Judicial Whispers (37 page)

‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘Yes, I love you.’

‘Then marry me.’ He spoke with a determination and finality that surprised even him.

Suddenly she felt weary, all resistance spent. ‘Are you sure that this is what you want?’

Leo stared at her, trying to recall all the thoughts that had gone through his mind that afternoon. This was utter madness. Then he thought of the future, of the isolation of failure, of Easter and the difference this might make.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s what I want.’ And he waited.

‘Very well, then,’ replied Rachel at last, with the ghost of a smile. She glanced at him apprehensively.

‘Fine,’ said Leo, the reality of it sinking in. He picked up his glass, hesitated for a moment, and touched it against hers.

Four days later, his phone rang in chambers.

‘You can stop buying
The Sun
, Leo,’ said Sarah’s lazy voice.

A wave of relief swept him for a moment, then anxiety returned. ‘What’s been going on?’ he asked.

‘Well, I simply did what you couldn’t possibly do. I paid our mutual friend James a visit. He’s in some horrible remand place. I went to see him the day after you rang.’

‘And?’

‘Well, I have to admit,’ she continued with a sigh, ‘that I did make a few promises on your behalf. I told him that if he didn’t take this business any further – simply kept his mouth shut and didn’t talk to anyone – you might be able to pull a few strings when his case comes up. And afterwards … well, I’m sure that with your money and connections, Leo, you’ll be able to help him a bit. He had come to something of a dead end.’ She paused. ‘For which you were somewhat to blame.’

‘I know, I know,’ sighed Leo.

‘And I think if he can stay off drugs and find work of some kind, he’ll be OK. If you can set him on his feet, give him a bit of money …’

‘And I’m meant to be doing all this for him?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Sarah’s voice was cool and bright. ‘After all, we’re both doing this for you, aren’t we? When you think what the alternative might be! Very unpleasant publicity. And don’t worry – James hasn’t mentioned my name to any journalists, so no one’s come near me.’

‘You’re doing this for yourself as much as for me,’ replied Leo curtly.

‘Possibly …’ Her tone was light and reflective. ‘But you really should be grateful to me. I’m sure that you’ll be able to return the favour when I’ve finished my Bar course and need a good pupillage.’ She laughed. ‘Won’t you?’

He smiled grimly. ‘Sarah, I do not doubt that from this moment on I am eternally in your debt.’

She laughed again. ‘Something like that. Now, you will back up these promises I made to James, won’t you? Otherwise, well – it’s a bit of a let-down for everybody, isn’t it?’

‘I’ll do what I can. Goodbye, Sarah.’

He put the phone down. So that immediate threat was removed – he would worry about the cost of it later. James was easily dealt with from now on. The irony of it was that he had been panicked into committing himself irrevocably to Rachel. He rubbed his hand wearily across his eyes. It seemed that with every step which he took to free himself from his problems, he became further and further enmeshed in new ones of his own making.

‘I’m afraid I can’t – not the fifteenth, Charles,’ said Sir Basil, sitting at his desk with the telephone in one hand and his fountain pen in the other. ‘No, we are having a small celebration in chambers that evening. Leo Davies is to be married, you know. Perhaps you could have a word with the Lord Chancellor and arrange another evening? Excellent. Goodbye.’

Loyalty to chambers first, thought Sir Basil as he put down the phone. He was hardly likely to lose his appointment to the Bench through having to inconvenience the Judicial Appointments Group. He particularly did not wish to miss Leo’s drinks party. He felt a vague but unmistakeable relief that Leo was at last getting married.

Still with his fountain pen in his hand, Sir Basil stood up, gazing at the little list which he held. He must arrange an afternoon with Henry to go through his cases, working out which he could safely continue with and which would have to be wound down. He would go and arrange that with him now.

Henry was in a little room off the clerks’ room initiating Felicity in the mysteries of the photocopier. Felicity, whose first day 
it was at 5 Caper Court, stood with her hands clasped attentively behind her back, wearing an expression of concerned intelligence. The hem of her skirt was three inches lower than normal, but she had been unable to resist wearing her favourite low-cut blouse. Otherwise what was the point of having a Wonderbra?

‘… and so you press this button and it collates and stacks everything. Right?’

