‘Thanks for the advice,’ Will said coldly, knowing he couldn’t take it. Then he let his mind and voice warm up again. ‘And for the tests. It was good of you to run them so fast. You’d better send me a bill.’ He had no idea how he’d pay it.
‘Have this one on the house. See you.’
Will needed to think. He felt as though the washing-up and the babysitting and the being polite to Susannah and Rupert had dried out all kinds of important bits of his brain. He made himself some instant coffee, piling the granules into the cup until it was strong enough, then drank, wincing at the bitterness.
He was going to need help with this. As he’d said to Trish, the obvious person to give him a hand was Jamie Maxden, whose suspicions of the bottom end of the meat industry had always been as great as his own. But so far Jamie hadn’t answered any of the messages Will had left on the answering machine.
Was Jamie still pissed off? He probably had the right to be, even though Will thought they’d made peace long ago. They’d agreed then that they ought to keep their distance for a while, and it had never seemed quite the right moment to re-establish contact. But if Jamie had wanted to, he could always have taken the first step and phoned. In fact, Will rather wished he had. A bit of sympathy would have been welcome as the world came crashing down around his ears.
‘No, it wouldn’t,’ he said aloud, much more honestly. Maybe Jamie had understood that and stayed away in case it looked as if he were crowing.
Of course, he could be away on a job and unable to access messages left on the machine in his flat. Will knew he must have the number of Jamie’s mobile somewhere. He charged back to the top of the house to ransack the boxes of papers under his bed, where he kept his old diaries.
This time he didn’t mind using Susannah’s phone so much. He dialled Jamie’s mobile. But he only got a recorded voice telling him the number he’d called was no longer in use.
Had Jamie binned his old phone in favour of something newer and slicker and smaller in the years since they’d last been in touch? For a moment, Will felt helpless. Then he told himself there had to be other ways of tracking down any journalist.
Susannah must have some phone books somewhere, but he had no idea where. He started searching, pulling open cupboard doors he’d never touched in all the months he’d lived here and looking behind and under tables all over the house, even in her bedroom. She’d got a lot tidier since she married Rupert.
Eventually he found a stack of directories in the cupboard under the stairs with the Dyson. Two minutes later he was phoning the Daily Mercury’s main switchboard and asking to speak to Jamie Maxden.
‘There’s no one of that name listed,’ the receptionist said after a short pause. ‘Can anyone else help?’
‘But he writes for you. He must be there.’
‘He isn’t. I’ve looked. Maybe he’s freelance.’
‘Maybe he is. Who would know?’
‘I can put you through to Features. They might help.’
‘No. Features won’t be any good. Put me through to News. He’s an investigative journalist. You must have heard of him.’
‘No. Sorry.’
Don’t you ever read your own newspaper? Will wanted to shout at her in exasperation. But it wasn’t her fault he was on such a short fuse these days, so he kept quiet.
‘News desk,’ said a bored male voice, which sounded too young to belong to anyone in work.
‘I’m trying to contact Jamie Maxden.’
‘Who?’
Will repeated the name with as much patience as he could muster. ‘He’s a journalist. He writes for you.’
‘Not for us he doesn’t.’
‘But I’ve seen his name at the top of articles.’
‘A byline? Not on this paper. You could try the press agencies. Oh, hang on; here’s my boss. He’s been here since the Dark Ages; he might know more.’
The phone went silent. Will couldn’t believe he’d been cut off. Then he realized he’d only been put on hold.
Trish saw Will the minute she emerged from court. He looked awful, but he didn’t move, not even to beckon her. He just stood, leaning against one of the pillars as though he hadn’t enough strength left to hold himself upright.
‘I’ll catch you up, Antony,’ she said and thrust her red bag at Colin, who was already manoeuvring the trolley full of documents. She crossed the floor, hugely relieved after all that Andrew had texted her at lunchtime to say that she wouldn’t be able to see Kim today. When she’d read his message, she’d gone straight outside the building to phone him and remind him of the urgency. He’d tried to pacify her, which had made her frustration worse. Now, with Antony wanting to discuss the day’s proceedings and Will looking needier than ever, it was just as well she wasn’t having to rush away.
