An Immoral Code (28 page)

‘… We really must call a halt to the questions now,’ Basher was saying, ‘or we’ll never get on.’ He turned to Leo. ‘I think that we should all be grateful to hear the views of our leading counsel, Leo Davies.’

A familiar sensation, like a small electric current, passed through Leo as he rose to speak to them. He had notes jotted down on a slip of paper, but did not glance down at them.

‘Ladies and gentlemen’ – Anthony smiled slightly at the sound of that silken, easy voice, with its slight Welsh lilt – ‘what I have to say is brief and, I hope, to the point. Lloyd’s have made you an offer of forty-nine point four million. You have heard Mr Henshaw say that it is the best you will get. It is true to say that no one can stand here and guarantee you a better offer or a greater recovery. If you press ahead with the litigation, there is no certainty of ever recovering anything. That is a risk which all litigation carries.’ Leo paused and looked steadily round his audience. ‘But it is my considered view, looking at the merits of
this case, that most of the Names here today should ultimately succeed. To what extent is, of course, another matter. I cannot guarantee how much money is available under the errors and omissions policies, but I would remind you that the offer under consideration, excluding the auditors from the settlement as it does, will severely restrict recovery from them. You are already aware that, under the terms of the offer before you, there is no cap on your future liabilities, and these may be substantial. If you continue the action against the auditors and win, then it is they who will bear those future losses. To many of you, that may seem too much to give up. It seems so to me …’ Anthony listened attentively, glancing occasionally at the audience. There was no question that every carefully weighed word which Leo uttered was having its effect. He managed to neutralise all Mr Henshaw’s sombre warnings regarding the penalty of the action’s failure, and, in the most cautious and circumspect fashion, stirred in the Names a sense that to accept the Lloyd’s offer would rob them of a potential victory. At last he concluded, ‘I cannot advise you whether to reject or accept the offer today. That is a matter for each individual. But I can recommend that you should weigh matters very carefully before abandoning a claim which offers your only real prospect of a full recovery, and an end to future liabilities. Thank you.’

As he sat down, Leo knew that he had reminded them with his closing words of the one factor which should sway the majority against accepting. The probability, should they ultimately win, that any future liabilities – and it was those dreaded demands for money which overshadowed the lives of each and every one in that hall – would be paid by the auditors. It was all that really needed to be said.

Leo felt Charles’s hand on his arm as he leant towards him to murmur something. Leo did not catch his words, merely nodded in reply, but it was enough just to feel the faint pressure
of his hand upon his sleeve. Then it was gone, and Basher was standing up to suggest taking a vote. ‘So – all those in favour of accepting the offer, raise your hands.’ Basher glanced round the hall, and there was a susurration as of birds’ wings as arms went up. Anthony looked out at the audience, then along the row on the platform. Brian’s hand had gone up instantly, Freddie Hendry raised his shakily, still in its woollen glove. To his surprise, Anthony saw that Basher had his hand up, Cochrane throwing him a scowling glance. Charles Beecham’s arms remained folded, and both Honoria Hunter’s heavily-ringed hands rested in her lap. It was not easy to see how many in the audience had voted for accepting. A fair proportion, it seemed to Anthony. ‘And all those against?’ Basher gazed out, and this time it was clear which way the vote had swung. Many, many more hands were raised now. There was an angry murmur from some parts of the hall, and someone began to protest angrily at the manner in which the meeting had been conducted. Other voices joined his, and a small, elderly woman in the front row stood up and began to mouth furiously, her voice completely drowned in the hubbub around her. Anthony sighed and stretched his legs. This, he knew from past meetings, was par for the course. He glanced at his watch. Nearly two. Camilla would be busy lugging papers back to chambers when this was over. He wondered whether he and Leo might go for a quick sandwich and a chat.

