The Pupil

by Caro Fraser

  When they all sat down to eat at Cora Choke’s round black lacquered dining table – Anthea had managed, despite her intellectual failings, to arrange a large bowl of syringa with devastating good taste in the centre – Piers drew the conversation round to escapades of previous years. He began with Julia’s eighteenth birthday party, bringing forth one hilarious reminiscence after another, prompting laughter and a flurry of ‘Oh, yes!’ and ‘Do you remember after Edward’s driving test how we …?’ Piers appeared to have been the star of every one of these doings. His large figure danced daringly at the centre of each narrated exploit, and he grew in brilliance in the minds of his listeners. Then the talk moved on, as Piers had known it would, to other parties, to hunt balls, to the names and reputations of people of whom Anthony had never heard, but whom all the others seemed to know intimately. Such were the ties of their bright, unassailable childhood and adolescence. Piers drew the thread even tighter. The others were so excited, so full of the enjoyment of their reflected selves in each memory and story, that they did not notice that Anthony was almost entirely silent. He tried to appear bright and interested, and to be largely preoccupied with his food, but from time to time he would catch Piers’ eye, and could not ignore the expression on that large, ugly face.

  Anthony drank as much as he could, which was a good deal, since Edward had ignored his father’s adjuration not to make great inroads into the wine cellar. But, much as he drank, he could scarcely get drunk. It was a relief to him when the dinner party broke up. Piers and Edward rose and went out to toast the moonlight drunkenly and noisily on the lawn. Julia and Anthea joined them and sat on the low stone wall. David still sat at the table with his coffee and port, in love and happy. Anthony watched Julia through the open terrace windows and listened to the sound of her voice and pretty laughter. Morose and full of wine, he went to bed.

  Julia sat out in the chilly air, shivering slightly and laughing at the antics of Piers and Edward. Piers came over and gallantly whipped off his jacket, placing it over her shoulders. She slipped her shoulders thankfully into the warm, large sleeves, smelling the faint smell of Piers upon the cloth. She watched the moonlight on the river, only half-listening to the men’s banter. Anthony hadn’t bothered to come outside. Well, she didn’t care if he wanted to sulk. She was having fun this weekend. She wondered vaguely if he would come to her room that night. The thought stirred in her a faint flush of desire. Stretching her arms languorously and thinking of this, she rose and went indoors, still wearing Piers’ jacket. As she mounted the stairs slowly in the darkness, she suddenly felt a hand slide round her waist from behind. It was Piers.

  ‘You forgot to give me my jacket back,’ he said softly. She laughed and slipped it off, trying to turn away from his arm.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said archly, handing it back to him, and pushing him not very forcefully away. But he pulled her back against him. This annoyed Julia and she stiffened.

  ‘Let go, Piers!’ she said. He pulled her against him and kissed her, breathing hard. This was not like the time at her party, when he had cajoled and seduced and said charming, absurd things. This was simply some large man in the darkness, much stronger than she was and smelling of brandy, kissing her when she did not want to be kissed. She struggled away from him.

  ‘Get off!’ she said more sharply. ‘I don’t like to be kissed like that!’ He fell back slowly against the banisters, laughing, and groaned.

  ‘All right, kiss me properly, then. I give in.’ He sounded so idiotic that she did. She kissed him for a long time. When she went upstairs to her room, she thought, guiltily, briefly, of Anthony. She didn’t think she was up to having him in her bed that night. Carefully she locked her door. Which was how Piers found it when he sauntered quietly along to her room an hour later, while Anthony slept restlessly two doors away.

  It seemed to Anthony, when he awoke the following morning, that his brain had reached some hard-fought decision while he had slept. He knew, with a sudden certainty, that, given all the circumstances, he would have to tell Julia that for the time being at least he would not be able to go on seeing her. This realisation was largely the result of his acquired tendency – acquired through the years of adolescence and early manhood, when he began to perceive that only he, and no one else, would ever serve his interests – to detach himself from others in pursuit of his ambitions. He was aware that this affair of Julia, and the drain on both his finances and his reserves of pride, was distracting him from the attainment of his precious goal. He was conscious that the company of Julia and her friends – and now, blatantly, of Piers – was colouring his estimation of his own worth. He could not allow any notion of failure to taint him, no matter how bogus he might know it to be in reality.

