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Authors: Caro Fraser

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BOOK: A Hallowed Place
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In the bathroom he cleaned his teeth twice again and searched in the bathroom cabinet for some breath freshener. The whisky had made him feel better, clearer, though he knew this was illusory. By lunch time he would feel like death. The few brief hours till then were almost beyond contemplation. He could think of nothing he would say or do in court to cover his omission. It did not for one second cross his mind to call chambers with some excuse, and simply not show up in court. It was not a thing Leo had ever done. Work was duty, and duty was something one automatically fulfilled, even if one had cocked it up quite monumentally.

He gathered together his belongings and drove in, knowing that he shouldn’t, but knowing, too, that it was too late to take the train. Not that he could have faced a crowded commuter train even if he had had hours to spare. His head was beginning to throb violently as he parked his car in the Temple, and he wondered, as he walked up King’s Bench Walk, whether he wasn’t about to be sick there and then on the cobbles. He had forgotten his overcoat and the cold of late October made him shiver uncontrollably again as he walked, fighting against the rising of his gorge.

In chambers he went to David’s room. David wasn’t
in yet and Leo fished around in a drawer where he knew David kept some Alka-Seltzer. He fetched a glass of water from the kitchen and dissolved four of the tablets, then drank it. He picked up his robing bag and made his way to the Royal Courts of Justice. Once robed, he had to make a quick detour to the lavatory to throw up the whisky and the Alka-Seltzer. They swam in the pan in an unpleasantly yellow, foamy mixture. Thereafter, everything he did and said seemed to Leo to be surreal, detached.

The judge hearing the case that day was Mr Justice Aston, a stony-faced and humourless man, who had once been Leo’s leader some years ago in an unfortunate case which they had lost, for which Aston had largely blamed Leo. Now he stared down from the bench at Leo, who endeavoured to make his excuses and apologies, two things which he loathed doing.

‘Really, Mr Davies, this is a most appalling waste of the court’s time and a gross discourtesy to all the individuals involved. I find it quite inexcusable that someone in your position should come to court today without adequate preparation. I have no alternative but to stand this case out of the lists.’ He glared down through his spectacles. Leo felt a horribly queasy rocking in his stomach and wondered if he was going to have to flee the court room to throw up again. Mr Justice Aston went on, ‘Given the circumstances, Mr Davies, can you give the court any reason why you should not bear the costs of today’s wasted exercise yourself?’ Leo muttered words to the effect that he couldn’t. ‘Very well, the costs today will be borne personally by you.’

It was all Leo could do to offer his apologies to Bernard
Pannick, who uttered a few curt words and walked away. Leo went slowly back to the robing room, his footsteps echoing on the stone flags. In his heart he did not think he had ever felt so wretched and alone. He went into the robing room and took off his wig. Above all, he was conscious, despite his nausea, of a craving, now familiar, for a drink to ease the depression he felt. He knew, with a kind of detached clarity, that the chemistry of his body had been altered over the past few weeks and that this was the reason for the feeling. But even that dispassionate knowledge did not alter his longing for a couple of large Scotches to make him feel better.

He stuffed his gown, wig and bands into his bag and went back to chambers. The costs of today’s futile exercise could be anything in the region of ten to twenty thousand, he reckoned. He would settle it out of his own funds as swiftly as he could, rather than let it come out of his chambers’ insurance. In that way, the other members of chambers might not come to hear of what had happened, though he doubted it.

In the clerks’ room Felicity was busy with some accounts, when Leo came in. She glanced up and smiled. ‘Everything all right, Mr Davies?’ she enquired innocently.

‘No, everything is not bloody all right. Why didn’t you remind me last week that I hadn’t put in my argument in that ship repair case? I’m incredibly busy at the moment and it’s up to you to make sure that I’m on top of things. I have just spent a very embarrassing half-hour in court trying to explain myself.’

Felicity stared at him. ‘But I did remind you. I told you
at the beginning of the week, and then I reminded you again on Friday.’

