by Caro Fraser
‘What?’
‘I’ve just found out that Rachel is living with Charles Beecham. Our client is screwing my wife. I am being, to use that delightful expression, cuckolded.’
‘Ah.’
‘So if I don’t look my normal self, put it down to momentary shock and confusion. She wants a divorce. It wouldn’t surprise me if she marries him.’
‘Oh.’
Leo sighed, then folded his arms and regarded his notes thoughtfully. ‘And do you know what else?’ He glanced back to Anthony.
‘No, what?’ Anthony was busy trying to absorb these sudden and surprising revelations.
‘I rather fancied Mr Beecham. I even believed the feeling was mutual.’
‘Mmm.’ There was a long pause, then Anthony said, ‘That’s bad luck.’
Leo looked at Anthony and smiled, and suddenly felt much better. ‘I like you, Anthony,’ he said fondly. ‘It rather helps to be able to tell you things.’ There was a sudden stirring around them, and Sir Basil entered the court. Leo and Anthony rose.
‘Are you going to be all right?’ murmured Anthony, thinking, as Leo had, that the timing of all this could not have been worse.
‘Oh, I think I shall rise above it,’ replied Leo.
Anthony watched Leo tug his gown about him, fingering his notes, waiting for Alan Capstall to ascend the witness stand, and knew that in those moments Leo was trying to clear his mind of everything except the task ahead of him. It could not be easy.
Rachel and Charles were having their first quarrel, a minor one, and it was taking place outside Court Number 25. They managed to argue in low voices, conscious of their surroundings.
‘But why didn’t you tell me who he was in the first place?’ asked Charles, who was not feeling quite so wholehearted about this quarrel as Rachel was.
‘Because of who he is! He’s the leader in your case! I didn’t want you to … I thought you might have … oh, I don’t know. Told other members of the committee, or something.’
‘Thanks very much.’
‘I didn’t want to mess this case up for Leo. It’s very important for him and, whatever I feel about our marriage, I don’t want to wreck his career. It just didn’t seem like a good idea for you to know. I was going to tell you once the case was over.’
‘I think you’ve made me look a bit of an idiot, frankly, Rachel. I mean, I’ve been really friendly with the bloke the past few months—’
‘How was I to know that? Anyway, you seemed to find it all screamingly funny an hour ago.’
‘Well, it is a bit of a joke, isn’t it? I mean, admit it.’
‘I didn’t like the way you fell about laughing. It seemed rather – rather heartless.’
‘I can’t help it if you don’t happen to share my sense of humour, can I?’
She was about to make a retort, then sighed and looked at her watch. ‘Oh, we’ll talk about it tonight. I have to get back to work.’
‘Anyway, what did you and he talk about?’
‘When?’
‘Today. Now. This past hour or so.’
Rachel sighed impatiently. ‘I’ll tell you tonight. I have to go—’
Charles shook his head musingly. ‘I don’t honestly think I’ll ever be able to look him in the eye again, you know.’ He paused for a moment, then asked, ‘What was she like, this nanny of yours? Was she nice?’
‘Charles!’
‘I just wondered.’ He grinned and pushed through the swing door and into the solemn atmosphere of the courtroom, where Leo was slowly preparing to tighten the screws on Mr Capstall.
‘Tell me, Mr Capstall, would you agree that it is consistent with prudence for an underwriter to make enquiry as to the nature and extent of risks which he is undertaking on behalf of the Names on his syndicate?’
Charles slid into a seat, ignoring the irate glance which Freddie shot him, and gazed with a new fascination at Leo, whose manner, as he put this question to Capstall, was far less mild than it had been earlier in the day. Charles could imagine, he supposed, that men might find Leo attractive. Hadn’t he, after all? Though not in that way, Charles reminded himself hastily. He glanced in the direction of Capstall, who looked distinctly edgy as he sought for a glib answer to Leo’s question.
‘I suppose so. But with the contracts we are dealing with, I assumed that the reinsuring underwriter would have done sufficient research—’
‘Mr Capstall, the reinsuring underwriter is neither here nor there. It is your position we are considering here. Do you or do you not agree that it would have been prudent for you, as an underwriter, to have made enquiries into the asbestos situation?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did you do so?’
‘Not in great detail. You see, I would always have to rely very much on the people that we were reinsuring, their knowledge of the account and the effect of asbestosis.’
‘But, Mr Capstall, it was well known in the market that there were scares about asbestos – isn’t that so? There were articles written about it by professors in the United States, and so on. The Asbestos Working Party had been set up. You were alerted to the dangers, surely?’ Anthony watched Leo intently as the line of questioning gathered momentum. Leo’s voice had a distinctly hard edge now, and all the smiling politeness had quite vanished.
‘Well, my direct knowledge of asbestosis was limited—’
‘Quite,’ cut in Leo succinctly. ‘Because you failed to make any proper enquiries. Even though there was gossip on the market, you failed to make any specific additional enquiries about asbestos with loss adjusters. Isn’t that so?’
