Judicial Whispers (28 page)

‘And how is your father?’ asked Sir Basil. ‘I understand he had a new exhibition recently. My sister Cora bought one of his paintings.’

‘Oh, he’s well, thank you,’ replied Anthony, recalling the one occasion on which Chay and Sir Basil had encountered one another, when Chay had just been busted and bailed and looking thoroughly disreputable. That had been at a chambers Christmas party, too. Sir Basil was also recalling the encounter at that moment. He had thought at the time that Chay Cross had looked a most unsuitable type to be the father of a prospective tenant at 5 Caper Court, but then artists were hardly like other people. The man was now celebrated and wealthy, and for these twin virtues Sir Basil could forgive any amount of bohemian eccentricity.

‘Now, I see my secretary needs a bit of a top-up,’ said Sir Basil, wagging his bottle jovially. ‘Do excuse me.’

Anthony murmured something, and was about to make his escape when he saw Leo come into the room with Michael. He had been steering clear of Leo, not even going to tea in the afternoons in the Inner Temple Common Room with the others, and he had not seen him for over a week. As ever, the sudden sight of Leo had a peculiar effect upon Anthony, as though he stood out from the rest of those in the room, more alive than they, vivid and compelling. Anthony, this time, mistook the force of his feeling for deep dislike. He didn’t want to be in the same room as the man.

Leo saw that Anthony was about to leave, and while Michael was fetching them both a drink, Leo stayed near the door, so that Anthony had to pass by him on the way out.

Anthony, feeling absurdly childish, tried to ignore him, but
as he went through the doorway and out onto the landing, Leo followed him and gripped him by the arm. In a way, Anthony realised, he was glad to be detained by him. He turned, his face expressionless.

‘Don’t you think,’ said Leo, glancing behind him at the crowded room, ‘that this is all becoming rather ridiculous?’ Anthony said nothing. ‘I mean, how long is all this going to go on? We work in the same chambers, Anthony. It’s bad for the whole set if you’re going to go around looking sulky and avoiding me.’

‘How do you expect me to behave after what you’ve done?’ replied Anthony. ‘Do you imagine I like you for it?’

‘You don’t have to like me,’ said Leo. ‘You merely have to learn to behave in an adult fashion, not like some teenager.’

‘Look, Leo,’ said Anthony, ‘if I’m fed up with you, then I’ll act fed up. OK?’ He didn’t have the heart to feel angry, merely defensive.

‘I’m glad to hear that’s all it is,’ said Leo mildly. He paused. ‘What have you done about the
Valeo Dawn
papers?’

‘I’ve told Rachel I’m sending them back. I haven’t got around to it yet,’ replied Anthony.

‘You know she doesn’t want you to,’ said Leo. ‘Her client is hard up as it is. She doesn’t want him forking out for another counsel to go over the same ground twice.’

Anthony stared at him, thinking absently that Leo was getting older, that his handsome face was becoming more drawn and lined. There was a touch of weariness about the eyes. ‘Can I ask you something?’ he said suddenly. His voice sounded challenging, genuinely curious.

‘If you want,’ replied Leo, moving away a little from Anthony and leaning on the banister. Why couldn’t the boy just let it alone?

Anthony’s eyes were still fastened on Leo’s face. ‘Explain it
to me. I mean, tell me what’s going on.’ There was a pause as they gazed at one another, Leo saying nothing. ‘Because I don’t understand it. You tried to seduce me once’ – his voice was soft against the growing chatter of the party behind them – ‘and now Rachel. I don’t understand it.’

‘Nothing is ever straightforward,’ answered Leo, glancing down at the brown polished wood and rubbing it with his thumb. ‘Life and people – all very complicated.’ He sighed. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have answers for you.’

‘But why Rachel?’ said Anthony insistently. ‘I mean, why her, of all people? You don’t love her, do you?’

Dear Anthony, thought Leo. You still think everything would have been all right with her, if only I hadn’t butted in. How wrong you are. But I can’t tell you that. What can I tell you? He looked up. How many lies was he going to have to tell in the course of this thing?

‘I liked her when I met her. I asked her out. That’s all.’ He paused, then added, ‘Perhaps I do love her.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ answered Anthony, his voice still soft.

‘Don’t you, Anthony?’ said Leo, straightening up, his voice flat and uninterested in contrast to the intensity of Anthony’s tone.

‘No,’ said Anthony, ‘I don’t. Have you told her about your – let me get the right word – your sexual ambivalence, shall we say? I mean, is she getting the real Leo here?’ Anthony’s voice was light and dangerous.