‘Not to my recollection, Felicity,’ retorted Leo. His tone was still angry, but a small misgiving sprang up in his mind. Through the hellish haze that was the past few days, he couldn’t really recall the events of Friday. Had she said something? Still, he couldn’t remember her mentioning it at the beginning of the week, so he clung to that. ‘You’re my clerk and you’re there to remind me about these things. Don’t let it happen again.’

She watched him go upstairs, incredulous. How could he say that? It had been bad enough having to go out of her way to remind him, without him blaming it all on her. Smarting with the injustice of it, she went off to have a moan to Henry.

On the way upstairs, Leo met Jeremy. ‘Hello, Leo.’ Jeremy glanced more closely at Leo’s red eyes and pallid face. ‘You look as though you had a bit of a heavy weekend.’ Leo muttered something by way of reply and was about to go into his room when Jeremy continued, ‘By the way, I think I’ve found new chambers for us.’

Leo looked at him indifferently. All he wanted to do was to lie down somewhere and think about absolutely nothing at all. With an effort he responded, ‘Have you? Where?’

‘In Sussex Street.’

‘Sussex Street? But that’s out of the Inns of Court.’ This new idea of Jeremy’s seemed to Leo to be even more unattractive than Lincoln’s Inn.

‘Well, yes, but there are advantages. The rent’s lower, for a start, and there are probably all kinds of things we can
do in a building of that kind which we couldn’t do in the Temple. Air-conditioning, central heating, lifts.’

Leo said wearily; ‘I don’t like the idea, Jeremy. It’s too much of a break with tradition. It’s really not us.’

‘Face facts, Leo. There are eighteen of us now and we need to expand. I’m not interested in tradition. I’m concerned with moving ahead, modernising things. I’m going to set out these proposals at the next chambers meeting. If you’ve got a better idea, you’ll have to come up with it by then.’ He clumped off downstairs, then stopped and turned. ‘By the way - perhaps you haven’t heard.’

‘What?’

‘Cameron. He died last night.’ Jeremy turned and carried on downstairs.

Leo went into his room and closed the door. He felt very, very unwell. He sat down heavily in his chair and glanced round the room. Everything was as it always was - the books, the pictures, the neat rows of briefs, the view from the window. At this moment it all meant absolutely nothing to him. How typical of Jeremy, to put the news of Cameron’s death in second place to his wretched proposals for moving chambers. He looked at the briefs ranged in a row, the work which awaited him. The thought of taking one down and looking at it was utterly beyond him. Not just at that moment, hung-over and tired, but at any given moment in the near future. The idea of being himself, of being a barrister, of being someone on whom others depended and of whom they thought highly, was a stark impossibility. He felt as though he didn’t want to be anything to anyone ever again. As he understood the truth of this, he wondered
fleetingly whether he might not be having some kind of breakdown. He didn’t think so, but, then, he didn’t know what one of those felt like. The only thing he wanted was to feel Joshua’s arms around him, to have that comfort, that love. His need was entirely childlike. Beyond that, he cared about nothing.

Slowly Leo stood up. He left his room, closing the door behind him, and went downstairs.

Felicity was talking to Henry in the clerks’ room. They both glanced up as Leo came in, instantly silenced by his appearance, which was dreadful, tired, aged and red-eyed.

‘Felicity,’ said Leo, ‘I think I should apologise for what I said earlier. I’ve probably only myself to blame. Anyway—’ he stopped, looked absently around, then went on with an effort of concentration ‘I think I have to have some time to myself. Things have been going rather badly lately. I shan’t be in for the next two or three weeks.’

And with that he turned and went out, leaving Henry and Felicity staring after him in astonishment and dismay.

‘Gone? Gone where?’

‘I dunno,’ said Felicity in exasperation. She looked squarely at Anthony. ‘He said he needed some time to himself and that he wouldn’t be in for a few weeks. That was it.’

‘You’re joking.’

