by Gill Mather
Georgie and Jack kindly said that of course she didn’t have to go out, that she could eat with them, watch TV with them, etc, but Orielle knew she’d feel incredibly out of place. It just wasn’t on. So she’d arrange something with Cathy most evenings and they’d take themselves off to this club or that new restaurant. And they talked about joining a social or hobby group together but couldn’t agree on what. Orielle was keen on poetry and astronomy. Cathy wanted to join a new twenty fives to forties singles social club that had started up.
In unguarded moments, Orielle let on that Tristram wasn’t really a normal person. Cathy was intrigued.
“Well. He’s special.”
“What can you possibly mean by that?”
“He can do things other people can't. He knows things.”
“What sort of things.”
“Well. Everything really.” And she told Cathy about the quiz night and the online banking membership number and password. She didn’t, couldn’t bring herself to mention the ability apparently to direct peoples’ actions, the lack of any ID documents, the impression that he’d come from somewhere not of this planet. She could only trust Georgie about such things. No-one else would understand.
IT WAS HER SECOND week acting as Anton’s locum and although she hated the work, there was so much of it she hardly got time to think. She had emailed another Solicitors firm about the DS3 document they had provided on a new house sale to discharge the property from the developer’s bank mortgage over the property. It was signed under a Power of Attorney but the Power of Attorney hadn’t been supplied. Also the bank didn't sign the plan attached. The firm had emailed back and said they’d provided the DS3, so they’d complied with their undertaking. Go away.
More than peeved, Orielle wrote back and said not so. To undertake to discharge a mortgage meant something more than just supplying a document called, in this case, a DS3. It had to mean that a properly executed correct DS3 ought to be supplied, or else it made nonsense of the requirement for an undertaking.
“Otherwise” Orielle wrote, “you could just knock up a DS3, run out onto the street and get a passing homeless person to sign it. Indeed, my own cat on occasions if approached in the right way is prepared to put a paw print on a piece of paper. Neither of these would render a DS3 acceptable and neither is the one you have supplied. Please supply a correct DS3 with the appropriate evidence of the Power of Attorney and a plan signed by the bank.”
Then she thought better of bringing the homeless into it and changed “homeless person” to “pedestrian”. And then she felt weepy at the very thought of a homeless person wandering the streets and also wondered if the email didn't sound a little unprofessional to boot. But then she thought why should she care. Pinky had said the firm on the other side had been difficult all the way through the case so damn them. They could think what they liked and she pressed send.
Ten minutes later, she gasped at the reply. The Solicitor on the other side was asking her out for a lunchtime drink to, he said, discuss the ins and outs, rights and wrongs, of mortgage undertakings and the tendency of cats to be difficult when it came to executing legal documents. He named a pub and a time. She looked at the reference NF and then down at the list of partners etc. NF appeared to be Nicholas Farrow described as an associate on the firm’s headed notepaper and indeed the email was in the first person and was finished off: “Regards, Nick Farrow”. She looked him up on the Law Society record of individual Solicitors and he was said to have qualified about 2 years ago and it listed him at the firm on the other side. The firm’s website when she looked at it featured a rather good photo of him looking studious but a little cheeky too sitting at his desk. He had brown hair, blue eyes and a very nice smile.
She knew what Georgie would say. Go for it! Perhaps she should ask Cathy what she thought. There seemed less and less likelihood that Triss would return. She’d abandoned the idea of going up to Newcastle-upon-Tyne to try to chase him down. What would be the point if he didn't want her. And of course her last sighting of him had been in Colchester. Anyway, a friendly lunchtime drink was a far cry from a…..from a……a what? A fling? What was she thinking of! Of course she wouldn't have a fling with this man. But a lunchtime drink surely wouldn't hurt to brighten up the day and assuage her curiosity since she was now frankly intrigued about this young man. Part of her felt it was completely inappropriate to ask someone out whom one didn't know at all. On the other hand what was wrong with boldly seizing an opportunity without hesitation. Or just trying to make a new friend. Yes it would be a potential new friend. That’s how she would think of it.
The pub was packed when she went in. She recognised Nicholas straight away standing at the bar in a dark business suit (of course) and an open necked shirt (a little less conventional for the legal world of Colchester just yet but one of the cousins who worked in the City had said no-one used ties any more there). He turned and seemed to know who she was too and smiled the same smile as on the website. She went over and politely thanked him for the invite and said she’d like an orange juice when he asked. He ordered a small lager for himself and they went and sat near a window. She noticed him looking at her quite a lot.
“So,” he said, “does your cat always help out in legal emergencies then?”
“Well not just now. He’s back in Newcastle-upon-Tyne with my family.”
“Oh. A Geordie. I’d never have guessed.
“Anyway, I’m sorry about the DS3. I didn't see it. The Scissor Sisters do the routine stuff. I just happened to see your second email. The Scissor Sisters by the way are my two assistants. I call them that because they look like a couple of drag artistes. They’re rather fierce but they keep everything running and try to protect me from anything they think I’d find too tedious.”