  He loved Julia. But Julia, like all people, wore many faces, and the one which he now saw most often – the public, socially agreeable face – was the one he liked least. The private, sweet, solitary face that he adored, he had seen little of recently. Perhaps, if he carried his resolve through, he might never see it again. For the moment, however, and in more than one sense, he could not afford Julia.

  Lack of choice over the years had bred in him a sort of ruthlessness, the kind displayed by those who, in their paucity of options, know that once a decision is made, it is practicable only if put into effect without delay. And so he did not postpone the matter. After breakfast, he asked Julia to walk down to the river with him.

  ‘All right. Let’s get David – there’s a rowing boat down there, so maybe we could do some exploring.’

  ‘No, don’t ask David. I want to talk to you.’

  Slightly surprised, Julia left the house with him and they walked in silence down the lichen-covered steps.

  ‘Well, what is it?’ she asked, as they reached the little wooden jetty at the bottom. ‘You look very grim, I must say.’ Julia felt faintly nervous; she wondered if he had seen her kissing Piers last night. Once was unlucky, but twice might seem a bit much.

  Anthony said nothing for a moment, but sat down on the warm wooden planking, his knees drawn up before him, and looked out over the water.

  ‘Well,’ he said at last, reluctantly, ‘I’ve been thinking that maybe you and I should give things a rest for a while.’

  ‘Oh, don’t tell me you’re in a huff because of last night! I know you felt a bit out of it, but—’

  ‘No, I’m not in a huff about anything,’ interrupted Anthony, speaking quite matter-of-factly. ‘I just think that – well, things should stop.’ There was a pause, during which she looked at him curiously and with concern. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘That’s all? We’re just to stop seeing each other? Why?’ Julia felt cold and a little panicky; not only did she love Anthony, as she thought, but she was unaccustomed to being put aside, no matter how gently. Such a thing had never happened to her before. Anthony picked at the wooden boards with his fingernail; his head was bowed in thought, and for a moment Julia, in her sudden frailty, wanted to reach out and stroke the dark, thick hair. He seemed very remote, and a little chill in her heart as she waited for him to speak told her that Anthony was not the kind of man who did something like this for effect.

  Anthony sighed and looked up at the trees; he was careful not to look at Julia.

  ‘You see, I don’t have a great deal of money, as you know. That makes it difficult for me to do the kind of things you like to do.’

  ‘But you know I don’t care about that! I’ve told you I can pay for some things.’

  Anthony allowed himself a slight smile.

  ‘And I don’t always like doing the things you like to do. Or seeing the people you like to see. Maybe they’re an acquired taste.’

  ‘Those are simply rotten reasons! The truth of it, if you had the courage to say it,’ exclaimed Julia angrily, ‘is that you’re tired of me and you just want to finish it. Money’s got nothing to do with it.’

  He turned to look at her thoughtfully. ‘Do you really think that?’ He sounded ge
nuinely curious. She could think of nothing to say. He looked back at the water. ‘No,’ he sighed, ‘I sometimes wish I’d met you a year from now. As it is, I really think it’s about time we called it a day.’

  The finality in his voice was almost enough to make her embrace him and plead with him to change his mind, but an innate sense of pride prevented her.

  ‘Maybe when circumstances have changed a bit,’ he went on, ‘when my finances are in better shape—’

  She interrupted him coldly. ‘Please don’t imagine that you can just discard me and then pick me up again at your pleasure.’ She felt thoroughly miserable and angry, and completely helpless.

  ‘All right,’ he said after a moment. Then he looked at her again, thinking how lovely she was; he felt utterly wretched, but at the same time determined to deflect any emotional thrusts she might make. Knowing that it wasn’t a good idea, he leant forward suddenly and kissed her tentatively. She kissed him back in a tired, hopeful way, and then he stood up.