‘Thank you, Trish,’ he said, swallowing. ‘I knew you’d come over here. I need help.’
‘I know. I can see that much. Will, I promise I’ll do whatever I can, but first I’ve got to go back to chambers to thrash out what we’re going to do tomorrow.’ He looked even worse, so she reminded him that it was his case she and Antony were killing themselves to win.
‘I know. Sorry.’ Will looked at the floor. His big shoulders were slumped. ‘And I can’t tell you any of it here, but I have to talk to you.’
‘OK. Look, I’ll phone you the minute I’m free. Where will you be this evening?’
His eyes looked harder suddenly. But she was too busy and too preoccupied to work out what it might mean. Then his eyelids dropped and there was only skin to be seen, with a few tiny capillaries pulsating under it.
‘At my sister’s. I’m not going out much these days.’
‘Give me the number and I’ll phone as soon as I can.’ She waited, barely controlling her urge to tell him to hurry, while he found an old envelope in his pocket, scribbled the phone number on a corner and tore it off. ‘Thanks. Don’t let it get to you, whatever it is. Bye, Will.’
She was panting when she caught up with Antony and his small party. They were already at the door of Plough Court.
‘Such eagerness,’ Antony said, putting a hand on her hot forehead. Colin looked surprised, then hurried on ahead with the solicitor.
‘It’s dead flattering, Trish. But don’t give yourself a heart attack. I’m going to need you on top form tonight.’
‘I hope “tonight” is an exaggeration, you old slave driver,’ she said. ‘I’ve got things to do. And there wasn’t anything particularly startling in today’s evidence.’
‘Pedant! This afternoon, then. But talking of tonight, Trish,’ he said, putting on his wicked seducer’s look, ‘we could …’
‘No we couldn’t,’ she said firmly. Then she laughed. ‘Oh, Antony, if you knew what a turn-off that leer is!’
‘Leer?’ he said in outrage. ‘I don’t leer.’
‘Sure of that, are you?’
‘Monster! Oh, all right; if you won’t play, I suppose we’d better go and work.’
He was laughing too, as he led the way up to his room. Naturally it was the best in chambers, with a spectacular view and ravishing old mahogany furniture.
Caro knew that Jess was sitting by her bed, wanting something, but she couldn’t provide it. She tried, through the pain and the weakness that kept her sewn to the mattress, but all she could do was force up her eyelids and mumble something. Instantly Jess was there, holding a cool, damp cloth to her forehead.
‘It’s all right, Caro. I’m here. They’re doing everything they can, and soon the antibiotics will work. D’you want me to call a nurse?’
Caro didn’t want anyone else. She couldn’t do anything for anyone now, not even Jess. The pain dug deeper into her back and she groaned. The damp cloth was removed and Jess tiptoed away from the bed. Caro didn’t even have the energy to beg her to come back. Two hot tears slid out of her eyes.
Chapter 8
‘It’s not late, Trish,’ Antony said when they’d got rid of Colin and the solicitor.
‘If I promise not to leer, will you have dinner with me?’
She couldn’t resist an invitation like that and said so.
‘Great. At this time of year we could probably get in anywhere. What would you like? The Ivy? The Ritz?’
‘Nowhere grand. Or smart. Somewhere we can sit with our elbows on the table and not have our ears burned out with noise.’ She fanned her face with her legal pad. ‘With air conditioning.’
He nodded. ‘I know just the place. It hasn’t been trendy for forty years, but the food is good and it’s always quiet. Cool, too.’
‘Sounds perfect, but I have to phone someone first.’
‘Fine. I’ll make sure there’s a table. Meet you outside in ten minutes?’
‘OK.’
