And Is There Honey Still For Tea?

by Peter Murphy

‘What can I get you to drink?’ Ben echoed.

  ‘Whisky and soda, with a lot of soda,’ Ginny replied.

  ‘I’ll just go straight for the red wine,’ Michael said.

  ‘The St Lazare? An excellent choice, sir,’ Ben smiled. ‘Jess?’

  ‘I’m all right for now,’ Jess replied. ‘If you will excuse me, I have to get back to the kitchen for a few minutes.’

  ‘Why don’t I come with you?’ Ginny said. ‘It will give me the chance to tout for some work from Bourne & Davis, and we will leave Ben to tout for some from Michael.’

  Jess laughed. ‘Follow me,’ she said. ‘We will tout in total privacy.’

  Jess busied herself around the stove, on which pans of potatoes and green beans were simmering. She briefly opened the door of the oven and peered in anxiously.

  ‘Mmm, it all smells delicious,’ Ginny said.

  ‘Beef Wellington,’ Jess replied, ‘my signature dish, which I am making for someone outside my immediate family for the first time. There is a decent fish and chip shop on Canonbury Road if things go horribly wrong.’

  ‘I’m sure it will be great,’ Ginny smiled.

  Ben followed them in, bringing her whisky and soda. She thanked him. He realised suddenly how different she looked in her beige cashmere sweater and light grey slacks. He had seen her previously only in her robes or the barrister’s formal black suit. She had also allowed her hair to hang loose, shoulder length, instead of being tied up in a severe bun to fit under her wig.

  When Ben had withdrawn, Ginny pulled up one of the two high stools by the kitchen bench and sat down.

  ‘This situation is a real drag, isn’t it?’ Ginny asked.

  Jess closed the oven door again. She put the finishing touches to the small plates of asparagus she had on her working surface, adding Hollandaise sauce and a slice of lemon to each. She paused, turned away from Ginny.

  ‘It really is,’ she replied.

  ‘Michael is so angry about it that it sometimes frightens me,’ Ginny said. ‘Fortunately, he knows how to control it. If he didn’t there would be all kinds of mayhem. He is not a great fan of the Bar at the best of times.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He thinks of it as a kind of snobby élite, and it offends him to be thought of as an outsider just because he is a solicitor. He resents the fact that the Bar has a monopoly of all the big work in court. To be honest, some of that is just being self-conscious about his accent, about being from the North – as if anyone cares, these days. And he is a brilliant solicitor; he has no reason to lack confidence at all.’

  ‘He should talk to Ben about that,’ Jess said. ‘They could compare notes, the North versus the East End.’

  Ginny laughed. ‘They will probably get around to that,’ she replied. ‘Actually, Michael had mellowed a lot until all this came up. They made him a partner at Brown & Leigh about six months ago, and that has done wonders for his confidence.’

  She sipped her drink.

  ‘But since we have been dealing with this, he has been furious all the time. The thought that the Inn is trying to dictate how we live our lives is driving him mad.’

  ‘How are you coping?’ Jess asked.

  Ginny laughed. ‘It’s strange. On the one hand I feel very angry about it, you know, the thought that, here we are, adults living in the twentieth century, and yet this medieval nonsense could actually turn our lives upside down. But then, there are times when I actually find it funny, in a macabre kind of way. And there are other times when I feel almost detached from it, as if it’s happening to someone else. I think it’s because I don’t want to dignify it by giving it the time of day. Then I feel guilty because I’m not angry enough, that I’m not as angry as Michael. I sometimes think I’m in denial. Somehow, I don’t quite believe that something so ridiculous can be happening.’

  She shook her head and sipped her drink again.

  ‘How is Ben doing?’

  Jess leaned back against the work surface and folded her arms.

  ‘I haven’t seen him get really angry at all. It amazes me. He is so self-controlled. It drives me mad sometimes, because I don’t know what he’s thinking, or what he’s feeling. He talks about it as if it is one of his cases, and it infuriates me, because they are playing with our lives. Sometimes, I find myself thinking: “Doesn’t he care about me? My life is involved here, too. Why doesn’t he care about what they are doing to me?” So, then I react …’

  She looked down.

