Errors of Judgment

by Caro Fraser

  As Leo left the clerks’ room, Anthony came hurrying downstairs, pulling on his overcoat.

  Leo took him aside. ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you. How is everything? With Gabrielle, I mean.’

  Anthony turned up his coat collar and nodded. ‘Good. Everything’s good. Lucky you knew where to find her. Listen, I’m meeting my dad, and I’m late as it is—’

  ‘Of course. We can catch up another time.’ Those few words of Anthony’s, the casual way they had been uttered, told him everything, and told it more clearly than if Anthony had sat down and talked to him for hours on end. His significance in Anthony’s life had dwindled in comparison to the importance of Gabrielle. And maybe that was as it should be. It was clear, too, that she had mentioned nothing to Anthony of what she knew, and never would, no doubt hedging her bets that Leo would say nothing either. Clever girl, thought Leo.

  As he put his foot on the stair, he heard Anthony’s voice behind him. ‘Leo …’

  He turned. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I forgot to tell you. We got judgment in the Astleigh’s casino case.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘We lost. Coulson decided that the twelve months the casino gave the Lion King to repay the two million pound debt amounted to illegal credit under the Gaming Act, so Astleigh’s claim on the cheque was unenforceable. Still, the upside was that Al-Sarraj’s counterclaim was dismissed. Coulson came out with a great line – “This is one of those cases which have everything to do with law, and nothing to do with justice.”’

  Leo smiled. ‘Sounds like every case I’ve ever been involved in. Still, bad luck.’

  Anthony shrugged. ‘You win some, you lose some.’

  ‘But you always get paid.’

  Anthony smiled. ‘Indeed. See you later.’

  As he made his way upstairs, Leo suddenly realised that he should have been in the City ten minutes ago, meeting Sarah.

  Chay and Anthony had arranged to meet in the bar of the Waldorf Hotel on the Strand. Chay had refused to say over the phone why he wanted to see Anthony, only that it was urgent. When Anthony arrived, Chay was sitting on the far side of the room, a solitary figure hunched in an armchair, still wearing his overcoat. The look of him reminded Anthony of the old Chay, the one who used to huddle crosslegged on the floor of unheated squats in his second-hand army greatcoat, pontificating about art and the excesses of the capitalist system. The only difference was that now the overcoat was cashmere, the granny glasses were expensive tortoiseshell-framed varifocals, and the lank hippy hair was trimmed to fashionable bristle. But Chay’s face, latterly serene and self-confident, now wore the morose, disaffected expression of old, and Anthony felt a twinge of alarm as he sat down.

  ‘You OK?’ he asked.

  ‘Not really.’

  A bartender came over with an enquiring smile. Chay ordered a gin Martini with a twist, and Anthony a vodka and tonic.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Anthony.

  Chay seemed to sink further into his seat. He stared at the table for a long time. Then he looked up and said, ‘You’ll have heard in the news about Bernie Madoff?’

  Anthony swallowed. Remembering the conversation last time he’d seen his father, he suspected what was coming. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, he was the financier I met in Palm Beach, the one making investments for me. I’m one of his … his …’ Chay decided to discard the word client. ‘I’m one of his victims.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘How much?’

  Chay cocked his head, as though trying to evaluate, his glance straying round the empty bar.

  ‘Everything. About eight and a half million.’

  ‘Dollars?’

  ‘Pounds.’

  ‘Eight and a half million pounds. Right.’

  Neither of them said anything. The waiter brought the drinks on a little silver tray. He laid paper coasters neatly on the table, and set down the chilled cocktails. They looked delicious. A little twist of lemon bobbed in the gin Martini, icy droplets trembled on the side of the vodka glass. Chay and Anthony stared at the drinks in silence. The waiter set down a bowl of nuts and crisps, and went away.

  ‘The thing is,’ said Chay, ‘I invested Barry’s money in that fucking Ponzi scheme.’ He took off his glasses and ran a weary hand over his face. ‘You were clever enough to see the returns were too good to be true. Your money is still safe and sound in the bank.’ He replaced his glasses.

  Anthony picked up his drink and drained half of it. ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘I didn’t what?’

  ‘You didn’t invest Barry’s money. You invested mine.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean …’ Anthony paused, leaning forward to pick up a few peanuts. ‘That you can regard the money in the bank as Barry’s, and the hundred grand you lost as mine. Barry has nothing. He needs that money. He’s working as a not-very-good stand-up comedian, and I don’t think we’re ever likely to see him in Forbes rich list.’ Anthony popped the peanuts in his mouth and chewed reflectively. ‘Mind you, you never know.’

  ‘But you were the one who was sensible, who decided not to let me invest. You were right. Why should you lose out?’