  ‘I think I’ll apologise to Edward and tell him that I’m catching an early train,’ he said. ‘You can tell the others that all this was your decision,’ he added, ‘if it helps.’

  No, she thought, it didn’t help. She felt desolate, suddenly bereft. She did not speak.

  ‘Well, goodbye.’ Still she said nothing, did not look at him. ‘I do love you, you know,’ he added awkwardly. Oddly enough, as she watched him slowly mount the steps towards the house, she believed him.

  Anthony told Edward that he had to go back early to finish some work for Michael, and this was accepted without remark. Piers watched Anthony with a curious smile as he got into the Citroën, Edward stuffing his bag in the boot in preparation to drive Anthony to the station. He had seen Anthony and Julia go down to the river together; that had been over an hour ago, and she still hadn’t come back. And here was Anthony catching the early train.

  But Julia, when she eventually reappeared, was cold and snappish and not interested in Piers’ arch remarks. She vanished to her room.

  On the train, Anthony felt about as numb with unhappiness as he’d ever been. He travelled second class this time. The bank holiday meant that the train was almost empty, and Waterloo station, when he arrived there, was depressingly quiet. He thought over his conversation with Julia as his train made its slow way towards East Dulwich, and wondered if he could have managed matters better – or even if he should have done it at all. But slight reflection told him that things simply could not have carried on as they had done. He had had no option. This knowledge did nothing to alleviate his misery, but as he realised that he need no longer worry about whether or not he was going to be able to afford each successive weekend, he felt an unmistakeable sense of relief.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The next few days dragged barrenly along. Work seemed dry and repetitive, and the very aspect of the Temple itself, grey and austere, seemed as chilling as a prison. Anthony avoided Edward; he didn’t want to have to answer any tactless, well-meant questions. He didn’t even want to think about Julia. But, of course, he did. The same endless round of thoughts. Why had he done it? He knew the answer. The same answer that he gave himself each time he was tempted to call her. Where was the point? He had no money – worse, he had a debt that he couldn’t repay. As he considered the wreckage of his finances, he hoped that Len would wait a couple of months. At any rate, Anthony was relieved that he had not been in touch. Perhaps he didn’t need the money that urgently.

  And then he reviewed his position in chambers. It was time to take serious stock, since he had gambled everything upon gaining this tenancy. The determined optimism that had filled him following his talk with Michael had faded. The business with Hayter had undermined his confidence, and he began to suspect that no amount of hard work was going to impress the other members of chambers if they had already assumed that their head of chambers’ nephew would become the next tenant at 5 Caper Court. On whom could he count? It was almost impossible to assess his chances properly. Michael would support him, he knew. Possibly William and David – although David was a doubtful quantity, being so very much a friend of Edward’s. Sir Basil and Roderick Hayter he presumed he could discount. And Jeremy Vane. That left Stephen Bishop, whom he counted as a possibility, Cameron Renshaw, who he knew thought well of his academic record, and Leo Davies.

  Leo and Anthony had had little to do with one another. For some reason that Anthony could not fathom, Leo treated him rather distantly. And for that reason, among others, he exercised something of a fascination for Anthony. He found him an attractive man, admired his reputation as a barrister, his wit and his elegance. He liked the musical Welsh accent that he seemed to hear constantly around him throughout the day, in the clerks’ room, echoing down the stairwell, in the other members of chambers’ rooms. Leo constantly visited other people, full of anecdotes, restlessly seeking company in which to while away a few moments with his banter. Sometimes he exasperated Michael with his mercurial visitations, but the exasperation was usually displaced by amusement as he listened to Leo’s latest piece of whimsy. He clearly annoyed Jeremy, not by his intrusions, for he avoided Jeremy mostly, but by his ability to coast cleverly through his work and still find time to idle away with the typists and the clerks. Jeremy thought it rather beneath one’s dignity to chat to the more menial members of staff.

  All this Anthony watched as though from the sidelines, for Leo rarely spoke to him and often passed him, apparently absent-mindedly, without seeming to see him.