  ‘And I take it out on him when I shouldn’t, and I end up being unfair to him,’ she added.

  ‘Unfair, how?’ Ginny asked.

  ‘He has so much more to lose than I do,’ Jess replied. ‘He has his career as a barrister, which has started really well. I just have my position with Bourne & Davis while I decide what I want to do with my life – it shouldn’t compare to what he has, and I think, perhaps I should just give up my job, and make the whole problem go away. But then I think …’

  ‘You think, why should you? Why should you let them do that to you?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Ginny put her glass down on the table.

  ‘Jess, I don’t know Ben all that well. I know him through work – mostly from the Digby case we have going on now – but you don’t always get to know people very well through dealing with them in court. I know what you mean when you say he is self-controlled. But I am sure he cares for you very much. He has told me about you, and I know you mean a very great deal to him. You are very important in his life.’

  Jess nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  She glanced at the oven timer.

  ‘Well, I think we can make a start.’

  Ginny leapt down from the stool.

  ‘What can I do?’

  Jess threw open the door leading to the dining room.

  ‘If you will take two of those plates of asparagus in, I will bring the others and open some white wine.’

  ‘No problem,’ Ginny replied. ‘What do you want to bet we will be interrupting a conversation about football?’

  ‘That would not surprise me at all,’ Jess smiled.

  32

  ‘That was fantastic,’ Michael said contentedly, placing his knife and fork carefully on his plate.

  ‘It was a true signature dish,’ Ginny agreed.

  ‘See, I told you it would be good,’ Ben smiled.

  ‘I’m glad you liked it,’ Jess said. ‘I feel I can relax a bit now.’

  ‘Let me clear these dishes away,’ Ben said. ‘Why don’t we pause for a few minutes before dessert? Michael, there is another bottle of red on the sideboard begging to be opened. Would you mind doing the honours?’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Michael replied.

  Ben quickly spirited the dishes from the successful Beef Wellington away to the kitchen, returned to the living room, and replaced Ella with Billie Holiday. They listened in silence for a minute or so. By some unspoken agreement, the conversation over dinner had been light, giving all four the opportunity to get to know each other. But there were more serious things to discuss.

  ‘What are we going to do about this nonsense?’ Michael asked eventually.

  ‘At this point, I think we should let Bernard and Miles work their magic with the committee,’ Ben said. ‘They have agreed to work together. We know how good they are. I’m betting the committee will listen to reason when it comes from two of the leading Silks in the country.’

  ‘But what if the committee doesn’t listen to reason?’ Michael insisted. ‘No disrespect, Ben, but the Middle Temple is a classic Old Boys’ Club.’

  Ben smiled. ‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘But that is one of the reasons why I back Bernard and Miles. They are members of the club. They know the rules. They know how to get things done in that kind of environment. They know how to talk to these people. The committee will
listen to Bernard and Miles where they would not necessarily listen to you and me.’

  ‘I agree with that,’ Ginny said. ‘But we must have a contingency plan of some kind, in case it goes wrong. We may not have very much time before they take disciplinary action against us if Bernard and Miles can’t persuade them.’

  Jess brought the palm of her hand down angrily on the table.

  ‘How has it reached this point?’ she asked. ‘That’s what I can’t understand. How can these old men think that they can control our lives like this?’

  ‘One or more of the old men have read a rule that makes perfect sense in principle,’ Ginny replied, ‘and have given it a meaning which no reasonable person could think it was ever intended to have. As to the contingency plan, Michael and I concluded that our relationship must come first, and everything else we do must follow from that. We will take whatever steps we have to take to safeguard our relationship.’

  ‘Such as …?’ Ben asked.

  ‘First, I would agree publicly not to accept any further work from Brown & Leigh,’ she replied. ‘In any sane world, that would be enough. But I am picking up from Miles that even that may not be enough. For us, that would mean a change of job for one of us. The obvious last resort would be for me to leave the Bar and re-qualify as a solicitor, and then either go into practice or go in-house with a company or the Government.’

