A Hallowed Place

by Caro Fraser

  David paused and glanced down at her. She met his eye, and it was stony and expressionless. He suddenly looked much older than she had ever thought him before. Then he went on, ‘This may be a convenient point to return to the matter of what was said by the agents to the master at Bremerhaven. As I indicated earlier, further correspondence has come to light and we now have copies of these exchanges.’ David picked up the photocopies. ‘I do apologise for the delay.’ And he began to pass round the documents. Sarah sat with downcast eyes, feeling ignominious. It was not a familiar feeling and it was distinctly unpleasant. Well, she would just have to put a brave face on it when they got back to chambers. She suddenly remembered Leo’s words to her on the steps outside chambers, and wished she’d got up early this morning and had just gone to a sandwich bar for lunch.

  In the taxi on the way back, David was too busy talking over the arbitration with Paul Beddoes to pay Sarah much attention. To add to her humiliation, when she had been introduced to Beddoes, who was an attractive man with a preoccupied manner, she had tried to flirt mildly with him. But Beddoes clearly regarded David’s new pupil as someone of no significance whatsoever, no matter how pretty, and he had snubbed her.

  After dropping Beddoes off at his office, they carried on to the Temple. David took a small tape recorder from his pocket and began to dictate some notes. Sarah sat in silence. This had to be just a means of ignoring her. What could he have to dictate that couldn’t wait till they got back to chambers? The cab pulled up, and David handed her a pile of books and papers. She stood on the pavement while he paid the cab, then they walked together across the road and down Middle Temple Lane.

  Despite her anger and humiliation, Sarah knew that she should say something. ‘I’m very sorry about the photocopies,’ she said. In an effort to make her voice contrite, she merely sounded cold and ungracious. Sensing this, she added, ‘I had lunch with a friend and left them behind.’

  ‘I see,’ said David. They passed through the archway, and he stopped and turned to her. ‘Do you realise that those were original documents, and very important ones at that? If you’d lost them, it could have jeopardised our entire case. What the hell would I have been able to say to our clients, or to Beddoes?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t lose them, did I? And I’ve said I’m sorry.’ God, this was awful. She felt like a naughty schoolgirl. David sighed and scratched his head. He didn’t much like playing the stern pupilmaster. Besides, when he thought back to the various social occasions on which he’d met Sarah - even fancied her at one point - it made him feel awkward. Maybe he shouldn’t have leant on the pupillage committee to select her. Still, she was here now and they’d both have to make the best of it. ‘Right. Well, let’s get this lot back to chambers.’ They carried on walking. ‘The thing is, you have to understand that this is for real. If you’re going to be a barrister, you have to take it seriously. Everything. You can’t afford to be careless.’

  They went into chambers and through reception. Felicity greeted them cheerfully as David picked up his mail. Sarah ignored her. She didn’t much care for Felicity’s easygoing cockiness. In fact, she decided she didn’t much care for Felicity. Still smarting from her mortification, she followed David up to his room.

  ‘Just put them over there,’ he said. Sarah piled the books on the side of his desk. He pointed to a desk on the other side of the room. ‘That’s yours. I’m sorry it’s a bit cramped.’

  Sarah smiled and shrugged. ‘It’s fine. Thank you.’

  David shuffled through some of the papers on his window sill and drew out a slim brief, tied with pink ribbon. He handed it to Sarah, his expression neutral, businesslike. He was no fool, and the events of the day had made him see that Sarah hoped to base this relationship on all those wine bar and drinks party encounters of the past. He was determined not to let that happen.

  ‘Right,’ said David, ‘here’s something for you to be getting on with. Barge being towed through South African waters. Bowline snaps, barge is lost, stranded somewhere between the Congo and Cape Town. Our clients are the owners of the tug, the plaintiffs are the barge owners. The contract is a BIMCO Towcon - ever come across one of those? No? Well, now’s your chance to make its closely printed acquaintance. In this case it contains a clause conferring exclusive English jurisdiction over all disputes. The plaintiffs have issued a writ in rem against our clients in the South African courts, and I want you to tell me whether you think we can obtain an injunction preventing the defendants from pursuing the action in South Africa.’ He handed Sarah the brief. Sarah took it, her face expressionless. ‘I’d like something by the end of tomorrow afternoon, please. The clients are coming in for a con on Friday.’