  Still, thought Anthony, it was worth every effort to try and make some impression on him. So he went to Leo and asked if there was any work he could do for him.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Leo, after a moment’s pause. He seemed taken aback by Anthony’s visit. ‘Sit down, at any rate.’ His voice was neither friendly nor unfriendly. Anthony closed the door and sat uncomfortably while Leo examined the stack of briefs on his shelves. His room struck Anthony as being quite unlike those of the other members of chambers. It seemed to be in immaculate order. There was no trace of disorganisation; no books or papers littered tables and shelves. Everything was put neatly away behind the doors of some rather incongruously new cupboards which Leo had had installed. There were pictures on the walls, but not the conventional ones of ships or charcoal sketches of City and Temple scenes. These were steel-framed abstracts, their shapes and colours like a code, giving nothing away.

  ‘No,’ said Leo at last. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anything suitable.’ Anthony felt disappointed. Leo leant back in his chair, a complicated, elegant affair of grey fabric and steel tubing, slowly smoothing his hands over his hair, looking at Anthony meditatively with his cool blue eyes.

  ‘Right,’ said Anthony. ‘Thanks, anyway.’ He got up to go.

  ‘Why are you asking me for work?’ asked Leo, still leaning back. ‘Hasn’t Michael got enough for you to do?’

  No one had asked Anthony this question directly before. He had taken it as dimly understood that there was some sort of competition between himself and Edward, awkward though this unspoken acknowledgement had made him feel. He found it difficult to answer.

  ‘I suppose I’m trying to get a broad experience of different kinds of work,’ he said at last.

  Leo smiled for the first time. ‘Well, I gave young Mr Choke some work to do, and he did it fairly creditably, so far as I could see,’ he remarked. Anthony hadn’t known this. Or, at least, he did not associate what Leo said with the work with which he had helped Edward. ‘So I can’t see any reason why I shouldn’t give you some – if the right thing comes along, that is.’

  ‘Well, thank you.’ Anthony wasn’t quite sure what to make of this. He smiled and left. When he had gone, Leo sat looking after him, tapping his lower lip with his thumb. That really was a most attractive young man, he thought.

  The news that Leo thought Edward’s work quite good depressed Anthony. If that was the case, he thought, why should Leo bother rocking any boats by favouring someone
who wasn’t Sir Basil’s nearest and dearest? It might have cheered him up a little to know that Edward was currently failing, in quite a considerable way, to make a favourable impression upon Roderick Hayter, and that Michael was discussing that very fact with Roderick and Stephen in Roderick’s room.

  ‘Yes, well, I never thought he was quite up to standard, despite what Leo said,’ murmured Michael.

  ‘Up to standard? He’s so far below that he’s practically invisible!’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t go quite so far as that,’ interjected Stephen Bishop. ‘You set your standards far too high. He is only a pupil, after all. I’ve had him along on a couple of cases and he seems quite wide-awake.’

  Roderick sighed. ‘All right. I suppose he’s not completely incompetent. But he won’t do.’

  ‘Why ever not?’ asked Stephen, who was still of the view that everyone might as well fall into line with Sir Basil, if only for the sake of harmony. ‘Even if he’s not that good, we can always carry him. Other chambers do. This set of chambers might as well not exist if we’re going to have to start disagreeing on a question like this. We should all be like-minded.’

  ‘Well, I can’t agree with you,’ replied Roderick. ‘As a silk, I rely on the work that comes to me from below. You know that. It may be fine for you at the moment, while you’re still being briefed from the outset of cases. You can still put the hours in at your desk. My entire life is spent in court these days, and it’s work from William and David that keeps me there. Ask Michael – he’ll be taking silk in a year or two.’

  Michael managed to look diffident and said nothing. He knew that everything Roderick said was true. He and Cameron Renshaw – and Sir Basil, come to that – relied, as silks, on work that emanated from the junior members of chambers. The implications of taking on someone like Edward were clear. If solicitors were reluctant to brief him, then little work would come their way from his direction.