An Immoral Code (32 page)

‘Bollocks,’ said Felicity. ‘I don’t know all that much about it, but I don’t think Mr Renshaw could care less. And he’s the head of chambers. They’re more interested in getting decent tenants than worrying about who they’re knocking off. I’ll bet if Mr Renshaw wants you to have this tenancy, you’ll get it regardless. You know what’s important in the long run to that lot? Work and money, and not necessarily in that order. They wouldn’t be offering you a tenancy if they didn’t think you were going to bring in the work. And you will.’

‘Mmm.’ Camilla stared thoughtfully at her drink, then raised her eyes to Felicity’s. ‘So why did Leo go to so much trouble to warn me off Anthony?’

There was a brief silence, then Felicity said, ‘You know the answer to that one, or you wouldn’t be asking the question.’ She took a sip of her drink and set the glass down. ‘He’s jealous.’

Camilla nodded. ‘That’s the conclusion I came to. I know from things Anthony has said that he regards his relationship with Leo as special, important, but I didn’t realise quite how much it mattered to Leo.’

‘So what are you going to do?’

‘Well,’ said Camilla, leaning back in her chair, ‘it seems to me that I don’t have to make any sacrifices at all. I’m going to tell Anthony—’

‘I wouldn’t tell him about Leo,’ interrupted Felicity quickly.

‘No, I wasn’t going to. I’ll just say that I think it might be a good idea for the sake of appearances to cool things between us
until I’ve definitely got the tenancy. Leo says they’ll make a firm offer around Easter time. And after that …’

‘After that you can both do as you please, and no one can touch you for it,’ Felicity said, grinning.

‘There is one slight problem, however.’

‘Leo.’

‘Quite. He’s going to speak to me again about it, I know, and I’ll have to tell him that I’m prepared to stop seeing Anthony for the sake of getting my tenancy. He’ll believe me. I can tell by the way he looks at me that he thinks I’m a bit of a dope. Oh, very bright, and all that, but easy to manipulate. And I’m a little apprehensive about how he’s going to feel when, in a couple of months’ time, he realises that I never meant to give up Anthony at all.’

‘Yeah …’ Felicity scratched her chin thoughtfully. ‘I like Leo, but he can be a right bastard. The kind of bloke you’d rather have on your side than not.’

‘Quite. I’m sure, if he wanted to, that he could make my life in chambers fairly difficult, particularly as a new tenant.’

Felicity shrugged. ‘I’d say that’s a risk you have to take. I wouldn’t let him try to run your life for you. Not if you think Anthony’s worth it.’

‘Oh, he’s worth it. He definitely is,’ said Camilla with a smile. She finished the remains of her wine. ‘It’s been useful talking to you. Thanks. I was wondering if I wasn’t reading too much into Leo’s attitude to Anthony, but I don’t think I am.’

‘Always happy to help,’ said Felicity. ‘And remember, if things do get a bit dodgy in a few months’ time, you’ve always got an ally in me.’ And that, thought Felicity, as she reflected with some pride on her growing power as 5 Caper Court’s clerk, was no small thing.

On the first day of the Capstall hearing, Freddie looked out of his bedroom window and saw the early glimmer of sunlight spreading across a clear, cold sky. A good omen, he thought to himself, as he stood lean-shanked and shivering in his little bathroom, engaged in the routine strip wash learnt long ago at his Wiltshire preparatory school. At this time in the morning, the water was not yet sufficiently hot for a bath. Like a general readying himself for battle, Freddie had been busy in preparation for this great day. He had spent the day before yesterday in the launderette with his stock of shirts and underwear, and yesterday he had stood at the ironing board for the entire afternoon, ensuring that he would have a freshly ironed shirt ready each day. Didn’t want to waste time fiddling about in the mornings. He’d have to be in court bright and early, keeping an eye on things, making sure everything went smoothly. Freddie had an idea that his presence in court for this hearing was indispensable, and that somehow his own close attention to the proceedings would facilitate their proper running. He felt that the very fact that he had risen at
five-thirty this morning to prepare himself had got things off to a good brisk start.