  At five forty Sarah was still in Middle Temple library, with books piled around her. She was in despair. She’d read the towing contract from back to front several times, and still she didn’t have a clue. They hadn’t covered anything like this at all at Bar school. It was a nightmare. She put down her pen and laid the side of her head down on her notebook, and stared out of the window at the buildings opposite.

  Anthony was on his way out of the library when he saw her. He didn’t recognise her at first, his attention merely arrested by the shining spill of blonde hair as she rested her head on her book. Then he realised who it was. He hesitated. The brief affair which he and Sarah had had just under a year ago had ended acrimoniously. They still acknowledged one another when they met, but Anthony hadn’t exactly been happy at the news that she was to join chambers. He went over to the counter to sign out the book he was borrowing, then glanced back. She had lifted her head now and was writing. Hell, he thought, we’ve got to co-exist, so I might as well be friendly. He went back over to the table where she was working. ‘You shouldn’t work too hard. It’s past half five, you know.’

  Sarah looked up, startled, and met his gaze. Her expression was open, unprepared for the sight of him, and, for a dizzying instant, Anthony experienced again the sexual charge which he had felt on first meeting her months before. ‘Hi,’ she said uncertainly. Normally any acknowledgement of Anthony was cold and grudging, but she was too surprised, and too weary and fed up, to bother. She sighed and looked back at her book.

  Anthony was caught off guard. Where was the cool, assured Sarah that he knew of old, with her self-possessed and faintly mocking smile? ‘You don’t sound too happy,’ he said tentatively, half expecting a rebuff.

  But she merely shrugged and laid down her pen. ‘David’s given me this to do.’ She pushed the papers towards Anthony and he picked them up. ‘It’s the first day of my pupillage, and he’s given me something I can barely understand. Bastard.’ She leant her head on one hand.

  Anthony sat down opposite and began to go through the papers. As he read, he glanced up once, quickly scanning her features, thinking how oddly vulnerable she appeared. Never, in all the few short weeks they had been together, had she been anything but sharp, assured, on top of things. There was something disturbingly new and touching about her. ‘It’s not as complex as it looks. These different forms are just basic contracts. Look—’ he came round to her side of the table and sat down next to her, flipping over the pages of the contract ‘—here’s the relevant clause. Clause 25, the jurisdiction clause. Now—’ he glanced around at the books she had taken off the shelves ‘none of these is going to help you much. We need a copy of the White Book. Hold on.’

  Sarah watched as he went to fetch a copy. It had been true, what she had said to Lou that morning. He was just another boring barrister. But still better looking than most of them. And, Leo apart, the best in bed. The sudden recollection of their love-making aroused a faint, surprising flare of desire in her. He was still seeing Camilla - that much she knew. But might it not make life in chambers more amusing if she were to try and seduce him away from her? That kind of game could be played out slowly, deliriously, over quite a long time. Great fun. Sarah loved games, mind games, flirtations, bluffs, betrayals. It was what had first attracted her
to Leo. And vice versa. The odds, of course, would be stacked against her, since the word was that Anthony was quite smitten, but Sarah liked long odds. Well, it was certainly something to think about. If she handled it delicately, there could be no risk of outright rejection or humiliation.

  Anthony came back with a large white volume entitled The Rules and Orders of the Supreme Court of Justice, and sat down next to Sarah, leafing through it. ‘I think you’ll find you want order eleven. Anyway, it’s a good place to start.’ He was aware, as Sarah leant over to share the book with him, of the subtle smell of her, familiar, sensual. He tried to ignore its effect upon him and moved slightly away to pick up the brief. ‘Let’s have a look at the terms of this clause. ‘This Agreement shall be construed in accordance with and governed by English law. Any dispute or difference which may arise out of or in connection with this Agreement or the services to be performed hereunder shall be referred to the High Court of Justice in London.’