Basher Snodgrass eventually managed to bring the meeting to order, and informed everyone that it was perfectly clear that a majority had voted against acceptance of the offer, and that the matter would go back to their solicitors for further discussion. Even the angriest among those present realised that there was nothing more to be done that day, and people began to disperse. Anthony managed to palm an irate and garrulous Freddie off on Fred Fenton, who cast Anthony a reproachful look as he made his escape. Anthony merely grinned, and turned in search
of Leo. But Leo was already at the door of the hall, deep in conversation with Charles Beecham. Again there was the bright sound of Charles’s laughter in response to something Leo had said, and at the sight of the two older men together Anthony felt a faint pang. There seemed to exist between them a camaraderie which he did not recognise in his own relationship with Leo. As he made his way out of the hall alone, he noticed Brian Carstairs sitting on a bench just outside the doorway, a bundle of papers on his knees, staring at all the people as they descended the stairs. He hesitated, then went up to him.

‘Unpredictable things, these meetings, aren’t they?’ said Anthony. ‘That was a nuisance about the projector.’

Brian looked up at him, and it struck Anthony that Brian’s face had an exhausted look, as though he had just run an enormous distance. ‘It doesn’t really matter now,’ said Brian.

‘No … well …’ Anthony paused. ‘Are you heading back into town? We could share a cab.’ He had no real wish to share a taxi with Brian Carstairs, but he was conscious that the man was depressed, and needed to be rallied in some way. Only he couldn’t think how.

‘No.’ Brian shook his head. ‘I’m just going to sit here for a while. Then I’ll be off home.’

Once more Anthony hesitated. Something told him he couldn’t just leave him here like this. But the man had said he was going home, after all. ‘Right,’ he said after a moment. ‘I’ll see you soon, then.’

‘Yes,’ said Brian, and he watched Anthony as he sauntered downstairs and out into the cold January air.

When Leo got home that evening, Jennifer was in the kitchen, finishing her supper and flicking through a magazine. When he said good evening, she merely smiled at him.

‘Oliver asleep?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘I left him ten minutes ago and he seemed quite sleepy. I haven’t heard a sound from him since.’

‘I’ll just go up and look,’ said Leo, slipping off his jacket and slinging it over his shoulder.

Oliver’s bedroom was bathed in a muted glow from his night light, and there was no movement from his cot. Leo stepped quietly across the room and looked down. Oliver was fast asleep, his blanket kicked off, his chubby arms outstretched and his bottom in the air. He looked like someone in free fall, thought Leo, gazing at the small, totally inert little body, dense with sleep, lips parted, lashes grazing his cheeks. He looked down at him for a long time, thinking about Charles, then about Rachel, and wondering how life was to resolve itself, and how things would be between Oliver and himself in fifteen years’ time. Then he sighed, stroked Oliver’s cheek with his finger, pulled his blanket up around him and left the room.

Downstairs, Leo went into the living room and poured himself a drink. He could hear the sounds of Jennifer clearing up in the kitchen. She had created such a charged atmosphere in the house that, even a room apart, he was strongly conscious of her. He stood in the middle of the room, sipping his drink, waiting for her to come through from the kitchen, as he knew she would. Sure enough, after a few minutes she appeared in the doorway. She said nothing, merely leant against the door frame. She was wearing some sort of cropped top and jeans, her everyday wear, but Leo realised that her very stance, her expression, even the casual way in which she folded her slim arms, exuded such sexuality that she might as well be stark naked. Leo wondered if she had rehearsed this, so studied and perfect was the moment, or whether she’d picked it up from some film or other. He was amused almost to the point of smiling broadly, but he sipped his drink instead, wondering what she would do next. In fact, after spending two hours with Charles – and he wondered what young
Jennifer would say if she knew of the true object of his desire – it occurred to Leo that he was feeling quite horny, to borrow one of Felicity’s cruder expressions. His gaze shifted from her face, with its clear eyes and childishly provocative mouth, and travelled down over her body. She watched him as he did this, and felt a delicious sense of expectancy rise within her. But Leo decided that it was not really an option. With Rachel away for another two weeks, it would only make the rest of the time he had to spend alone with Jennifer tiresome. Possibly demanding. Still, it was something to be borne in mind.