  ‘That would mean you would have to resign from the Bar before they take proceedings to disbar you,’ Ben pointed out.

  Ginny nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you love the Bar. I can’t see you toiling away in an office.’

  ‘No,’ she replied quietly. ‘It wouldn’t be easy.’

  ‘Obviously, I wouldn’t put Ben through that,’ Jess said, after a short period of silence. ‘I could just leave Bourne & Davis and hopefully, that would be the end of it.’

  Ben saw that there were tears in her eyes. He stood up, walked around the table, stood behind her chair and put his arms around her. He kissed her cheek.

  ‘You’re missing out an important first step, Jess,’ he said gently. ‘You are the most important thing to me. I will put you first, whatever happens, and we will work out what to do if and when the time comes.’

  She took his hand between both of hers, raised it to her lips and kissed it.

  ‘There is always Australia,’ she said. ‘We have talked about that.’

  ‘They still have a split profession in New South Wales,’ Ben added, ‘so they need both barristers and solicitors.’

  ‘Now you’re talking,’ Ginny smiled. ‘Ben, we could share chambers in Sydney, and Michael could send us both work. What do you think?’

  ‘I’m just not sure I could do the accent,’ Ben grinned. He kissed Jess again and resumed his seat.

  ‘I’m not ready to concede defeat,’ Michael said. ‘I don’t accept that we have to resign ourselves to changing jobs, even if things do go against us in the committee. Ginny has worked hard to get where she is at the Bar. It’s what she loves, and I don’t see why she should have to give it up.’

  Ginny smiled.

  ‘You are about to hear Michael’s pet theory,’ she said. ‘I can’t say I’m convinced yet, but it’s an interesting idea…’

  ‘I think if the committee does go against us, we should sue the Middle Temple,’ Michael announced grandly.

  Ben laughed aloud.

  ‘Well, there’s a thought,’ he replied. ‘Sue them where, and for what?’

  ‘Well, you barristers are the experts on procedure,’ he grinned. ‘But my idea is to sue in the Chancery Division for a declaration that the Middle Temple is acting unlawfully. Perhaps Sir James Digby QC could act for us. He is a Chancery man, I believe.’

  Ben was smiling. He stared at Michael for some time.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ Michael asked.

  ‘Well, a declaration might be our remedy. But you have to have a cause of action before a declaration can be granted. What is our cause of action?’

  ‘His first stab at that was conspiracy to defraud,’ Ginny said, laughing.

  ‘I submitted that to learned counsel for an opinion,’ Michael said, ‘but she was not impressed.’

  ‘Neither am I,’ Ben said.

  ‘So, then I gave the matter further thought. What do you think about the European Convention on Human Rights?’

  ‘The what?’ Ben asked.

  ‘I had to ask as well,’ Ginny admitted.

  ‘The Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Freedoms, to give it its full title,’ Michael replied, ‘signed by all the members of the Council of Europe, of which the United Kingdom is one, in 1950. It came into effect in 1953. It has some interesting provisions. Article 8 guarantees the right to respect for the citizen’s private and family life, his home and his correspondence.’

  Ben nodded. ‘Fair enough. But is that part of our law?’

  ‘Not directly,’ Ginny replied. ‘But Michael thinks we may be able to rely on it.’

  ‘My theory,’ Michael said, ‘is that the Government has a duty to respect the provisions of treaties it ratifies, even if there is no corresponding provision in our own law. I’m still checking to see whether the UK registered any reservations when it ratified the treaty.’

  ‘But it’s not the Government doing this to us,’ Ben objected. ‘It’s the Middle Temple we have a problem with.’

  ‘We could argue that the Middle Temple controls admission to a profession necessary to uphold the rule of law,’ Ginny said, ‘which is an important function of government.’

  ‘Which is where I get out of my depth,’ Michael admitted.

  ‘So do we,’ Ginny grinned.