  She glanced at him as he read, and smiled to herself.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Two weeks later, Leo received a call at work from Rachel, his ex-wife. It was some time since they had spoken. The relationship had naturally been difficult following the initial break-up, but at least they had communicated. Since she had moved in with Charles Beecham, however, and the divorce proceedings had ground properly into action, a new, bitter element had entered into affairs. As part of the arrangements for custody of Oliver, who was now sixteen months old, Leo had asked to have him every other weekend. Rachel was opposed to the idea. The negotiations of their respective solicitors appeared only to have made the issue more acrimonious. As things stood, Leo was surprised that Rachel should call him.

  After a fractional pause, he told Felicity to put her through. ‘Leo?’ Rachel’s voice held its familiar hesitancy. ‘Hello, Rachel,’ said Leo. ‘How are you?’ His tone was neutral, belying his feelings. It was odd, but a call from her now could arouse more emotion in him than he had ever felt towards her during their brief marriage. All of that was entirely to do with Oliver.

  ‘I’m well, thank you.’ She was polite, almost chilly. There was a brief pause. Leo waited. ‘I’ve been thinking, perhaps we should meet some time,’ said Rachel at last. ‘I feel it might be useful.’

  ‘Really?’ Leo’s tone was derisory. He felt instantly annoyed at allowing himself to be provoked into this childish retort, but he couldn’t help it. He thought he heard Rachel sigh faintly, and when she spoke it was as though she was determined not to let him goad her.

  ‘I don’t think we’re getting very far through the solicitors. I feel it might help if we were to get together and talk some things through.’

  Leo resisted his inclination to turn down this overture. In truth, he agreed with her. Besides, this fraud case had left him no time to visit Oliver. Now that it was over, he wanted to arrange to see him. It wouldn’t help if he behaved antagonistically towards Rachel now.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘When do you suggest?’

  ‘I thought maybe this evening after work - if you’re not too busy.’

  ‘I suppose I can manage that.’

  ‘I have to see some clients in the West End later this afternoon. Why don’t we meet at that pub in Knightsbridge that we used to go to?’

  ‘The Griffin?’ It was a small, tucked-away pub near the mews house in which Leo had once lived.

  ‘Yes. That’s the one. I don’t really know anywhere else. About six-thirty?’

  ‘Fine. I’ll see you then.’

  When he put the phone down, he realised how tense the call had left him. God, he was a mess where Rachel was concerned. Would it be different if she were not the mother of his child? He supposed so. After everything that had happened, he should be glad to be rid of her. He had never loved her, had only married her to further his career. He should be feeling relief that she was someone else’s responsibility, and that he could return to his own life. But it hadn’t worked like that. Somehow the knowledge that she was living in a contented threesome with Oliver and Charles Beecham - Beecham, of all people, a man whom he liked, genuinely liked, and with whom he had even once been slightly in love - mocked his own solitary existence, rendering his single life no longer the enviable thing it had once been. People now thought of him as lonely - look at that bloody piece in the Standard, a complete stranger making a guess, and guessing right.

  He sighed. Time. It was simply a matter of time. Once they got this wretched divorce sorted out, and a sensible arrangement in place for him to see Oliver, then he could start living again. Maybe seeing Rachel this evening would speed up that process.

  On his way out at six, Leo bumped into Roderick Hayter, a fellow member of chambers some six years his senior.

  ‘How did the course go?’ Leo asked Roderick, who had spent the previous seven days closeted in a hotel in Weybridge with several other lawyers, training to become a recorder, as part of the recognised route to the High Court bench.

  ‘Very interesting, in fact. I recommend it:’

  Leo grinned. ‘I’m not sure that becoming a High Court judge is quite my style.’

  ‘Leo,’ said Roderick, ‘I gather Cameron asked you to speak to the Lincoln’s Inn people about the lease on that set of chambers?’