‘Going out tonight?’ he asked her, thinking that this interlude of pregnant silence had lasted long enough.

‘I hadn’t any plans,’ replied Jennifer.

Leo tossed back the remains of his drink and set the glass down on a table. He moved towards her, and her air of expectancy was almost palpable.

‘Well, make sure you lock up when you come in, if you do decide to. I’m going to have some supper and an early night.’ He brushed past her in the doorway. ‘Goodnight,’ he added.

Jennifer said nothing for several seconds. As he went into the kitchen Leo smiled to himself. Nothing like a little sexual tension to alleviate the tedium of domesticity, he thought, opening the fridge. Then he heard Jennifer say goodnight, her voice brittle with chagrin and assumed carelessness, and she went upstairs. Now, thought Leo, if she had been a little older and more experienced, she would not have let the moment pass so easily. But that was part of the attraction, he supposed. She was so very, very young.

Alison spooned mashed potato from the pan into a Pyrex dish and marvelled at the silence in the house. Even though the children were all in for once, there wasn’t the usual thump of music, or the sound of arguments, or television. They must all
be busy in their rooms. Odd, she thought, how these spells of peace could occasionally descend. These days she had grown used to the constant racket of five people trying to live together in a house which was too small for them, where tempers were frayed and dissatisfaction soured the air. She put the dish of potato into the oven to keep warm and went to the foot of the stairs and called to the children that dinner was ready. Then she went down the hall to Brian’s room. He had been in there since he had come back from town, no doubt busy with his never-ending figures. His news that the settlement offer had been rejected had been a blow, but Alison still felt fairly sanguine. As she’d said to Brian, the very fact that Lloyd’s had started trying to settle showed that they didn’t want the case to fight. They’d probably come up with an improved offer in another week or so. To this, Brian had said nothing.

She knocked lightly on the door. ‘Brian? Dinner’s ready.’ He did not murmur in reply, so she knocked again, a little louder. Still silence. She could hear the children’s feet on the stairs as they came down, then went into the kitchen, talking about something, beginning to bicker. Alison opened the door and saw her husband lying on the floor next to his desk. Several of his best ties were knotted together and fastened at one end to the doorknob, and at the other around his neck. She took a few steps across the room, feeling a slow, dread chill rise up and spread throughout her limbs. She reached out and touched his hand, knowing before she even felt it that it would be quite cold. She had read about people hanging themselves in this way, without jumping off chairs or putting ropes over beams, but she had never been quite sure until this moment how it was done. And she felt a momentary hatred of him for leaving her in this way, knowing that while it ended it for him, everything – the debt, the demands, the ceaseless worry over the children – must go on for her. Now she would have to cope with it all on her own.

The news of Brian’s suicide reached Fred Fenton and Murray Campbell the following afternoon. Alison had rung Charles Beecham, who was the only member of the committee whom she knew, and told him. Shocked, Charles had called Nichols & Co, and then Basher.

‘My God, that’s terrible,’ said Murray, when Fred came to his office to tell him. ‘I know he’d been having a hell of a time of it, losing his business, and so forth, but I’d no idea … How did he seem to you at the meeting yesterday?’

Fred shrugged. ‘The way Brian always did. A bit on edge. He voted to accept the settlement, that much I know.’

Murray sighed. ‘It makes you realise just how this Lloyd’s business gets to people, how it takes over their lives. Destroys them. If he was really in severe financial difficulties, I suppose this settlement could have looked like something of a lifeline. Still, you’d think he would have realised from the start that there was a good chance people would vote against it.’