Leo’s tone was damningly caustic. Everyone in court watched Capstall carefully, waiting for his answer.
‘Well, whenever I asked the brokers and the reinsuring underwriters what they had done, they always told me that they had taken full account of future liabilities for asbestosis.’ It sounded lame, and the entire court knew it. Underwood did not even look at his client, but Sir Basil shot Capstall a distinctly nasty look over the top of his glasses. He had done his best throughout this case to retain his impartiality, but as he looked at Capstall now, and considered the evidence which he had heard the man give throughout the day, he could not but think with disgust of the dreadful losses which his own sister had suffered. And many others like her. And all as a result of indolent upstarts like this one, he thought.
Leo, who had put the incidents of lunchtime entirely from his mind and was concentrating solely on the witness before him, let the hollowness of Capstall’s reply sink in before continuing.
‘Mr Capstall, having established your imprudence in failing to make remotely adequate enquiries as to the risks which you were underwriting on behalf of the Names, I would like to put one simple question to you, and it is this.’ Leo paused and then spoke with deliberation. ‘Do you believe that it is consistent with prudence to write a reinsurance risk, the extent and nature of which is entirely open-ended and unknown?’
Capstall looked uncertain, fingering the papers before him as he sought to hedge Leo’s question. When he replied, he attempted to keep his tone casual. ‘Well, an underwriter might be invited to write many risks like that in the course of a day’s trading.’
Leo smiled and glanced briefly down at the papers in front of him before looking up again. ‘Mr Capstall, perhaps my question was not succinct enough. Let me try it another way. Would you regard it as prudent for an underwriter to write a risk where there is no finite limit on the amount of the monetary indemnity, no temporal limit on the duration of the indemnity, and where he is in possession of no reliable information as to what his potential liability as reinsurer or insurer might be?’
Sir Basil gazed sternly at Capstall, pen poised. There was a long silence. ‘Answer Mr Davies’ question, if you please, Mr Capstall.’
Capstall struggled to find words. His composure had slipped markedly, and Anthony noticed with interest that his loss of bearing seemed to touch everything about him – his suit, w
hich now looked slightly rumpled, his hair, the angle of his tie. Capstall rested his hands on the edge of the rail, as if for support.
‘Not – not as a matter of course. But people underwrite in different ways, Mr Davies. That’s what makes a market.’
Leo smiled, and his voice when he spoke was soft. ‘What is the answer to my question?’
‘I think my answer would be’ – he hesitated – ‘that it would depend on how you see the market from the perspective of your view of it as an underwriter.’
Excellent, thought Leo. Capstall could come out with any waffle now to avoid a directly incriminating answer, but it no longer mattered. He knew from long experience that Sir Basil couldn’t take much of the kind of answer Capstall was giving. As he had hoped and guessed, Sir Basil’s feelings as he listened to Capstall’s reply were those of incredulous impatience.
‘Mr Capstall,’ said Sir Basil, gazing severely at him, ‘the question Mr Davies is asking you is whether or not it would be prudent for an underwriter to write a contract if he had no reasonable idea as to what the future might hold. What is your answer?’
‘It would be … imprudent, my Lord.’
That answer, as Anthony, Leo, and everyone else knew, spelt the downfall of the defendants.
Sir Basil nodded and wrote. Thank you, Sir Basil, thought Leo. He looked across at Capstall, whose very stature seemed visibly reduced. Leo even felt fleetingly sorry for him. He said mildly, ‘I do not know whether I can take it very much further, my Lord.’
‘Excellent!’ said Freddie, clapping Leo on the shoulder with a tremulous hand, his eyes bright with excitement. Lawyers were still mulling around outside the courtroom, and the general feeling, after the day’s performance, was that the Names were well on their way to winning. Sir Basil, by his intervention in Leo’s cross-examination, had shown all too clearly how his own thoughts lay, and Freddie and Basher and the rest were delighted.
Leo smiled. He did not think he had ever had to work so hard to keep himself entirely focused amid so many distractions. ‘We’re not out of the woods yet,’ he remarked. But even he had to admit that today had produced a decisive moment. He would be astonished if Sir Basil’s judgment, when it eventually came, failed to find for the Names. All that remained were the closing speeches. He glanced at his watch. ‘Anyway, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to be getting back to chambers.’
‘Just a moment, Leo,’ said Murray, ‘I got this letter in from Dryden’s today, and I thought you might like to look at it overnight.’
Leo took the document from Murray and glanced at Anthony and Walter. ‘You two go on ahead. I’ll catch you up.’
Grey dusk was falling on the City streets when Leo made his solitary way out of the Law Courts onto the Strand half an hour later. Street lights were already glimmering, and as he was about to cross the Strand through the roar and hum of rush-hour traffic, he became aware of someone at his side. Turning, he was astonished to see Sarah standing next to him, smiling her familiar, foxy smile.
‘Well done in court,’ she said. ‘I came to watch.’