‘I wish I was. He’s dropped me and Henry right in it. I’ve spent all morning on the phone to solicitors, trying to bluff my way out of things. There are some things that won’t wait - in fact, there’s an arbitration next week that Freshfields want you to take over. I’m trying to juggle your diary around to fit it in. All the solicitors are mad as hell. Whoever said clerks spend their entire lives spinning a load of bullshit was right. Pardon my French.’ She shook her head and sighed. ‘Mr Davies certainly isn’t doing himself any favours. Some of his work might even have to go out of chambers, and you know how Henry feels about that.’
She made a throat-cutting gesture and raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

‘But when was this?’ asked Anthony.

‘Yesterday morning, after he came back from court. I thought you’d’ve heard by now.’

Anthony went up to his room, digesting this information. That Leo should just walk out of chambers, leaving weeks of carefully arranged work - arbitrations, conferences, court hearings - up in the air was extraordinary, entirely out of character. Clearly there was something wrong. The last time he had spoken to Leo was when Leo had asked him for a game of squash last week. Anthony realised with a pang that Leo must have been in need of someone to talk to then, and he had turned him down, possibly when he had needed Anthony most. He’d been aware that Leo hadn’t been himself recently but had been too preoccupied with his own affairs to do or say anything to help. Too busy screwing Sarah every night, then bemoaning his weak character and nursing his conscience ever since Camilla’s return. God, how he detested himself of late.

Anthony picked up the phone and dialled Leo’s number in Belgravia, and listened as the phone at the other end rang a few times, then clicked into Leo’s answering machine. He hesitated, thought of leaving a message, but put the phone down. If Leo had problems, maybe he had gone away to sort them out. He had a house in Oxfordshire somewhere. The memory of going there with Leo to spend the night after a chambers cricket match surprised Anthony with an ache of tenderness. How infatuated he had been with Leo in those days, how much he had wanted to be able to respond
to him. Perhaps he should have. Perhaps he wouldn’t have made such a God-awful mess of his relationships if he had just let Leo be the focus of his life. He thrust the thought aside. That was all history. The point was that Leo was in trouble and he, Anthony, had neglected his friendship. He sighed. Had Leo gone to ground in his house in the country? Even if he had, Anthony didn’t have the phone number and didn’t think he could find the house if he tried. He couldn’t even remember the name of the village. He would just have to keep ringing his flat throughout the day and, if he couldn’t reach him, he’d go round there tonight. Other than that, there was nothing anyone could do but wait and see. For how long, Anthony had no idea, but he knew that if Leo let too many weeks go by, people - clients, solicitors - would grow impatient, his reputation would inevitably suffer and his practice would begin gradually, but steadily, to crumble away.

That evening after work Anthony and Camilla went for a drink with David.

‘I told Sarah to join us later,’ said David, bringing drinks over to the table. ‘She’s presently slogging away digging up authorities for a hearing tomorrow.’

‘Slave-driver,’ remarked Anthony. ‘Still, I don’t think I’d much enjoy having a pupil. I imagine it simply makes more work for you.’

‘Initially, yes,’ said David. ‘But Sarah’s actually very useful. Got off to something of a sticky start, but she’s pretty sharp.’

‘Oh, yes, she’s that, all right,’ murmured Anthony. Conscious of Camilla’s eyes on him, he tried to move the
subject away from Sarah. ‘So, what do you make of Leo’s disappearing act?’

‘I couldn’t believe it when Michael told me,’ said David. ‘I know he’s had a pretty rough year, what with his divorce and so on, but I never thought of Leo as the kind of man just to drop everything like that. I mean, I’ve known him for ten years now, and he’s always put his work first. It’s just not like him to land everyone in it like that. Henry’s going mad.’ David shook his head. ‘I must say, I never thought Leo could behave so selfishly, whatever problems he might have in his personal life.’ David glanced at a group of people who had just come into the pub. ‘Ah, there’s John Wright. I’m just going to have a word with him. Back in a minute.’

When he was gone, Camilla murmured, ‘In my experience, Leo’s capable of behaving extremely selfishly.’

Anthony glanced at her. ‘What do you mean?’ He felt a prickle of resentment. What understanding could Camilla possibly have of Leo’s character, given the limited dealings she had had with him?

Camilla, catching the sharpness in Anthony’s voice, thought for a moment, then said, ‘You remember I told you last February that I had the feeling that certain people in chambers might not altogether approve of the fact that I was seeing you, that we should cool things until I’d got my tenancy?’