‘I don’t know,’ mused Fred, strolling over to the window. and gazing out at the Lloyd’s building, its chrome and glass
structure stark against the City skyline. ‘The poor man did his best to set out the proposal in a favourable light when he did the breakdown for the Names. It didn’t help that his slide show went off the rails. Projector broke. But that’s neither here nor there. Before Leo spoke, I think the vote could have gone either way.’

‘You mean our silver-tongued Mr Davies talked them out of accepting?’

Again Fred shrugged. ‘He just said what he thought. But, yes – he’s got all that charisma, that authority. They listen to him.’

‘All the same, it’s unnerving to think what must have been passing through Carstairs’ mind, to make him take the ultimate step … Hanged himself, did you say?’ Murray glanced up at Fred.

Fred nodded. ‘From a doorknob. Just fastened something round the doorknob – a cord or something, I suppose – and put it round his neck. Then – bingo. Mind you, I’ve never quite understood how people do that.’

‘I know,’ agreed Murray. ‘Doesn’t really sound feasible, does it? Still, he managed. Poor Brian. What a way to put an end to your worries.’

With a reluctant sense of duty, Charles felt, having phoned Basher, that he’d better tell Freddie. It would give the poor old geezer a bit of a nasty shock if the first he heard about it was when he got his copy of the
Evening Standard.
Freddie’s reaction, when Charles rang him, was sorrowful but stern.

‘Can’t say I’m surprised,’ he said. ‘I always thought the man didn’t really have it in him to see the thing through.’ Charles noted, not for the first time, that Freddie talked about the litigation as though it were some sort of military campaign. ‘It’s Carstairs’ widow and children that I feel sorry for.’ He sighed, a deep, rib-shaking sigh. ‘No, Beecham, when it comes down
to it, I can’t help thinking that it’s a bit of a coward’s way out.’

‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ protested Charles. ‘It can’t be an easy thing to do, you know – hang yourself. I mean, come on, Freddie …’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t take a maudlin view. The man had a duty to his wife and children. Now they’re left completely in the lurch.’

‘But think of how bad things must have got for him,’ said Charles, who could imagine only too easily the overwhelming sense of depression and futility which had forced Brian to his last, desperate act. ‘Anyway,’ he added, ‘there’s no sense in discussing it. I just felt I’d better let you know.’

‘Quite. I suppose now we’ll need to think about appointing a new committee secretary,’ observed Freddie.

‘Yes, well, I don’t think that’s something that needs to be rushed into quite yet,’ replied Charles, thinking what a ruthless old sod Freddie Hendry could be.

Anthony was quite shaken by the news. When he put down the phone after talking to Fred, Camilla looked across at him in concern. ‘What was that?’

‘Brian Carstairs hanged himself yesterday. He went home after the Names’ meeting and – just hanged himself.’

‘Oh, God …’

‘I spoke to him just after the meeting. He was sitting outside, and I thought he looked a bit odd. Jesus, I didn’t think …’ Anthony broke off and looked away from Camilla, staring unseeingly at the papers before him. Why had he not insisted that Brian come with him? Why hadn’t he just made more of an effort? Perhaps it wouldn’t have made any difference in the long run, but then again … ‘I have to go and tell Leo,’ he said abruptly, getting up from his chair.

As he ran down the short flight of steps to Leo’s room, Anthony recalled the brief but telling speech which Leo had
made at the meeting. No one could say whether it had been decisive, but perhaps Leo would see it that way and hold himself partly responsible for the tragedy.

Leo, when Anthony told him, looked at him blankly, and Anthony assumed that he was stunned by the news. ‘The thing is, I don’t think you should hold yourself in any way responsible,’ went on Anthony.

Leo took off his half-moon spectacles and gazed at Anthony. ‘I? In what possible way could I regard myself as responsible for Brian Carstairs’ imbecile actions?’

‘Well, no, of course – I didn’t mean that you were, in any sense. I was just – I mean, it’s pretty obvious that it was the outcome of the meeting which pushed him over the edge. I didn’t want you thinking that the things you said yesterday—’

Leo laughed abruptly, swivelling in his chair. ‘Good God, man, you credit me with far more of a conscience than I possess. I’m sorry the man is dead, but the fact that I may have swayed the outcome of the vote is irrelevant. I did what I thought best in the interests of all. The offer was a dud.’