She still hadn’t got used to her new room in chambers. The old one had been poky and dark, but she’d had it for years and it had become a kind of refuge, even though she’d usually had to have a pupil in it with her. Colin would have been fine, but some of his predecessors had been a lot less likeable and she’d have done anything to get rid of them if she could. Luckily they only stayed with each pupil master for six months.
This room was much lighter than her old one, and nearly twice the size. It also cost her twice as much. At first she hadn’t been sure she would ever fill it, but that hadn’t taken long, and now she found it comfortable. It was good, too, to have a window that opened onto a reasonable view, instead of the grimy walls of the lightwell at the back of the building. Of course, if they didn’t win this case against Furbishers, she’d get no fees and might have to retreat to her old room – and lose all the face she’d gained in the last couple of years.
The phone rang and rang; at last a woman answered.
‘Hello,’ Trish said. ‘Is that Susannah? Look, I’m really sorry but I don’t know your surname. Will always talks about you as Susannah. My name’s Trish Maguire.’
‘His barrister?’
‘One of them. Might I speak to him?’ she said, unable to understand the hostility in the other woman’s voice. Surely she didn’t think Trish was contravening her professional ethics. If Susannah knew anything about them, she’d know that now Will had finished giving his evidence they were free to talk whenever they wanted.
‘He’ll be sick to have missed you,’ Susannah said. ‘I made him go for a walk because he was driving us all mad jiggling about waiting for your call. Can you give me a number where he can reach you? He’s determined to talk to you tonight.’
Trish thought of the unsmart, quiet restaurant and knew she couldn’t have that disturbed by phone calls. She gave Susannah her mobile number, adding, ‘But don’t let him waste money phoning until after eleven.’
‘Thank you.’
‘That’s fine,’ Trish said. ‘Please tell him I’m sorry I missed him.’
Twenty minutes later she and Antony were sitting in a small dark-red room lined with portraits. It would have been old-fashioned even when she was born. The menu read more like the record of a banquet from the fin de siècle than anything from the twenty-first century. Trish had never eaten classic French dishes of this kind and chose the simplest-sounding ones, hoping for the best. Antony insisted on ordering her a glass of champagne as an aperitif.
If anyone had told her at the beginning of her career that she would ever sit at ease in a place like this, let alone with a man like Antony, she would have laughed. She’d chosen the Bar as a career only because her stepfather had told her patronizingly that it wasn’t suitable for ‘a girl with your background’. He’d added that, being quite clever, she might well make a useful solicitor one day and he would talk to friends of his about getting her a training place in a reasonable firm somewhere in the provinces. She could still remember her fury and the determination it had given her.
It made her think of Kim and acknowledge her own luck. Trish’s stepfather had merely gingered up her ambition; Kim’s had traumatized her. Would Kim ever find a way to fight back against the damage Daniel Crossman had done?
Trish’s rage had taken her a long way, but it hadn’t helped when she’d come out of Bar school with excellent results and a massive chip on her shoulder. It had taken years for her to stop resenting the smoothly confident people she saw all around her. Now, she supposed, she was one of them. It was an odd thought.
The only other diners in the restaurant were a party of four in the far corner. They must have all been in their seventies, and they had a kind of civilized elegance that suited the place. Far too dignified to whisper, like people in most half-empty restaurants, they were talking easily about architecture with the authority of those who knew a lot and had nothing to prove.
‘So, Trish,’ Antony said when the champagne had been poured, ‘with George and David away, who are you looking after now?’
‘Why should I be looking after anyone?’
‘With a heart that’s open to all comers and the social conscience of a Fabian, you’re never happy unless you are. And you’re so sexy these days, you have to be happy.’
She laughed, even though the thought of Kim was anything but funny. One day she’d tell Antony about Kim, but not now.
‘I just hope it’s not that poor tight-arse Will Applewood,’ he said, ripping his roll in two with a great explosion of brittle crust.
‘Why?’
‘Because he’d swallow you whole.’
She frowned. Nothing she had seen in Will had suggested any kind of greed, even if he had shown himself to be capable of lies and manipulation.