Anthony nodded. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘It was Leo who suggested that might be the case. But it was just a bluff. He wanted to split us up. In fact, he even went so far as to take me out to dinner and spell it out
for me. Stop seeing Anthony, or I might make life difficult for you. He didn’t say it in those words, of course, but the meaning was pretty clear.’ She took a sip of her drink. ‘He was jealous. He thought it might be an effective way of ending things between us. Don’t you think that’s pretty selfish behaviour?’

Anthony said nothing for a few moments. That Leo should go to such lengths to wreck things between himself and Camilla seemed astonishing, but at the same time it explained much about his behaviour since last Easter, when Camilla had got her tenancy and Anthony had started seeing her again. That must have been fairly galling for Leo. But what had he hoped to gain by such manoeuvres? This thought found voice. ‘I don’t see why he would do such a thing,’ said Anthony.

‘Don’t you? Then you’re pretty short-sighted. He’s very close to you—’

‘Was.’

‘All right - was. And I think he regards your time and affection as his special property. He’s never liked me.’

Anthony sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right. Okay, we’re all capable of being selfish when it comes down to it. But I don’t think Leo just upped and left through motives of selfishness.’

‘Well, it’s hardly considerate behaviour, is it? Poor old Henry and Felicity have to cope with the fall out, and the rest of us suffer, too.’

Anthony stared at her. He realised that it was all black and white to Camilla, that she was too young and callous to understand the complexities and difficulties of someone
like Leo. The confidence she had gained over the past year, he saw, had brought with it a touch of arrogance. He felt suddenly protective of Leo, in the face of her lack of concern for Leo’s well-being. ‘Well, we can’t all be as brave and assured as you, can we?’ he replied.

At that moment David came back to the table, Sarah in his wake. She shrugged off her coat and sat down, while David went to get her a drink.

‘Nice to see you two together again. You must have missed one another.’ Sarah smiled enigmatically and glanced at Anthony. ‘Did the weeks seem terribly long?’

‘Oh, spare us,’ said Anthony. It was all very well, he realised, to agree that things stopped as soon as Camilla came back, but he was unable to behave with Sarah’s cool composure. This guilt thing, he told himself, was out of control.

‘Still, I’m sure you did your best to keep busy.’ She glanced up as David set her drink down on the table. ‘Thanks.’

‘So,’ said David, sitting down and turning to Anthony, ‘you said earlier you’d been trying Leo’s flat all day. No luck?’

Anthony shook his head. ‘I’m going to go round after this. Not that I expect to find him there. I rather think he’s gone to his place in the country.’

Sarah glanced from Anthony to David in surprise. ‘What’s this about Leo?’

‘Didn’t you know? He’s just dropped everything, told Felicity and Henry he was going away for a few weeks.’ David sipped his pint. ‘Seems he has a few problems that need sorting out.’

Anthony noticed Sarah’s troubled expression and remarked, ‘Why are you looking so worried? It’s nothing to you.’ He couldn’t help the slight brutality of his tone, a kind of revenge for her mischievous remark of a few moments ago.

Sarah turned and stared coldly at Anthony. He was reminded suddenly of the unpredictability of her temper. ‘Dear Anthony, you must think you have a monopoly on concern for Leo. For your information, I probably know him far better than you ever will. Don’t look so surprised. We go back a long way. I regard him as a friend, and at least we’ve always treated one another with honesty. That’s not exactly your speciality when it comes to relationships, is it?’ She glanced at Camilla, then took a swallow of her drink and stood up, preparing to put on her coat. ‘I don’t feel like staying, somehow.’ And she left.

‘Phew!’ said David. ‘I’m not quite sure I understood what that was all about. I didn’t know she and Leo were more than passing acquaintances. Well, well. Other people’s lives, eh?’

Anthony said nothing for a few seconds, trying to fathom the implication of what Sarah had said. A strange quiet fell over the group. Anthony drained the remains of his pint and said at last, ‘If I’m going round to Leo’s, I’d better not leave it too late.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Camilla.