  ‘Yes, he did. He had to see his doctor. Actually, I’ve been wondering where he was. I don’t think I’ve seen him since then.’

  Roderick sighed. ‘That’s something I need to speak to you about - that and the business of the chambers in New Square. Have you got a moment?’

  ‘Sorry - I’m meeting someone.’ He paused. ‘What about lunch tomorrow?’

  ‘Fine. See you about one-ish.’

  Leo left and walked down to where his car was parked near King’s Bench Walk. The Indian summer was fading now, a slight chill touched the early evening air, and the first drift of fallen leaves scuttered across the cobblestones. He found himself brooding over the impending possibility of the move to Lincoln’s Inn. Another thing to add to the uncertainties of his life. He had worked as a barrister in the Temple for twenty-four years, and Caper Court was more of a real home to him than anywhere else he knew. It was his comfort, his haven. The idea of moving now to an entirely new set of chambers at the other end of Chancery Lane was like a threat to the last vestiges of his stability. Cameron Renshaw, he knew, didn’t relish the prospect of change, but in the end he would probably go along with Roderick and Jeremy Vine, the other two most senior members of chambers, who had originally mooted the idea of moving. Roderick was of the view that in the present building chambers had no room to expand, and Jeremy - well, Jeremy, pompous bastard, just liked the idea of more gracious, spacious surroundings, big rooms, state-of-the-art technology, a smart reception area. If Jeremy had his way, chambers would have all the artifice and pseudo-glamour of a big firm of City solicitors. That was the last thing Leo wanted. He liked the cosy, old-fashioned rooms of 5 Caper Court, the narrow wooden staircases, the old oak doors. Certainly it had its inconveniences, and even he had to admit that the old building wouldn’t be able to contain them in a few years’ time, but still the idea of moving to Lincoln’s Inn was anathema. There must, Leo decided, as he drove towards Knightsbridge, be some way round the problem. And he was determined to find it.

  Rachel sat in a corner of the little pub, watching the door. On her knee rested a copy of the tabloid which she had picked up from the bar. She had scarcely read a line of it. Each time the door opened she looked up, her heart ready to contract at the sight of Leo. The arrival of every newcomer confounded her prepared expectation of him; she had seen him come through that door often before, was ready for the look of him, the quick movements, the light glancing off his silver hair, the restless, handsome features. When she had first met him, she had always thought how Leo’s presence seemed to fill a room, eclipsing everyone else in it.

  Five minutes later he arrived. He looked a little older than when she had last seen him, his face tired and drawn, his expre
ssion restless, impatient. But still Leo. Enough to make her forget momentarily about everything else in her life.

  He glanced over to the corner and saw her, nodded in acknowledgement. The sight of her was wearyingly familiar, the pale, beautiful face, the dark hair drawn smoothly back, slim hands cupped nervously round whatever drink she had bought herself. How was it that those features, whose delicacy he had once found touching, now possessed the power to irritate him so? She was the least smug person he knew, yet there was about her a complacency, a patient rectitude which could madden him.

  ‘What are you drinking?’ he asked, standing before her, hands in pockets. She could see a small muscle working in his jaw.

  ‘Oh—’ she glanced down at her glass ‘this is just a tonic water. I’ll have some white wine, thanks.’ He nodded and went to the bar.

  When he brought the drinks over, she had put the newspaper to one side. He sat down opposite, lifted his glass and murmured, ‘Cheers.’

  They drank, then a brief silence ensued.

  ‘How’s Oliver?’ said Leo at last.

  ‘He’s well.’ Rachel nodded. Then she smiled, enthusiasm melting the tension in her expression. ‘Wonderful, in fact. I got him some new shoes last weekend and he talks about them all the time.’

  Leo gave a little smile. ‘What does he say?’

  ‘Oh, you know … “Shoes. My shoes.” Things like that. Nothing … nothing complicated.’ Her smile faded.

  ‘I’d like to see him,’ said Leo. ‘I’ve been involved in something of a heavy case, so I haven’t had much time.’