“They should meet up with Sandra at PWT. They sound like carbon copies of her. Mine at the moment are called Pinky and Perky. I’m having quite a job keeping them in order.” She told him about her temporary situation and that before too long she’d be back working at The Chambers.”
“Well that’ll be the conveyancing world’s loss then,” he said and smiled his charming smile.
He looked quite posh but as soon as he’d spoken, it was clear he wasn't. He had a pronounced London, even Cockney, accent and he didn't seem in the least uncomfortable with it. When he smiled which he did most of the time, he had distinct dimples and those and the accent went charmingly and attractively together. Like a professional grown up version of the Artful Dodger. Orielle was aware of all this but found she was unaffected and totally unmoved by it. So friend it was. Anyway, Nicholas would surely not be short of admirers. So she chatted to him quite happily as he was so easy to get on with but determined not to lead him on. She hoped the message was getting through without her seeming to be a little cold. It was always such a fine line to follow.
As they came out of the pub, he was telling her a story about his best friend from uni with whom he now shared a flat in Colchester, who was a stockbroker, and the friend’s capacity to get beaten up outside pubs and clubs in the early hours when totally plastered after wading in to a situation if he got the idea someone was being downtrodden. The way he told it, it came out as a joke, stitches and chipped teeth and all. They said goodbye soon after. Nothing was said about meeting up again but he promised to sort out the DS3. It was nearly two so Orielle hurried off back to the office.
Hugh, walking unnoticed along on the other side of the road on his way back to The Chambers, watched Orielle with Nicholas, her laughing at what he was saying, and couldn't help thinking about Ali and the young surveyor James all those years ago after he had told Ali he wouldn't see her again. He had been convinced at the time that Ali was seeing James seriously. It had upset him a lot then. Now, God help him, this so similar scene, knowing as he did Orielle’s circumstances, made him breathless with regret and nostalgia. He coughed and swallowed. His stomach churned and he felt physically sick. He actually wanted to burst into tears. He deci
ded to take the afternoon off and spend it with Amanda to reinforce the good fortune of their present situation. He would tell her how he felt, how the small street scene had affected him. She would understand and make it better.
HUGH WASN'T THE ONLY one to witness the tableau. Tristram, in an old track suit with the hood pulled well over his forehead and round his face, watched from a distance with some strong sensation seizing him that was quite alien to him. He felt horrified and he wondered why. He knew jealousy existed, he knew about it in theory, but he had no idea how it would actually feel to experience it oneself. Something else was brewing up inside him as well as he looked at the other well-dressed good-looking young man. His mouth formed a thin line and his eyes automatically narrowed. He recognised it suddenly as anger and his eyes opened wide in surprise. Myriad thoughts and ideas flooded his brain unbidden, chasing around his head, mainly centred on what he might do to the smart young man in his well cut suit to make him keep away from Orielle. He looked down at his scuffed and dirty trainers and closed his eyes briefly to compose himself. This so-called life, he reminded himself, was largely illusory. Matter barely existed and was a fragile thing, atoms made largely of nothing held together and made to appear solid by forces yet to be fully appreciated by these people. He really must not fall into the manners and distractions of these human people who allowed so much that was negative, irrelevant and unnecessary to hamper and fetter their passage through this life. It just wouldn't do.
THE SESSION WAS turning out to be surreal. Lawyers loved using double negatives and Alison had said that she wasn’t at all convinced that the couple wouldn't at some point get back together again. She had told Orielle that they argued a good deal but Alison didn’t feel that it was serious or in any way a precursor to violence or an indicator of a violent, one-sided relationship.
Orielle had been keen to sit in on the mediation as there were apparently not that many mediations, the uptake being far slower than Solicitor mediators had hoped. The partner Baz had said something about it during one of the firm's partner and senior staff meetings to which Orielle was surprised to have been invited.
"There's me working my fingers to the bone trying to get the cash in. Going to business breakfasts and all sorts to try and get more punters through the door. And there's you," he said to Alison, "pissing about waiting for cases to be referred to you. It's cost this firm I don’t know how much to pay for your mediation training so far. I've been going through the cashbook for the last five or six years and I keep seeing these payments to Resolution. It must be twelve, fifteen thousand pounds so far. And F all to show for it. What's going on?"
"Well actually Baz," replied Alison, "I've never seen any scientific analyses yet of what benefits the firm gets out of your weekly breakfasts. The most obvious outcome is…" she looked meaningfully with a smile at his distended stomach thrusting over the top of the table threatening to topple the nearest tea and coffee cups, "well, I don't like to say. But anyway, the point is Baz that in the present climate, matrimonial Solicitors are obliged to belong to Resolution and promote mediation and ADR. The training itself didn't cost the sums you suggest. It's mainly the annual subscriptions. And the seminars and CPD events are extremely economical. Why…."
"All right, all right. Point taken, but we'll have to have a look at this in more detail at some point. I'll get together with you later." Baz knew when he was beaten. Alison had inclined her head, knowing that Baz would forget to do anything about it. And the meeting had moved on to other topics.