  ‘Because, Dad, if we’d had that conversation in the pub just one month later, I’d have happily told you to invest my money, every last penny. I would have let you gamble it on any old odds you cared to choose. Barry’s need is greater than mine.’ Anthony sat back. ‘I’ll always be OK. Do you know, I earned a hundred and twenty grand on a single case last year?’

  ‘Really?’ Interest flickered across Chay’s features. He picked lemon peel from his Martini, ate it, then drained the glass in two gulps. ‘I didn’t know you were earning that much.’

  ‘I am, and I intend to go on doing so. That money in the bank is Barry’s. OK?’

  ‘OK.’ Chay shook his head.

  Anthony drank the remains of his vodka and tonic. ‘What will you do?’

  Chay sighed. ‘Oh, it’s not the end of the world. I have the houses. I still sell paintings. I’ll recover. I just feel such a fool. Such a dupe.’ He leant forward suddenly, as though in pain. ‘All that money.’

  Anthony, who hadn’t really felt sorry for his father till this moment, suddenly did. What Chay was regretting was not so much the loss of his wealth, as the loss of his shabby, discarded, idealistic old self. He had become the kind of individual whom he himself would have despised fifteen years ago.

  ‘You’re not alone. I’ve been doing some pretty stupid things myself lately. Mind you, eight and a half million is going it.’ Anthony signalled to the waiter for the bill. ‘I’ll get these.’

  Chay nodded. ‘You seem to be earning enough. Thanks.’

  When he’d paid for the drinks, Anthony stood up. ‘Come on, let’s go and have something to eat somewhere. I think you and I have a lot to talk about.’ He slipped on his coat. ‘My treat.’

  As Anthony and Chay were leaving one cocktail bar, Leo was arriving at another. He was half an hour late, and was relieved to see Sarah at the far end of the room, sitting on a low sofa, texting on her phone. She looked up and smiled as Leo approached, tucking her phone in her bag.

  ‘I was just about to give up on you.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Leo. He slung his coat on a chair and sat down next to her. ‘I got delayed in chambers. And the traffic gets worse every day. I took a taxi as far as Monument, and we sat there so long that I got out and speed-walked. I’m rather out of condition.’ He glanced at the two drinks on the table, one of them a whisky. ‘This for me?’

  ‘You usually drink Glenfiddich, don’t you?’

  ‘Indeed I do.’ He took a sip. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers.’ Sarah surveyed him critically, thinking he looked a little jaded. ‘How are you?’

  ‘So-so. I got a letter from the Judicial Appointments Committee today. Apparently I’m not quite ready for the High Court Bench. Or it isn’t ready for me. One of the two.’

  �
�Oh dear. I suppose you’ll just have to go on eking out a miserable living as a top QC.’

  Leo smiled. ‘Thank you. You’re very good at putting things in perspective.’

  ‘Seriously – I’m sorry you didn’t get it. Any idea why?’

  ‘Who knows? Greg Hind may not have given me his full approval. I can’t think of anyone else with a reason to veto me. Your father’s on the committee, of course. I hope you haven’t been bad-mouthing me.’

  Sarah suddenly felt cold inside. Could Leo’s chances have been affected by something her father had said to the committee? When she had sought to blame Leo, in her father’s eyes, for the break-up with Toby, it hadn’t occurred to her that it might have professional repercussions for Leo. In fact, she had forgotten entirely about his application to become a judge.

  ‘Would I do that?’ she replied, in a light response to his joke.

  ‘I suppose I shouldn’t care as much as I do,’ Leo went on. ‘It’s just—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s just that this is the first time since I came to the Bar, that I’ve felt a sense of rejection.’

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t feel that way. You know these things are all about internal politics. There’s always next year.’

  ‘Exactly what Henry said. But it rankles.’ He shrugged. ‘Listen to me. I’ll always be the grammar school boy from the valleys, fighting for acceptance.’ He glanced at Sarah. ‘That’s not something I could admit to many people.’

  There was silence between them for a moment. Then Sarah asked, ‘So, why did you want to see me this evening?’

  ‘If I said, just to see you, would you believe me?’

  ‘No. I might like to, but I wouldn’t. I know you, Leo. There’s always some agenda.’

  ‘Well, it’s the truth.’ He swallowed the remains of his drink and placed the glass carefully on the table, hesitating for a moment. ‘I’ve missed you. I’ve been missing you ever since you left.’

  Sarah felt a space open up beneath her heart. She took a sip of her wine, unable to look at him. ‘That’s sweet. But we didn’t exactly see that much of each other while I was living with you.’

  ‘I know. And I’ve spent a lot of time wondering why that was.’

  ‘You know why it was.’

  ‘I assumed it was because you were regretting Toby, and that you hated me for the part I played in that.’