They left David sitting alone at the table, slightly baffled. Clearly there was much that went on in chambers of which he knew absolutely nothing.

Anthony and Camilla walked in preoccupied silence
along Fleet Street. It was drizzling and all the taxis which flashed past them were taken, their ‘for hire’ signs unlit. At the corner of Waterloo Bridge they stopped and waited.

‘What was Sarah getting at in the pub?’ asked Camilla suddenly.

Anthony, lost in his ruminations over Leo and Sarah, turned to glance at her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘About honesty in relationships not being your speciality. Why did she say it in that particular way?’

Anthony suddenly felt everything come to a head, his anxiety about Leo, his guilty conscience, his exasperation with Camilla’s arrogance over Leo’s problems - that and the impossibility of finding a taxi cab in the rain. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he muttered. He spoke incautiously, knowing as he did so that it would have been better and easier just to fob her off with some explanation concerning the time that he and Sarah had been seeing one another. But something - perhaps weariness at the concealment, or self-disgust - tempted him to let it all come out now. Then it could be dealt with. If she loved him enough, she would forgive him. Everyone made mistakes.

‘What doesn’t matter?’ She looked at him, her eyes large and fearful. ‘It’s got something to do with the way you’ve been behaving recently, hasn’t it? Something happened while I was away and you haven’t told me.’

He turned to her. ‘Yes, it did and I wish to God it never had. It meant absolutely nothing and I’m truly sorry about it. You’ve got to believe me.’ He hesitated. ‘I slept with Sarah. It was after a drinks thing in chambers. I suppose I’d had too much to drink, but beyond that I’ve got no excuses.’
Already he was lying, he realised. By making it sound as though it had happened just once, he was hoping to lessen the crime, mitigate the effects. He waited, helplessly, his eyes on her face. ‘I’m truly sorry.’ She looked away, her expression unreadable. A taxi with its yellow light on came towards them and Anthony automatically lifted his hand. The cab drew up by the kerb. ‘I’m glad you know now, in a way. It meant absolutely nothing and I’ve been feeling guilty as hell. Please, come on. We can talk in the taxi.’ He opened the door, waiting for her to get in.

But Camilla remained motionless on the pavement. Then she shook her head. ‘I can’t come with you to Leo’s. I’m going home.’ She turned and walked quickly away through the rain, almost breaking into a run. Anthony called after her, his hand still on the handle of the taxi door.

The cabbie slid down his window and leant over. ‘Come on, mate! You getting in, or what?’

Anthony hesitated, watching her hurrying off down Fleet Street. Maybe it would be better to let her go, talk to her later. It was done now. He got into the cab and gave the driver Leo’s address.

When they reached the square in Belgravia, Anthony asked the cabbie to wait. He got out, glancing up at the darkened windows, and went up the few steps to the front door, where he pressed the bell. There was no answer. He waited for a few minutes, then rang again. At last he turned and went back down the steps to the cab.

He took the taxi home, had something to eat, and after an hour or so rang Camilla. She sounded weary, but at least she was prepared to talk to him. Reproach, he
thought, was a good sign, the first step towards forgiving him.

‘I can’t believe that you would do something like that, take advantage of the fact that I was away and sleep with someone else.’ On her way home, after leaving Anthony standing by the taxi, Camilla had resolved that she would end things between them. Hurt and anger had been uppermost. It seemed that what Anthony had done was unforgivable. Now, hearing his voice, she felt a fatal reluctance to let it all go, just like that.

‘I told you. It was a mistake, a really stupid thing to have done, and I’ve been regretting it ever since it happened. It meant nothing. We’d had a lot to drink, and you know how Sarah can be—’

‘Oh, please, Anthony! Don’t try to blame it on Sarah! Credit me with a little sense.’

‘No, no, you’re right. I mean, I’m just trying to explain how it happened. I’m so, so sorry. What else can I say?’

‘Anthony.’ She sighed miserably. ‘You sound as though you’re apologising for breaking a window, or something. We’re talking about trust here. About feelings. What you’ve done changes things.’

BOOK: A Hallowed Place
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