compete. Felicity obviously adored Vince. Besides, Henry was keenly aware of the conventions of chambers, and knew that the fact that he and Felicity worked together in a professional capacity precluded any possibility of romance. He consoled himself with this notion, telling himself that if they had not worked together, things might be very different. Henry accepted that his feelings must stay unrequited, but they remained to trouble him every working day.
In response to Felicity’s observation about love being beautiful, Henry merely sighed and replied in a mutter that he wasn’t so sure about that.
By the time Anthony and Camilla arrived at the pub, Godfrey Ellwood was already there. He was a tall man, almost completely bald, with a leathery face and a sharp sense of humour. As a QC, Ellwood was renowned for his energy, for throwing himself wholeheartedly into cases, especially those in which he believed. The Capstall case was one of those. Whatever cynicism he might possess regarding the fate of those Names who had gambled greedily and lost, he was thoroughly convinced that Lloyd’s had failed the bulk of its members miserably, and that fortunes had been made by a few at the expense of the many. He regarded Capstall, the underwriter, as an overweeningly ambitious and irresponsible man who had written some of the most spectacularly bad risks in the market purely in the hope of long-term gain, at the expense of the Names on his syndicate. Ellwood’s personal convictions had entirely infected Anthony, his junior, and not since he had first helped Leo Davies on a case a few years ago had Anthony felt so inspired and enthusiastic. Ellwood managed to make him feel that they were acting for the little man against the mighty, that in taking on Lloyd’s they were challenging an institution whose lofty disdain for its members was no longer tolerable. Those agents, underwriters and auditors who had been so dismissive of the threat of litigation three or four years ago now knew they had real cause for concern. This victory in the House of Lords, although only a stepping stone, was a significant achievement, and Ellwood was in an ebullient mood when he greeted Anthony and Camilla.
‘We’ve cleared that hurdle in no uncertain terms, eh? What’ll you both have? Julian says he’ll be down to join us shortly – got some speed and consumption claim to finish …’ They took their drinks over to a table, and sat discussing the case. Gradually the pub began to fill up, a few more people joined them, and by seven o’clock the place was crowded and smokey. Camilla, who knew from experience that more than two gin and tonics made her face permanently pink, sat nursing the remains of her second drink and shooting rapid, admiring glances at Anthony. She liked to think that working with him on this case had formed a bond between them, that she shared part of the glamour of this success. She was totally happy. Glancing around the pub, she suddenly saw a familiar face, a girl who had been in the year below her at Oxford, and with whom she shared several mutual friends. Proud to be seen in such distinguished company as that of Godfrey Ellwood and Anthony Cross, she gave her a little wave.
On the other side of the room, the blonde girl returned her wave unenthusiastically. She was alone, still waiting for her friends, and she did not particularly wish to be accosted by Camilla, who was looking pink and rather pleased with herself. They hadn’t met for some months, but she recalled that on the several occasions when she had been in Camilla’s company she had found herself distinctly bored. There was something desperately nice about her, and she tended to be too keen on talking about law. But Camilla had turned away now, so she assumed she was safe. The girl, who was dressed in tight jeans and boots and a white polo-neck sweater beneath a denim jacket, in contrast to Camilla’s dusty black suit and high-necked white blouse, took a sip of her drink and ran her eye curiously over the people Camilla was sitting with. Typical crowd of barristers. Then she saw Anthony, and her gaze halted. She had never seen him in here before, of that she was certain. She would have remembered. At that moment, Anthony rose from his seat and came over to the bar with some empty glasses. He set them down on the bar not far from the blonde girl and fished in his wallet for a ten-pound note, and she gave him a long, discreet glance, enough to take in his tall, elegant figure, the handsome face, the rather girlish brown eyes. He glanced across and caught her eye, and they looked at one another for a significant fraction of a second. Then the barman said something to Anthony and he
looked away again. She watched as he took the drinks back over to the table, sitting down next to Camilla and saying something to her which made Camilla smile with pleasure.
Perhaps Camilla wasn’t so boring after all, thought the blonde girl. The company she kept certainly wasn’t. Smoothing back her hair, the girl moved over towards Camilla, setting her face in a surprised smile.
‘Camilla!’ She bent and kissed the air next to Camilla’s warm cheek. ‘How amazing to see you! Do you mind if I join you for a moment until my friends come? It’s a bit busy at the bar.’