  She looked at him in astonishment. ‘Toby? It had nothing to do with him. The reason I kept my distance was because I didn’t like the idea of you stringing me along on the side while you conducted your surreptitious little affair.’

  It was Leo’s turn to look astonished. ‘What affair?’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Leo. Twenty-ish? Dirty blonde hair? About five foot two? Dress sense of a teenager? I know you have strange predilections, but knocking off some Olsen-twin lookalike who’s young enough to be your daughter—’

  Her words suddenly registered. Leo cut in, ‘That’s exactly who she is.’

  ‘Who is who?’

  ‘The girl. The one you’ve just described. She’s my daughter. I thought about telling you, but you were being so hands-off, so hard to reach, that I never had the chance.’

  ‘Your daughter?’

  Leo signalled to a passing waitress. ‘I think this calls for another drink.’ He told her the whole story, and Sarah listened without interrupting.

  When he had finished, she sighed, and said, ‘I spent all those weeks thinking you were seeing someone, and not telling me.’

  ‘I spent those weeks thinking you wished you’d never broken off your engagement. I thought you blamed me.’

  ‘Blamed you? You threw me a lifeline.’

  There was a long silence. Then Leo said, ‘So, would you consider coming back for a while, and seeing how we get on without crossed wires?’

  ‘What? You mean – live with you?’

  ‘That’s the general idea. We’ve done it before, and it was quite amusing, as I recall.’

  Sarah gazed at him. She and Leo had been playing games with one another for years. For her, the games had been a defence mechanism, a way of protecting herself against the truth that she loved him, would always love him. If she was honest with herself, she longed to be wanted and needed by Leo. Other men had always come second best. The trouble was, Leo had never wanted or needed anyone. Except, perhaps, Anthony. So why should she believe that this was any different? Telling her he’d missed her, and asking her to live with him – that had to be the closest he’d ever come to saying he loved her. And she badly wanted to believe he loved her. Maybe this time around they could stop playing games, and just exist for one another. Perhaps that was what he wanted, too. He would be hitting fifty in a couple of months, and playing the field was probably losing its appeal. But if she was wrong, if he finished up hurting her and betraying her, then she didn’t think she could bear it. By saying yes, she would be gambling with her happiness.

  After a long moment, she nodded. ‘OK, why not? We didn’t exactly give it a fair shake last time, did we?’

  ‘Far from it. And when I said I missed you, I meant in every possible way.’ Leo leant forward and kissed her for several seconds. Then he glanced around. ‘I don’t think we can stay here and do this for very long. I suggest we take a cab to Chelsea. What do you think?’

  Sarah smiled. ‘It’s the best offer I’ve had all day.’ She drank the remains of her wine. ‘Well, almost.’

  Later that evening they lay in bed together, talking, caressing one another in an idle, familiar way. Leo had been telling her about Gabrielle’s excursion to Antibes, and the reasons behind it.

  Suddenly Leo’s mobile buzzed on the bedside table. He hesitated, then picked it up. ‘I’d better take this. It may be my daughter involved in some new drama.’

  Sarah smiled, amused at how he loved using the words ‘my daughter’. She watched him pull on his boxers as he answered the phone. He listened for a moment, then signalled to her that he would be back in a second. Sarah nodded and lay back contentedly, making plans for tomorrow, and wondering what she should do about the lease on her flat.

  Leo stepped into his study and closed the door. He hadn’t realistically expected to hear from Sergei. The recollection of that lithe, slender body, and the promise in those beautiful eyes made his pulse quicken. The conversation was brief, but when it was over, Leo stood for several moments, the phone pressed against his chest, thinking.

  He went back to the bedroom. Sarah smiled and stretched lazily. ‘Who was that?’

  ‘No one important.’ He glanced at Sarah, then at his phone, which was showing Sergei’s number. He could either save it, or delete it. He hesitated for only a second before pressing the key.

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  About the Author

  CARO FRASER is the daughter of George MacDonald Fraser (author of the Flashman novels). She was educated in Glasgow and the Isle of Man and worked as an advertising copywriter before pursuing a career in law. She is currently a barrister at a City shipping insurance firm, is married to a solicitor, has four children and lives in London.

  www.caro-fraser.co.uk

  By Caro Fraser

  THE CAPER COURT SERIES

  The Pupil

  Judicial Whispers

  An Immoral Code

  A Hallowed Place

  A Perfect Obsession

  A Calculating Heart

  Breath of Corruption

  Errors of Judgment

  Copyright

  Allison & Busby Limited

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>   London W1T 6DW

  www.allisonandbusby.com

  First published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2013.

  This ebook edition published by Allison & Busby in 2013.

  Copyright © 2013 by CARO FRASER

  The moral right of the author is hereby asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978–0–7490–1482–7