‘He needs too much,’ Antony added, raising his glass to her. ‘You’d do better with someone more secure, who wants only a little piece of you. Good. Here are my coquilles Saint Jacques.’
A smile made her lips twitch, but she didn’t say anything. Antony was looking towards the kitchen door to make sure her starter was coming too, but he didn’t miss her amusement.
‘I know,’ he said, holding her gaze. His lips softened into a smile of such self-conscious wickedness that she had to laugh. It was much better than the supposedly seductive version. ‘I should be eating oysters to make this scene all it could have been. But not while there’s no “r” in the month.’
‘In any case, oysters might have been a little too obvious.’
‘What about your asparagus?’
After that, it was hard to eat with any kind of dignity, but they were soon laughing too much for it to matter.
Later, he pressed her again about what was preoccupying her and she told him the truth. ‘It’s a child, damaged and terrified. And silent. The only person who might have been able to get her to talk is incommunicado in hospital and someone’s got to get through to her before the weekend. The social workers have failed, and so has the psychiatrist in the case. So they’ve asked me to have a go. It’s a last-ditch thing. I thought I might nip out after court tomorrow. They couldn’t set it up in time for today. You don’t mind, do you? It shouldn’t take too long and I’d come straight back to chambers.’
‘As I thought, you have the social conscience of a Fabian,’ he said seriously, giving her story its due, then he pushed it away, adding a lighthearted reprise: ‘and a heart that’s open to all comers.’
‘Not quite all,’ she said, taking her tone from him.
‘No?’
‘No,’ she said more definitely.
‘Now that really is rather a pity. I’d been making plans for it.’ Antony picked up his fork and started to talk about the latest Covent Garden production of Tosca. Only his eyes told her that they hadn’t finished the other conversation yet. A frisson she hadn’t felt in years raised all the hairs on her arms. As though he’d felt it too, he suddenly interrupted himself to say, ‘You know you’ll never experience everything life can offer if you go on cutting off the highs and lows like this. You’re wasting yourself in this perpetual struggle for dreary balance.’
‘Only someone who’s never known the lows could think that balance is dreary,’ she said with feeling, and turned
the conversation back to Tosca.
‘Did you know there’s someone waiting for you?’ the taxi driver asked Trish as she handed over her fare.
‘Where?’
‘On them iron stairs behind you. He’s just stood up. He’s been reading the paper.’
‘In this light?’ Trish didn’t turn immediately. It wouldn’t be the first time that someone had been waiting to accost her outside the flat. But tonight it seemed unfair: she was too relaxed to deal with anything difficult. ‘What does he look like?’
‘Handsome bloke with lots of dark hair and a square chin. Check shirt.’ The driver gave her some change.
‘Oh, him.’ Trish shook the coins in her hand until two pounds were between her fingers and thumb. She gave them back to him and nodded. ‘I know him.’
‘That’s all right, then.’ The taxi wheezed into life again and the driver made a U-turn, leaving her to Will. Antony’s warning echoed in her mind, displacing all the other things he’d said to her later.
‘Hi. Have you been waiting long?’
‘Not much more than a hour,’ he said. ‘It was good to sit after the walk. And it’s the first time I’ve felt cool in weeks. Susannah’s house is stifling, however many windows I open.’
‘You walked? From Fulham? But why?’
‘I always walk. It’s the only exercise I get these days, and moving stops me thinking too much and sending myself mad with regrets. Besides, I can’t afford the fares.’
‘But why not phone? Never mind. You’d better come on in and have a drink and tell me what the problem is.’ As she unlocked the door and switched on the lights she saw his face. The unhappiness in it shocked her into guilt over the way she’d abandoned him to joke and flirt with Antony.
‘You know the journalist I told you about?’ Will said abruptly. ‘He died outside Smarden Meats only a few weeks before we went there.’
‘What?’
‘It’s true. Didn’t I tell you that if there was a story, he’d know all about it?’
Keep Me Alive Page 10