When he had eaten his Bran Buds and drunk his coffee, it occurred to Freddie that he should remind Charles Beecham that Carstairs’ widow might want to attend the hearing. Beecham lived near her, after all, and could bring her up to town. He glanced at his watch. Nearly six. Still, Beecham was probably an early riser, beavering away on those books and documentaries of his. He’d give him a call.

When the phone rang by his bedside, Charles resolved not to answer it. He had a notion that the very fact of making this decision would stop it ringing. But since the thing seemed to be beyond his exercise of will, and just went on trilling, he eventually reached out a groping hand and picked it up.

‘Freddie,’ he groaned, when he heard the clipped, eager tones. ‘Freddie, it’s … it’s …’ Charles focused on the bedside clock. ‘It’s six o’clock, for God’s sake. What is it?’

Freddie explained that he thought it might be an act of Christian charity to ask Mrs Carstairs if she’d like to come along to the hearing. ‘You know, it might be something of a personal thing for her. In the light of her husband’s death.’

‘Freddie,’ sighed Charles, ‘she has children. She has to get them to school and so on. I can’t imagine she’d want to attend. And, anyway,’ he added, ‘I’m not going to be there myself.’

Freddie expressed his astonishment that a member of the committee of the Names’ action group should think of being absent from court on the first day of the hearing. But then, he thought to himself, Beecham had always struck him as not really being one of the stalwarts, tended to shirk his responsibilities somewhat.

‘I’ve got rather a lot of work on at the moment, as it happens,’ said Charles patiently. ‘And I can’t imagine a lot’s going to happen today. I’ll come up when things have got properly under way.’

‘I see,’ grunted Freddie. ‘Well, if you can’t be there in person, I’ll make sure I report the day’s proceedings to you later on.’

‘You do that, Freddie. Just make sure,’ he couldn’t resist adding, ‘that they haven’t got your phone tapped.’ He replaced the receiver and lay back. Rachel turned over sleepily next to him, and he lifted a length of her silken black hair from her shoulder.

‘Who was that?’ she murmured, her eyes still closed.

‘Just an old codger. One of the Names. It’s the first day of the Capstall hearing today.’

Rachel, her mind clearing itself of sleep, thought of Leo, wondered if he was feeling his usual assured, buoyant self. Then she opened her eyes and smiled at Charles. She couldn’t care less. Leo would win. He always won, and good luck to him. Charles, drawing her towards him, feeling the warm, lazy touch of her body against his, told himself that actually Freddie had done him something of a good turn. They still had half an hour before Rachel had to get up to go to work.

It had taken much labour and a great effort of organisation to accommodate in Court Number 25 the vast array of paperwork which the Capstall case had generated. There were box files everywhere, stacked around the court, ranged before the Bench in circular stands, and piled between the solicitors in cardboard filing boxes. Freddie, sitting at the back on the public benches, marvelled at the thought that Leo and his juniors must somehow have made themselves masters of this great wealth of information. He glanced down to where Leo, Anthony, Walter and Camilla sat, thinking that they looked almost a forlorn little foursome in contrast to the massed ranks of lawyers on the right-hand side of the courtroom. The bevy of barristers on the other side, dipping their wigged heads to confabulate, moving around with a rustle and billow of black gown, reminded
Freddie of so many sleek crows. There must have been about sixteen or seventeen of them. He wished, just for the sake of the thing, that the lawyers on the Names’ side were in greater numbers. Still, he thought, it reminded one of Agincourt, the few against the many. In his excitement, he felt his heart swell at this thought, and he muttered, ‘The fewer men, the greater share of honour. God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more …’ He saw Basher Snodgrass give him a curious look from further along the bench, so he coughed and stopped.