Leo stepped off the pavement onto the pedestrian crossing, glancing round at the traffic, Sarah in step with him. ‘You’re sure it wasn’t Anthony you came to see?’
Sarah shrugged. ‘Whatever. You make a lovely couple. I’m sure everyone there thought so.’
They reached the other side, and Leo stopped and turned to look at her, suddenly comprehending. ‘You. It was you who started that rather irritating little rumour, wasn’t it?’ He shook his head. ‘My, my. You never used to have a taste for petty revenge. Anthony must really have got under your skin.’ Then he laughed, thinking how obvious it all was, really. He began to walk through the iron gate into Middle Temple Lane, his step meditative, Sarah still at his side. He glanced at her. She looked as bewitching as ever, her blonde hair tucked inside the upturned collar of her coat, framing her face. But God, what trouble she was.
‘I was sorry to hear about your wife,’ remarked Sarah. ‘Leaving you, I mean.’
‘I’m grateful for your concern,’ replied Leo dryly.
‘You really should have married someone like me, Leo,’ said Sarah, amusement in her voice. They paused by the archway into Caper Court, people brushing by them in the gathering gloom as they hurried up and down the lane. ‘You know, someone who understands you. Where you’re coming from.’
‘And you understand that, do you?’ Leo could not help smiling. ‘You’re one up on me, in that case. But I hardly think,’ he added, ‘that you could bear the monotony of my company. Like you, I’m probably best in small doses.’
‘There you are. We’re the same kind of people, you and I. As for the monotony of one another’s company, I’m afraid that’s something you’re going to have to put up with as from next September. David Liphook is taking me on as his pupil.’
Leo stared at her. Was she joking? No, she might be smiling, but she certainly wasn’t joking. God, if it wasn’t one damn thing, it was another. Sarah knew too much about him, and was lethally unscrupulous. The prospect of having her in the same chambers was not a happy one. What would Anthony think of it, come to that?
He sighed and turned to go. ‘Oh well, roll on September, eh?’
She raised a hand, still smiling. ‘See you, Leo,’ she said. Then, before she turned away, she added, ‘Do give my love to Anthony. Won’t it be cosy, all of us working together?’ And she disappeared down the lane among the clerks and barristers heading for their trains.
Anthony dumped his bundle of papers on the desk and chucked his robe bag into a corner. ‘So,’ he said to Camilla, ‘what is this momentous thing you want to talk about?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘In fact, why don’t we do it over a glass of wine?’
‘I can’t, I’m afraid,’ said Camilla. ‘I promised my mother I’d go over for dinner this evening. Anyway, this won’t take long.’ She leant against the edge of her desk. ‘The thing is, apparently they’re thinking of offering me a tenancy.’
‘They?’ said Anthony with a grin, relieved that this was all it was about. ‘Don’t you mean “we”? I did know, actually. Aren’t you pleased?’
‘You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?’ demanded Camilla.
Anthony shrugged. ‘Of course I knew. Anyway, it’s not up to me to tell you.’
‘You are my pupilmaster. Well, nominally.’
‘I thought you should hear it from Cameron himself. Anyway, what is there to talk about?’
‘Well … I’ve just been thinking … I’m not sure how many people in chambers know that I’m seeing you, but it struck me that it might be best if—’ She paused, stuck for words.
‘If what?’
‘Oh, you know … I mean, I don’t want anything to upset my chances of getting this tenancy – you can imagine how important it is for me. And I have the feeling that some people in chambers might not think it a good idea – us going out with one another, that is.’
‘What people?’ Anthony wondered, with a horrible foreboding, whether Camilla was trying to say she wanted to stop seeing him.
‘Roderick, for instance, and Jeremy. Perhaps Michael. Even Leo.’
‘Leo? I hardly think so,’ replied Anthony with a faint smile. Then he suddenly remembered how Leo had once sought to make something more of the relationship between himself and Anthony, how he had said then that such a thing would, of course, spell an end to Anthony’s hopes of getting a tenancy at 5 Caper Court. That had been different, naturally, but maybe there was something in what Camilla said. Maybe he hadn’t paid enough attention to the way in which the more senior members of chambers might view his relationship with Camilla. He could see that she wanted to be as circumspect as possible. Was she serious, then? Was this her way of ending things?
‘So – what are you saying?’ he asked slowly.
‘I’m saying,’ replied Camilla, ‘that it might be best, for the sake of appearances, if we gave it a rest for a while. Just until after Easter.’
&
nbsp; Anthony felt relief wash over him. He crossed the room and put his arms lightly round her shoulders. ‘For a moment there, I thought you were going to tell me that we were finished.’ He kissed her lightly. ‘Even so … Easter is six weeks away. And that’s a long time.’
‘Think of it as being in a good cause,’ said Camilla. ‘It’s just a question of making it look as though there isn’t anything going on any more. I suppose it helps that Jeremy’s coming back from Indonesia next week, so I’ll be moving out of here.’
‘I never knew you were such a devious character,’ murmured Anthony lightly.