Felicity nodded and fingered the button thoughtfully. She’d never been very good at getting things into bundles. She remembered that time when the machine at Nichols & Co had started shooting sheaves of paper all over the floor like a demented thing. It hadn’t been her fault, but everyone had blamed her. She hoped she was going to be OK with this one.

‘May I have a word, Henry?’ asked Sir Basil as he put his head round the door. He glanced at Felicity and gave her a faint, courteous smile, trying hard to keep his gaze above her chin. Felicity felt as if she ought to curtsey, and smiled back. Pretty girl, thought Sir Basil, if a little more exotic in her attire than the kind of girl they usually employed.

‘Here,’ said Henry to Felicity, ‘you can photocopy these bundles for Mr Davies for tomorrow’s hearing. Four of each, then go through and mark off the pages, just like the original.’

And Henry went off to speak to Sir Basil, leaving Felicity to her task.

At the end of the day, Henry dropped in on Leo.

‘How is young Miss Waller settling in?’ asked Leo, taking off his spectacles.

‘Seems happy enough. Did you get those bundles for tomorrow’s hearing?’

Leo glanced up. ‘Yes. For some reason all the markers had been moved around. It took me a little time to sort them out, which was annoying.’

Henry raised his eyebrows. ‘Felicity photocopied those. It was the first thing I gave her to do.’

‘Oh. Ah. I see.’ Leo frowned, then glanced away, while Henry tried not to grin. Well, he was responsible for bringing her into chambers. He would just have to hope that it wasn’t the shape of things to come. ‘It’s only her first day,’ he reminded Henry. ‘She’s probably a bit nervous.’

‘Yes, probably,’ agreed Henry, and left, smiling.

When Henry had gone, Leo, for the hundredth time that day, began to ponder his wedding next week. He had arranged everything with the registry office, they were having a drinks party a couple of days beforehand in chambers, he was taking Rachel to Florence for a week … The only thing he had not done was tell his mother. Why? He puzzled at his own reluctance to tell her, to invite her. He wanted no guests at all. Her presence would simply give credence to it all. Family. With each of these steps – the drinks party, the registry office, the honeymoon – Leo felt as though another hoop of steel grappled him closer to Rachel. And he told himself it was inevitable, part of the metamorphosis. From here on, he was to assume a new persona. It was unthinkable that he should exclude his mother. With this thought, he picked up the telephone and prepared himself to tell her about her future daughter-in-law and grandchild.

On the evening before Leo’s drinks party in chambers, five weeks before Easter, Rachel went round to Anthony’s flat. She went on impulse, on the off-chance that she might find him in. They had not spoken since Anthony had phoned her and she had told him about Leo, and now she had the feeling that she should say something to him. She felt haunted by guilt about their relationship, and wanted to ease any sense of grievance that he might still feel.

Anthony looked only mildly surprised when he opened
the door and saw Rachel standing there. She was wearing an enveloping grey blouson jacket of soft suede, a present from Leo, a white cashmere polo neck, one of Leo’s purchases after the burglary, and jeans; she was now, somehow, very much Leo’s property, and happy to be so. Anthony was wearing an old rugby shirt and battered cords, and his feet were bare. Rachel was struck by how very young he looked, and beautiful. She had quite forgotten.

‘Come in,’ said Anthony, and she followed him through to the kitchen, closing the door behind her. The radio was on and the ironing board up. A pile of Anthony’s collars lay on a chair and a can of Robin spray starch stood on the table.

‘Doing my collars,’ he remarked. ‘It’s a chore I really hate, so I always put it off and finish up having to do about two dozen at once.’ He switched off the radio and folded up the ironing board. ‘What would you like – a drink? Coffee?’

‘I’ll have a coffee, thanks,’ said Rachel, unfastening her jacket and slipping it over the back of a chair.

‘That’s a pretty jacket,’ said Anthony, glancing at it as he filled the kettle. He knew immediately that Leo had bought it for her; Leo’s taste was instinctively familiar to him, he realised with a pang.

‘Isn’t it?’ replied Rachel hesitantly, tucking back shining strands of her dark hair. ‘Leo gave it to me – a sort of—’

‘Engagement present?’ He glanced at her faintly troubled face. ‘Don’t worry. I do know, you know. We’re having a bit of a celebration in chambers tomorrow evening.’ He spooned coffee into the coffee machine. She thought she detected a faintly grim note in his voice, and said nothing. She suddenly realised, watching him make the coffee, that she had come round here without any clear purpose. What was she supposed to say to him? Suddenly she remembered Mr Nikolaos.