Camilla was sitting next to Anthony, attentive, alert, wishing that she had more to do, anxious for things to begin. She glanced round. The murmurings amongst the lawyers were languid; people even looked bored as they adjusted their wigs and fiddled with their laptops, waiting for the hearing to commence, but Camilla was conscious of an undercurrent of tension in the atmosphere. She heard Leo laugh, and turned to look at him. Anthony tapped her arm and nodded in the direction of a very tall QC who was pacing round with an abstracted air.

‘With the amount he’s earning from this case, you’d think he could afford better shoes.’

‘Who is he?’ asked Camilla.

‘David Underwood. He’s leading counsel for the underwriters. He earns a fortune, but it’s a standing joke that he wears the oldest suits in the Temple. I think he’s only got one tie. He’s actually very shy when you meet him socially – almost inarticulate, sometimes – but in court he’s quite a different creature.’

Leo, who was keyed up to a fairly high pitch, leant towards Anthony and murmured, ‘I’ve bet Underwood a case of claret that he can’t get the word “Lilliputian” into his opening address, by the way.’

Anthony laughed, and at that moment the usher intoned, ‘Court rise.’ Through a door at the back of the court emerged
Sir Basil Bunting, tall, sleek, white-haired, and looking ineffably self-important. This was, after all, something of a landmark case, whose outcome would affect the futures of many. Sir Basil’s serene features, as he eased himself into his throne-like chair, betrayed nothing of his anxious and fervent hope that he was going to understand the issues sufficiently to issue that judgment because, from what he had read so far, he wasn’t at all sure that he did. Still, this was the easy part. When everyone was seated, he put on his half-moon spectacles, and cleared his throat.

‘Mr Davies, before you open this case, there are certain matters which I wish to raise.’ He looked around the court with mild gravity. ‘This case has already subjected and will continue to subject the parties to strain, but I expect the trial to be conducted in accordance with best Commercial Court practice.’ That sounded sufficiently authoritative, he thought, let them know he wasn’t going to stand any nonsense. ‘Secondly, a great deal of the background to this case should be capable of being reduced to agreed statements and charts. I expect the parties to cooperate in the early stages of the trial so that the common ground material is agreed. It is all too easy in these matters to move into confrontational mode, so I would be grateful if counsel, in their opening statements, would identify materials that are agreed, or are likely to be capable of agreement.’ That, at least, would reduce the amount of argument and, accordingly, the risk that he might lose track of what was going on. Having delivered these brief admonitions, Sir Basil glanced at Leo and nodded.

Leo rose, and was conscious for the first time in his life that he did not feel his customary superb confidence. He and Anthony might have shrugged off those juicy rumours about their supposed relationship, but here, today, beneath the casually suggestive glances and sly smiles of his fellow barristers, he felt
a distinct unease. He cursed inwardly the destructive miscreant who had spread those idle little lies, so clearly designed to distract and upset himself and Anthony at the outset of this important hearing. It had occurred to him often enough over the past few days that, had things been otherwise, they might not have been lies at all. That fact alone disturbed his equilibrium, and made it harder for him to brush the whispers aside. Nevertheless, at this moment he did his best to thrust such thoughts to the back of his mind, and his voice, as he began to speak, was as assured and coolly persuasive as ever. No one, glancing up at the silver-haired, handsome figure, would have guessed how many cares and distractions pressed in on him from all sides.