  ‘The person to ask in my chambers,’ Ben said, ‘would be Harriet Fisk. She has a background in international law. Her father was a diplomat before he became Master of his college at Cambridge. I will mention it to her next week in confidence, obviously.’

  ‘Can’t do any harm,’ Michael agreed. ‘Brown & Leigh would act as solicitors, I am sure, which would save on costs.’

  ‘I am sure Barratt would help too,’ Jess added.

  ‘The more, the merrier,’ Michael said. ‘Let’s hope we don’t have to put the plan to the test. Let’s hope Bernard and Miles are successful.’ He raised his glass. ‘But in any case, a toast: to Jess, a wonderful cook; and to two couples who love each other and who are not going to be driven apart by a group of miserable old men.’

  33

  Sir James Digby

  My father died in June 1937. He died suddenly, and yet not suddenly. My mother found him in an armchair in his study, apparently asleep, early in the evening when he failed to appear for dinner. The official cause of death was hypertension, resulting in a sudden death, and I have no doubt that, medically, that is true. But in broader terms his death occurred gradually, over a period of time. It began with the King’s death in January 1936; it included Edward VIII’s abdication in December in what, to my father, were profoundly shocking circumstances; and, of course, the most devastating blow – the report of Roger’s death in November, followed by George Watson’s confirmation of it just three months before his death. In that sense, he died, not at all suddenly, of a broken heart. As for me, I was now Sir James Masefield Digby, and the duties I had promised Roger I would undertake as baronet and head of the family, for which I felt utterly unprepared, had become a reality.

  After my father’s death my mother began to sink into a deep melancholy, from which she never truly recovered. Bridget and I visited her at the Manor as often as we could, and decided that we should be married as soon as possible. We held a quiet ceremony at the village church, and a reception for all our local friends, on the lawns, on a beautiful Saturday in August. Bridget was very conscious of the absence of an heir to the Baronetcy, and that very night we began to make love without any
precautions. But no heir was conceived. It was only after two years that it occurred to us to consult a doctor, who discovered that she was incapable of bearing children because of a congenital deformity of the womb. Bridget was devastated. She felt that she had failed in her duty as my wife, and although I assured her that I had never felt that she had any such duty, and that her ability to conceive was not, could not possibly be, a question of fault, she was inconsolable. We talked often about adopting a child, and such talk cheered us up briefly, but her heart was not in it, and we never have. Instead, almost as if she were trying to atone for her guilt, Bridget began to spend long periods of time at the Manor, looking after my mother and helping to run the estate, and sometimes putting in a few hours of book-keeping at her father’s surgery.

  By the end of 1938, my practice was going well, I was making some decent money for the first time, and we had bought our small mews house in Chelsea, which we both genuinely love. It seemed like home when she was there, and seemed very empty when she was not. My professional commitments meant that I could not go to the Manor as often as I should have, and I was grateful to her for lifting a great part of that burden from my shoulders. But I hated the fact that she did it out of a sense of failure and responsibility, and it has always been an unspoken barrier between us.

  * * *

  Just after Christmas in 1938 I went to Hastings for a day or two to watch some play in the famous annual international chess tournament. I saw a number of people I knew, including Hugh Alexander who, to my surprise, said he was glad to see me because it had saved him a phone call. He asked me to travel to Buenos Aires in August as a member of the British chess team, to compete in the 8th Chess Olympiad. I was obviously very honoured. It was not the first time I had been asked. The Olympiad is a biennial event, but in 1935 I was preoccupied with starting my career at the Bar, and in 1937 I had been preoccupied with my personal and family trauma in the aftermath of losing Roger and my father in quick succession. But I had played in one or two tournaments in 1938 and, despite my lack of practice, I had done rather well. In the British Championship I had almost snatched the title from Hugh when we met in the penultimate round, but after securing an early advantage I made one careless move, let the advantage slip, and drifted into a textbook drawn endgame. I talked the offer over with Bridget. I was very reluctant to leave her for a month, especially as she was still spending so much of her time at the Manor, but she insisted that I should go. I needed cheering up, she said, and she promised to spend more time with me in London when I returned.