She drew up a chair and sat down with Camilla and Anthony, and the others at the table edged their chairs round to make room for her. She glanced around, her eyes not meeting Anthony’s, but aware that he was looking at her.
Camilla was momentarily flustered, then said, ‘Oh, everyone, this is Sarah – Sarah Colman, a friend of mine.’
There was a general murmur of ‘how do you do?’, and then the conversation resumed. Camilla, who had been pleased enough to wave to Sarah at a distance, was less sure that she wanted her attractive friend muscling in on this exclusive little circle. Still, there she was, lovely as ever, with that knowing smile. She’d often wondered why it was that Sarah, who was a year younger than she was, always managed somehow to appear older. But at least on this occasion Camilla could steal a march on her, since Sarah was still only at Bar School, a mere novice, and could not boast of such sophisticated experiences as appearing in the House of Lords with Godfrey Ellwood, QC. Camilla quickly let it be known what was being celebrated, and Sarah smiled with only the mildest condescension. ‘Aren’t you clever? But now tell me, who did the real work while you were taking notes?’ And her cool glance fell on Anthony, whose face at that moment turned in her direction.
‘Sorry?’ said Anthony, uncertain whether he’d been addressed or not.
‘I was just asking Camilla whether you’d been involved in the case she’s been telling me about – I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Camilla in mild embarrassment, ‘Sarah, this is Anthony Cross. I’m sort of working for him while my pupilmaster’s away.’
Anthony stretched out his hand and Sarah took it. Camilla saw him smile at Sarah in a way that he had never smiled at her, and felt her heart lurch in fear and anguish. ‘How do you do?’ said Anthony. ‘Yes, I’m Godfrey’s junior in the case.’ He glanced at Ellwood, then looked back at Sarah. ‘Are you at the Bar?’ he asked with interest.
‘Not yet,’ she replied. ‘I don’t sit my Bar finals till next summer. But I’m hoping to specialise in commercial work – if I can get a pupillage, that is.’ She smiled significantly at Anthony as she raised her drink. ‘You wouldn’t know of anyone who needs a pupil in a year’s time, would you?’
Anthony laughed, and ran his fingers through his thick brown hair. Camilla knew that mannerism – oh, how well she knew it and how much she adored it. She knew that it was something Anthony did when he felt himself either distracted or flattered. She wished he would not do it now. She watched as he looked up at Sarah, who was finishing her drink.
‘Well,’ said Anthony, who was not unaccustomed to being flirted with, ‘I’ll certainly try to think of someone.’ He glanced at Sarah’s empty glass. ‘Can I get you another drink?’
‘Thank you,’ said Sarah, and he took her glass and went to the bar. Sarah widened her eyes as she smiled innocently at Camilla. ‘What a nice man,’ she remarked, and then glanced around while she waited for Anthony to return to the table. She loved the suspenseful excitement of encountering someone new and attractive, and there was the added zest of putting Camilla’s nose out of joint.
Camilla, who now felt thoroughly resentful, managed to blurt out, as Anthony came back to the table, ‘I hardly think you’ll have much trouble getting a pupillage, Sarah, since your father’s the Recorder of London.’ She had intended this to signify that Sarah got by on connections rather than ability, but Anthony merely looked at Sarah with increased interest as he set her drink down.
‘Really? Of course – Colman. I thought the name was familiar when Camilla introduced you. Actually, I appeared before your father a couple of weeks ago …’ He carried on talking to Sarah. Camilla, who was sitting on the other side of him, could not help feeling excluded. She could not join in their conversation without raising her voice and making Anthony turn back in her direction, and she had an unhappy feeling that he might not be much inclined to do that. She nursed her glass and sat quietly pondering the situation. It wasn’t fair that she should feel at a disadvantage, but she did. She should feel superior to Sarah, who was still a student, after all, but it suddenly seemed to Camilla that, far from being superior, her own position was invidious. In Anthony’s company, in Ellwood’s company, she was on the very lowest rung of the hierarchy, a mere pupil. Sarah, however, was not yet part of the pecking order. Anthony did not regard her in any particular light, and Sarah could afford to behave with him exactly as she chose. At that moment Sarah laughed, a very clear, pretty laugh, meant to be heard, and Camilla glanced at her balefully. She suspected that Sarah, even when she had to go through the rigours of pupillage, was unlikely to feel any of the inferiority which she herself felt towards other members of chambers. Camilla sipped morosely at the lemony dregs of her gin and tonic.