So Orielle, who rather admired Alison for her professionalism combined at the same time with a very feminine approach to her work and her toughness, her ability not to be walked over which so easily happened to a woman even today if they didn’t present a fairly hard exterior, valued and respected Alison's opinion.
The couple, Greg and Sass, had been separated for a couple of years, there were no divorce proceedings yet and they had two girls aged seven and eleven. Greg had gone off to live with a girlfriend who had been his personal assistant. Sass had had a succession of "friends" but nothing serious.
Sass didn’t have a job and Greg was providing for Sass and the girls entirely, a matter of some friction apparently with the PA/girlfriend who still carried out her full duties as a PA notwithstanding the relationship with the boss. The girls saw Greg regularly and frequently. The notes said that this too was a matter of friction between Greg and his girlfriend as was the lack of any divorce proceedings on the horizon.
Greg had built up a business doing some sort of electrical engineering which, judging by the amount of bling decorating Sass's fingers, wrists and neck, the expensive-looking watch and the designer gear, was doing very well thank you.
The couple had argued continually since the beginning of the session. Alison said that they often did this but that on the occasions she had tried to suggest that they were just wasting their money and should suspend the sessions until they both felt able to be more constructive, they had both strongly objected. They apparently both felt that the sessions were of benefit and that they were gradually reaching some valuable accommodations, though Alison said she struggled to work out what these might be. However Greg was apparently happy to pay the two hundred pounds plus VAT an hour demanded and the couple had been coming to weekly sessions with Alison for the last three months. Also, they both said, the kids liked to know that their parents were meeting and talking. This above all had swayed Alison to continue with the sessions when her professional conscience pricked her and told her that otherwise the sessions were of no benefit whatever.
The arguing continued.
"I `erd your floozie went to one of them pampering weekends with a load of her mates paid for by you at…where was it? Some place in Dedham. I can't remember where. Chance'd be a fine thing for me to get paid for in a place like that!" said Sass shrilly.
"No she di'nt. She won it in a magazine. Or did she pay for it with Tesco vouchers? Anyway, she's way more economical than you ever were."
"Yeah, well, she don't have your kids to bring up do she! You wouldn't believe what they want these days. Clothes, `phones, outings, gadgets, parties, party clothes. Everything."
"You never were any good at disciplining them. Keeping their lives simple. Look at you." He cast an appreciative eye over Sass's ultra-scupted form, her nigh-on perfect make-up and hair, her outfit clinging to her body like a second skin. He smiled.
If Sass noticed, she didn't show it.
"It was you wanted them to go to that posh school,” she said. “The girls there have everything they want. There's Russian girls there've got their own multi-thousand pound bank accounts. They can go out and buy what they want. And they're only ten years old. How do you think I'm supposed to budget when our two are subject to pressures like that. If you hadn't just swanned off with your floozie, you'd know all this!"
"Look! I know what was going on. You and your tennis coach. You and your personal trainer. You and your life coach! Do you think I was born yesterday?"
"Yeah and you was never at home! What was I to think. That Janice flashing her eyelashes and the rest at you all the time."
"There weren't nothing in it." Greg said looking down.
"Yeah! Thanks love! I weren't born yesterday! You was obviously having it off."
"Well if I was, which I wasn’t, I got precious little love at home did I?"
"Because you was never there! You were always away at business meetings or board meetings or working late preparing for bloody meetings!"
Greg didn’t say anything. Orielle wondered at what point mediators were supposed to intervene and suggest a more productive line that the meeting might take but Alison remained silent.
Greg sniffed and swallowed. "You were never very supportive you know. Always ready to enjoy the spoils but never wanting to discuss the difficult bits with me. I needed someone to do that."
"Well thanks a lot. You do remember don’t you that I was pregnant almost as soon as we first met. H
aving babies isn't just a five minute thing. They last a long time. They need constant care. And then another one comes along. And all the time…" Sass looked away. "All the time," she said quietly, "you were having it off with your bloody floozie."
"No. No that's not true. It wasn’t until just before I left. You never wanted to help me in the business, so….so…."
"Don’t you ever say that!" Sass was furious. Orielle thought the woman was about to climb over the table and attack her husband. But she continued:
"All those ruddy cocktail parties and restaurant outings I came to. Squeezing into impossible dresses to try and impress your clients when I'd given birth only a few weeks before, when I was trying to breast feed, when I was actually pregnant but trying to hide it.
" 'No,' she mimicked. 'They won't want to see me with a wife who's knocked up and who’s going to have a brat arriving at any time to distract me from performing the contract.' "
"That's not true," he said. "Fact is you were so lovely, I just wanted to show you off."
"Oh yeah," Sass said but Orielle could see she was starting to be brought round by the flattery.
"And….and…." Greg's voice suddenly started to break, "I wasn’t there when John died." He sniffed and got a hankie out.
Orielle was confused. So far as she was aware, there were only two children, two girls. She looked down surreptitiously and thumbed back through her copy of Sass’s mediation information form. No mention of a John anywhere.
But Sass was saying: "Oh God! You always bring that up. You hated John. You used to roar at him and make him run away. He was frightened of you!"