There was a momentary silence as both men regarded one another. Anthony realised he had been wrong. Because Leo had in the past shown himself capable of depths of feeling, of tenderness, that was no reason to suppose that he was, in general, kind. Or possessed of the same sense of conscience as Anthony. If he, Anthony, had made that speech yesterday, if he had twisted fate against Brian Carstairs, he would now be tormented with guilt, or at any rate a kind of anguish that he might have been partly responsible for such an awful result. Then Leo said, ‘I know what you’re thinking. But everything is very much a game, Anthony. A matter of chance. And – well, Brian was just one of the losers.’

Anthony nodded. ‘Yes. Well, anyway, there it is. I thought you should know.’

‘Thank you.’

Leo sat staring at the door after Anthony had gone. More and more these days he was aware that he and Anthony no longer seemed to connect. Something was being lost between them. After they had patched things up at the end of last year, when he had managed to re-establish himself in the focus of the younger man’s affections, the old harmony between them had sprung up. But now … It was due to Camilla, he supposed. She was a poor influence, thought Leo. The last thing Anthony needed was that kind of dampening down, his fires of independence and freedom suffocated by female affection. Christ, give the girl half a chance and she would have him married and burdened with a mortgage and three children in no time. And Leo knew all too well, from his own experience, what a mistake that could be. On the other hand, Camilla was no fool. She’d worked hard to get where she was, and she was on the verge of being offered a tenancy at 5 Caper Court. Suddenly a thought struck Leo. Perhaps, if the girl’s sense of ambition were strong enough, there was a way that Leo could save both her and Anthony a lot of trouble.

Leo met Camilla on the stairs quite by chance just after lunch. He noticed that she had a notebook and a couple of books under her arm. ‘Not off to the library by any chance, are you?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I am. I’ve been turfed out of the room. Walter Lumley and Anthony are going over all the US asbestosis judgments, and they need my desk.’

‘Well, while you’re there, would you mind picking up a copy of MacGillivray and Parkington? Mine seems to have walked.’

Camilla nodded, and was about to carry on down the stairs when Leo added, ‘By the way, I’d like to have a chat with you some time – about your future in chambers. The rest of the members of chambers thought it would be a good idea. Perhaps we could have dinner together?’

Camilla, surprised, said, ‘Yes – yes, if you like.’ She felt herself blushing under Leo’s intense blue gaze. She found him somewhat intimidating, and the idea of dining alone with him daunting. Besides, the prospect of whatever it was he had to say to her unnerved her, too.

‘How does next Friday sound?’ Rachel was due back the following Saturday morning, and it appealed to Leo’s sense of order to have this particular manoeuvre accomplished before then.

‘Yes, I’m sure that’s fine,’ said Camilla.

‘Good. If you hang on for a bit longer in chambers – say, till seven – we can go somewhere straight from here. Don’t forget the book.’ He gave her a quick smile and carried on upstairs.

When she got back from the library at the end of the afternoon, Walter Lumley was gathering his papers together in preparation to leave. She had formed no particular view of this young man when he arrived earlier, save that he carried a rather fusty aroma around with him and had the demeanour of a fifty-year-old, despite being in his twenties. Now, however, as he studiedly ignored her and carried on talking to Anthony, she began slowly to dislike him. Clearly Walter belonged to that unattractive breed of barrister which treated pupils as the lowest of the low, and tended to behave as though they did not exist, save to fetch and carry. He did not even perform the simple courtesy of thanking her for letting him use her desk, or in any way acknowledging that he had inconvenienced her. He said goodbye to Anthony without glancing in Camilla’s direction and left the room, a slight, stoop-shouldered figure. She made a face at his departing back as Anthony closed the door.