‘I think so. Yes. Yes, she knows, if that’s what you mean.’

This took Anthony aback. She knew and she didn’t care. She must feel very deeply for Leo indeed. Or was it that he simply didn’t understand the way women’s minds worked? He hesitated for a moment, then murmured, ‘You’re beyond me. It’s all way beyond me.’ He turned to go. From downstairs came the sound of the door to the clerks’ room slamming, then Mr Slee’s key in
the lock. ‘Merry Christmas,’ added Anthony over his shoulder, aware that he felt no real animosity, no real anything. It had all been a waste of time and emotion. Let them get on with it. He didn’t want to know any more.

As Anthony reached the landing below, and Leo the doorway, there was a sudden heavy thudding, as of something bumping downstairs, and then a groan. Anthony stopped, looked over the banister, then back up at Leo, who had reappeared on the landing.

‘What the hell was that?’ asked Leo.

‘I don’t know,’ said Anthony, and then raced down to the bottom, where he found Mr Slee slumped outside the door to the clerks’ room. ‘Jesus, I think he’s had a heart attack,’ said Anthony to Leo, who had followed him downstairs. They bent over him. Mr Slee’s eyes were closed, his face grey and his lips bluish.

‘We’d better call an ambulance,’ said Leo. He rattled the locked door of the clerks’ room, then turned and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

On the other side of the city, in Bishopsgate, the Nichols & Co party was in full spate. With an office of more than two hundred people, this was a rowdy and crowded affair. One of the conference rooms next to the boardroom on the ninth floor had been turned into a dark, cavernous disco, complete with sound system and rented DJ (husband of one of the secretaries) and coloured strobe lighting. The boardroom itself heaved with people, all drinking as much as they could at the expense of their employers, forming themselves into exactly the same little cliques as they did at work – the partners at one end, already glancing at their watches and preparing to drift off, the denizens of the post room at the other, and little knots of people from various different departments in the middle.

Felicity was standing near one of the buffet tables with two of her mates. She was wearing a low-cut cerise dress which she’d bought in Petticoat Market just that afternoon, and which stopped several inches above her knees, and her curly hair was piled up on her head. She’d nearly decided not to come this evening, but, having decided she would, she thought she might at least make an effort. Anyway, she liked dressing up and showing this bunch how good she could really look. When she went out with Vince she never really had a chance to dress up. Not properly. He liked her in her black leather skirt and halter-neck blouse. This was her chance to look a bit glam.

She and Beryl and Maureen had made heavy inroads into the white wine, and had now decided to swap to vodka and tonics. No sense in not getting your money’s worth, thought Felicity, as she scoffed a couple more vol-au-vents and wondered what that green stuff in the bowl with the crisps round it was. Looked like pus. She was about to dip an experimental finger into it when a voice at her ear made her jump.

‘You’re looking very sexy tonight, Felicity,’ said Mr Lamb. His sparse black hair was combed carefully over the bald part of his skull, and he was wearing so much Paco Rabanne that Felicity could taste it at the back of her throat. Maureen and Beryl had instinctively moved away at Mr Lamb’s approach, and now she was cornered. Well, at least they were in public, and he couldn’t start groping her again. Mind you, you never knew. She was just amazed that he was speaking to her after what had happened in the lift.

‘I like that dress,’ murmured Mr Lamb. Felicity looked at him, wondering whether she should tell him to piss off, or whether ‘thank you’ might be more diplomatic. She said nothing. ‘And you’ll be pleased to hear that I haven’t spoken to Mr Rothwell yet,’ he added, lowering his voice. ‘I’ve decided to give you one more chance. I thought once you’d got a little of the party spirit,
we could get together later on. Somewhere a little quieter, like my room. What do you think? Just a bit of fun, Felicity – a little Christmas fun. Then you’ll have a job to come back to next year, won’t you?’ And she felt his hand slide across her bottom as he moved away, his oily smile still on his face, off to butter up the senior partners.

Felicity had listened to him impassively. She didn’t care any more whether she got the sack or not. She wanted out of this poxy place. When she had told Vince last night, he’d said she should get out – that was after he’d calmed down a bit. She hadn’t expected him to react as violently as he had done when she’d told him what Mr Lamb had been up to. He was funny like that, Vince. You never knew what would make him go berserk. Mind, she should have known that would do it. But he’d calmed down eventually. Oh, Vince … She wished she were with him right now, and not here. She wasn’t enjoying herself. Still, maybe she’d feel better if she went and had a bop.