‘My Lord, the plaintiff Names in this case claim damages from the defendant members’ agents, the defendant managing agents, Mr Alan Capstall, the active underwriter of syndicate 1766, and Marples and Clark, the auditors, for negligence. It is as a result of that negligence that the Names have been drawn into the nightmare world of the US tort system, and have been – and will continue to be for the foreseeable future – on the receiving end of insurance and reinsurance claims generated by that system, a system where the primary aim of jurisprudence developed by the courts, and of the legislation enacted by Congress, appears to be to ensure that he with the deepest pocket pays, irrespective of all other considerations. My Lord, insurers are deemed for this purpose to have deep pockets, and so are reinsurers. In particular, Lloyd’s Names are deemed to have deep pockets but, although their liabilities are unlimited, their funds, as is by now well known, are not. It is important to remember throughout this case that we are dealing here not with giant corporate entities, but with ordinary people who, having put their affairs into the hands of supposed experts, as the system at Lloyd’s requires, now have no control over what is happening to them. Some of the plaintiffs are persons
of wealth. To them, their Lloyd’s losses may be no more than an inconvenience, albeit a serious one. Others, however – and certainly the majority – have been hard hit, as have their families. Homes, farms, treasured possessions have been sold to pay losses to which Names should never have been exposed. Death is no escape. Very often estates cannot be wound up because of continued exposure to Lloyd’s losses. My Lord, the amounts involved are frightening. The declared loss in the 1992 syndicate accounts for the 1984 open year are £163,989,000. Chatset currently estimates a further deterioration of four hundred per cent of stamp …’ His voice had taken on a steady momentum, and with an imperceptible rustling sigh, the court settled down to listen to Leo expound the grievances of the Names and the faults of the several defendants.

It was three days before Leo finished his exposition of the case, during which time his discourse was frequently interrupted to enable a variety of points regarding confidentiality, chronology and cross-referencing to be dealt with. No amount of oratorical skill could make the material which Leo had to present anything but tedious in the extreme, and he was grateful for those little intervals during which he could resume his seat while counsel for the parties on the other side rose and fell, their voices with them, points of relevance and irrelevance drifting through the courtroom as the hours ticked by, while Sir Basil struggled to make sense of it all. At the back of the courtroom Freddie dozed, waking occasionally to gaze bemusedly at the little games of patience which many of the solicitors, yawning and restless, were playing on their laptop computers. A handful of Names dropped by occasionally to see how their case was progressing, but after a baffling half-hour or so they would drift off again, disappointed by the unelectrifying atmosphere pervading the proceedings.

At the end of the third day, as the hands of the clock crept towards four-twenty and dusk gathered outside, Leo, to his relief, was close to completing his reiteration of the basic points.

‘… And that, my Lord, is the case reduced to its core elements. Unless I can assist your Lordship further—’ At that moment Leo bent to listen as Walter whispered a few words to him, then straightened up. ‘I am told that some significant discovery has come forward very recently from Marples and Clark, which I have not seen, but which my juniors say I must reserve the right to come back to tomorrow morning. I am told it will take only a few minutes, but I understand that it is crucial.’

‘Subject to that, you have finished?’ enquired Sir Basil.

‘Unless I can assist your Lordship further.’

Sir Basil shook his head. ‘No, I congratulate you on covering so much ground with so much thoroughness in three days. Thank you, Mr Davies.’ He glanced round at the other lawyers. ‘Ten-thirty tomorrow morning, then.’

Leo breathed a heavy sigh of relief on the way out of court. ‘Now we’ll see what Sir Basil manages to make of the evidence,’ he murmured to Anthony. ‘Gurney tells me that he’s been ringing up everyone he can find each evening to try and help him understand the points.’

‘What happens tomorrow?’ asked Camilla.

‘God knows,’ said Leo. ‘I’ve bored everyone for long enough, so the other side will just want to pitch straight in and bring on their witnesses of fact, the underwriting witnesses and so forth. Then we’ll have the expert witnesses, then Capstall, and I suppose Underwood and the rest of them will manage to get their three ha’penceworth in along the way. This isn’t a model case in terms of procedure, you know. Everything’s bound to be—’

‘Shambolic,’ said Anthony with a grin.

‘Flexible, I was going to say, with a modicum of tact,’ replied Leo in dry tones. He glanced round in search of Murray Campbell and caught sight of his portly figure as he leant against the wall, papers beneath his arm, deep in conversation with Freddie. ‘I’m just off to have a word with Murray. See you all tomorrow.’