‘What a creep,’ she murmured. Anthony went over to the window and opened it.

‘I told you he was. And he doesn’t score very highly on the
personal hygiene front. It’s not BO exactly – more a sort of studious whiff. I think it gets stronger the harder he thinks. Let’s have some fresh air.’

‘I’ll bet he’s a virgin.’

‘What – you think little Walter’s problems could all be solved by a bit of strenuous sex, do you? Very chauvinistic attitude, I must say.’ Anthony came over and kissed her briefly. For a second Camilla thought of telling him about her encounter on the stairs with Leo, but some instinct stopped her. She realised that she was secretly rather flattered that Leo had asked her to dinner. Why had he? He said he wanted to discuss her future in chambers, and that was something he could just as easily have talked to her about in his room. With a faint feeling of guilt, she moved away from Anthony and picked up the copy of the book which he had asked her to bring from the library. The prospect of taking it to him suddenly held a certain charm which it would not formerly have done.

‘Leo asked me to get this from the library. I’d better take it to him.’

But when she knocked on Leo’s door and went into the room, she found it empty. Conscious of a mild, irrational disappointment, she laid the book on his desk and went back upstairs.

The prospect of going out with Leo began to preoccupy Camilla as the days passed, and by the time Friday came, she had reached a certain pitch of anticipation and apprehension. She dressed carefully that morning, putting on an ivory silk blouse instead of her usual cotton one, and a black crêpe wool suit which Anthony liked because it showed off her figure. She managed to convince herself that she was only going to this trouble because she had no idea where they were to dine, and should play it safe, but somewhere at the back of her mind lurked the knowledge
that Leo was the kind of man whom every woman would instinctively want to please. And so she would take a little more trouble than usual.

Leo had already worked out his strategy in advance. He took her to a small, up-market Italian place tucked away in the back streets of Seven Dials, where he had booked a quiet booth at the end of the restaurant. He studied her as she read the menu, trying to establish what it was that had so captivated Anthony. She was attractive, certainly, with good skin and very pretty eyes, and although Leo personally preferred his women on the gamine side, there was no question that the girl had a good figure. Certainly she looked a lot better these days than she had when she had first joined chambers. In those days she had been a complete bluestocking, but clearly she had learnt a thing or two under Anthony’s influence. But most of her attractions, Leo decided, lay in the superficiality of youth – the clear eyes, fresh skin and soft hair would fade eventually, and she would become as her mother doubtless was, merely another buxom, comfortable, middle-aged woman.

Leo steered the conversation skilfully along, talking idly at first about the Capstall case, and then bringing up the subject of Brian Carstairs’ suicide, knowing that Camilla’s views on this, doubtless youthfully earnest, must move their dialogue subtly on to a more personal level. By this time Camilla had drunk a glass of wine, and she felt less inhibited with the thoughtful, charming Leo of this evening than she did with the exacting, acerbic person she knew from work.

‘I was wondering, though …’ She frowned slightly, clearly nervous about what she was about to say. ‘I was wondering how it affected you. Personally, I mean.’

They had talked about it, Leo realised, she and Anthony. His response to her was quite different from the one he had given Anthony a week ago.

‘Brian’s death?’ Leo pursed his lips, stared briefly at his wine glass and then looked up directly at her. He knew only too well the effect his look could have on people, particularly in a moment of faint intimacy, such as this one. He could tell from her eyes that it had worked with her, that she was momentarily captivated. It was an important part of this evening’s work, he told himself, to flatter her, to leave her with a pleasant uncertainty as to the exact meaning of his words and looks. ‘I suppose,’ he went on slowly, ‘that I feel sorry that I played any part in it. That sounds worse than it should, I know, but when we are part of people’s lives, we affect them in ways too subtle or tremendous to understand. There is, if one chooses to view it in a certain light, a causal connection between the speech I delivered at that meeting and Brian’s decision to kill himself – but it is very slight.’