‘Come on, Mo,’ she said, rejoining her friends. ‘Let’s go and do a bit of damage next door.’ And off they trooped to the conference room and the sounds of Prefab Sprout.

Down in reception Ted, the night porter, yawned and chucked his copy of the
Evening Standard
to one side. He ambled round the reception desk and stood staring out through the revolving doors into the dark, deserted street. They were all up having their party now. Probably all right to nip into the back office and have that drink with the cleaners. He checked the lights on the switchboard, then went out through the fire door to the back.

A few minutes later, a scruffy young man in a black leather bomber jacket, with shoulder-length hair and two-day-old stubble, came through the revolving doors, followed by a tall man in jeans and a camouflage jacket. They stood for a moment at the desk, wary and watchful.

‘There’s no one about,’ said Vince to his mate Benjy. ‘I
thought there’d be someone here. That’s useful. Come on.’

‘Which floor is it, then?’ asked Benjy, as they got into the lift.

‘I dunno, do I?’ replied Vince, scanning the buttons. ‘We’ll just have to start at the first floor and work our way up. Right?’

Benjy nodded and Vince pressed the first of the buttons.

Four minutes later they emerged, looking very unlike typical office partygoers, at the ninth floor. The sounds of the disco and the swell of voices and laughter from the boardroom were unmistakeable. Vince stood by the lift for a moment, raising and lowering his shoulders, psyching himself up. He’d sort this bastard Lamb out. Just a question of finding him, then having him. Careful not to look too aggressive just at first. Didn’t want to be stopped before he’d even got to him.

They walked casually up the corridor towards the sound of the party. A young woman came out of the boardroom, heading for the lift. Vince thought she looked vaguely familiar, that long black hair and nice face.

‘’Scuse me,’ he said to her, his voice that of a polite child.

‘Yes?’ said Rachel, glancing at them both. Didn’t she know this man?

‘We was just looking for Mr Lamb,’ said Vince, then coughed.

They must be with the electricians who were working on the new computer terminals – that was why he was familiar. Presumably that was why they wanted Mr Lamb, though it seemed odd that they should still be working at this time in the evening.

‘Yes – he’s in there, in the far left-hand corner,’ replied Rachel with a smile. ‘At least, he was a moment ago.’

‘Thanks,’ said Vince, and gave her his best smile. Benjy muttered thanks and followed Vince towards the boardroom. Rachel walked on towards the lift.

Once inside the boardroom, Vince merely had to ask one other person to identify Mr Lamb, carefully picking someone
who looked like he’d had a few and wouldn’t ask questions. He nodded and stared as Mr Lamb was pointed out to him. That bald-headed bastard, was it? Right. As he squared his shoulders and pushed his way through the crowd, Benjy in his wake, people turned to stare. As he drew nearer, Vince began to shout at Mr Lamb.

‘Oy, Mr Lamb! You Mr Lamb?’ He strode on, drawing nearer, as Mr Lamb turned to stare at him in amazement. ‘I’m gonna fuckin’ drop you, mate!’ and he grabbed the astonished Mr Lamb by his upper arms and headbutted him. Mr Lamb went down like a sack of potatoes, his drink spilling down one trouser leg, blood spurting from the bridge of his nose. Then Vince hauled him up by his necktie and struck him twice with his fist, before dropping him down and administering two heavy kicks to his stomach and ribs. ‘I’d like to tear your fuckin’ head off!’ he panted at Mr Lamb. ‘You touch my girlfriend once more, and I bloody well will!’

Then he turned and pushed his way out. While all this had been going on, Benjy had been shoving back a couple of the more daring spirits who had tried to pull Vince off – Benjy was such an intimidating prospect that, even in their numbers, none of the men felt like tackling him. The partners had already left. No one felt particularly authoritative. Anyway, whatever Lamb was getting, he probably deserved. No one liked him. So they stood there, drinks in hand, looking apprehensive and mumbling threateningly to one another as Vince and Benjy reached the door. Some of the girls were leaning over Mr Lamb and screaming.

Hearing the tumult, people began to come through from the disco room, Felicity among them. She saw Vince and Benjy, and for a second opened her mouth to say something. Then she thought better of it and melted back into the room. She heard someone murmur, ‘That guy just gave Lamb a going-over!’ Oh, Christ, thought Felicity. Oh, Vince.