‘I’d have thought that you might have had enough of lawyers without becoming one yourself,’ said Anthony. The tilt of his chin as he drained his glass gave his glance an unconsciously seductive air.
‘Mmm. Depends on the kind of lawyer one meets,’ replied Sarah. ‘Anyway, these things often run in families, don’t they? What does your father do?’
Ah, the question, thought Anthony. The idle, potent question that hummed throughout drinks parties and over restaurant tables and in crowded hallways at parties wherever people under thirty gathered. It marked out the middle-class, aspiring child so surely. No one ever asked, ‘What does your mother do?’ That would give no indication of status, of family background or connections, of whether the family house was large and in the country, or small and in the suburbs.
‘He’s an artist,’ replied Anthony.
‘Really? Would I know his work?’
‘You might. Chay Cross.’ Anthony’s voice was diffident, but he still expected the customary reaction when people learnt who his father was. The high-minded might seriously regard his father as one of the foremost abstract expressionists of his day, but to Anthony he would always be a superannuated hippy, possessed of only a modicum of talent, who had happened to get lucky by suckering the gullible artistic elite.
‘You’re joking!’ Sarah smiled in amazement at Anthony. ‘I wouldn’t have guessed.’
‘We’re not at all alike,’ replied Anthony, hoping that he was not going to have to talk about his father and his work for very long. Both subjects bored him. He was much more interested in finding out more about this extraordinarily pretty girl who had materialised from nowhere. She had an assuredness, a knowingness that he found oddly exciting. Suddenly he met her eyes again, and saw in them an expression which aroused in him a kind of instant desire, such as he had not felt in a long time. There was an intensity, a sexuality, about her gaze that made him feel for a few seconds as though no one existed in the room apart from her. It was an extraordinary, quite dizzying sensation, passing almost immediately. Then he saw her glance towards the doorway and smile.
‘My friends have just arrived,’ she said, and raised her glass to finish her drink. Anthony glanced momentarily to his left and saw that Camilla was now engaged in the general conversation and unlikely to overhear him.
‘Are you spending the whole evening with your friends? I mean, do you have plans for later on?’ he asked quietly, just as she was about to rise. He hoped his voice sounded casual, but was astonished to find that his heart was thudding. He had never known any girl to have such an instantaneous effect upon him. He wanted suddenly to be able to leave with her now, go somewhere, anywhere.
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br /> She leant down to pick up her bag and murmured, ‘I’m afraid I do.’ She paused and then added, ‘But I’ll be here at the same time tomorrow.’ It was the briefest exchange, overheard by no one, but at that moment Camilla had turned and caught the faint intensity of the moment, like an animal with a scent. She stared at Anthony, and then Sarah raised her head and smiled at her. ‘Lovely to see you again, Camilla. Got to go, I’m afraid.’ Her eyes did not meet Anthony’s again as she left the table.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was after ten when Anthony arrived at chambers the next day, and Henry put his head round the door of the clerks’ room just as he was heading upstairs.
‘Godfrey Ellwood’s chambers have rung three times already. You’d better speak to him as soon as you can. Something’s up. I’ll get him for you.’
The phone was already ringing as Anthony came into his room, and he picked it up straight away, still tugging off his coat and unwinding his scarf as Godfrey Ellwood came on the line.
‘Have you heard what’s happened?’ demanded Ellwood, clearly furious about something.
‘No – what? I’ve only just got in,’ replied Anthony. ‘Don’t tell me it’s something in the judgment—’
‘God, no, the judgment’s fine! But I’m being asked to withdraw from the case.’
‘What? Why?’ Anthony was aghast at the thought of losing his leader at such a critical juncture.
‘According to Fred Fenton at Nichols and Co, it’s because I acted for a firm of accountants called Bessermans in some case three years ago.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Marples and Clark, the auditors – you know, one of the defendants in the Capstall case – apparently took Bessermans over two years ago. The other side are now saying that there’s a conflict of interest, that I can’t act against Marples and Clark. One sees their point, of course, but it makes me bloody angry, after the months of work and preparation.’ Ellwood was trying to contain his temper, aware that he was powerless to do anything.