‘We’ve got some good news on the
Valeo
Dawn
,’ she said
brightly. ‘The other side seem prepared to accept the experts’ findings about the cause of the fire. We should be able to settle.’

‘Mmm,’ said Anthony, smiling wryly. ‘I was rather hoping that case might become a money-spinner. Still, I’m glad for Mr Nikolaos.’ There was silence again. So even that last little connection between them was severed. Unless she ever instructed him again, which he doubted.

‘The coffee will take a moment or two,’ he added, fetching a beer for himself from the fridge. He cracked it open and tipped the can briefly in her direction. ‘Here’s to both of you,’ said Anthony, glancing at her and wishing she did not look so heart-stoppingly lovely. It had done him some good not to see her for the past month or two. He had felt only a brief, deep pang when he had heard that Leo was to marry her. The idea of Leo marrying would have astonished him once. Now, nothing surprised him.

‘Thank you,’ she said faintly. She sat with her hands clasped between her knees, watching him. It was up to her to take the initiative, she realised. She had come here uninvited, after all. There was a pause, during which Anthony got up to pour out her coffee, and she said, ‘I felt I wanted to see you, to explain things to you …’

‘Don’t be absurd!’ he broke in. She felt grateful for the interruption. ‘Why should you explain anything to me?’ His voice sounded mild and mocking, but not unkind. He set her coffee in front of her. ‘I’m very happy for you. Truly.’

How could he tell her anything of what he really felt? How could he begin to explain to her that the loss he felt most deeply was the loss of Leo, that this news had brought home to him the knowledge that, somehow, he had always felt that he had come first in Leo’s heart? That was ridiculous, he knew – he had spurned Leo long ago. Why should he still imagine that he retained the chief part of his affection? But, rightly or wrongly,
he had always thought so. Now he knew otherwise. If he had tried to explain any of this to Rachel, she would not have begun to understand. She had come to make an apology where none was needed. He had been in love with her – was still a little in love with her – but that infatuation was eclipsed by his recent awareness of how entire and consuming his affection for Leo had always been. Would always be. And now she had the prize, she had Leo’s love and all the rest of him.

Suddenly Rachel looked up and said, ‘I’m having a baby.’

Anthony could think of nothing to say. How much he had lost, he realised. Rachel was beyond him – he saw now that she had always been. But to lose her to Leo, to lose Leo to her … There was something a little ludicrous about all of it. And then some faint comprehension began to dawn. Of course Leo was bound to marry her – what else would anyone do in such circumstances? He had known there must be some reason, some motive which he could not fathom. He suddenly felt lighter in his heart, as though Leo was not entirely lost to him.

‘Oh,’ he said at last. ‘That’s – that’s something of a surprise.’ Already he was adept at producing the remark designed to elicit the information he wanted, without the need for a question. Part of his acquired skills.

‘Yes,’ murmured Rachel, ducking her head, unable to prevent her soft smile of pleasure. ‘Yes, we were both – well, it was unexpected, I suppose.’

At that moment, the doorbell rang.

‘Half a tick,’ said Anthony, and got up. When he returned, it was in the company of a stocky blonde man, whose voice she had heard booming in the hall, and two girls. The girls were of a type she knew; confident, careless Sloanes with distant, amused eyes, half-smiling mouths, and plenty of easy, bright conversation.

‘—and so we thought the Bistro Vino, and then a club somewhere,’ Edward Choke was saying as he came into the
kitchen. ‘Oh, I say – hello!’ he added, seeing Rachel sitting with her coffee. She smiled back.

‘Rachel,’ said Anthony, ‘meet Edward Choke, who was in pupillage with me. And’ – he turned to the girls, who were eyeing Rachel surreptitiously – ‘Alexandra and Stephanie. This is Rachel, everyone.’

‘Just call me Tiggy,’ said the girl whom Anthony had introduced as Stephanie, leaning over and shaking Rachel’s hand. ‘Anthony, darling, do you have such a thing as an ashtray, or are we in a smoke-free zone?’ She curled her arm into Anthony’s and gave him a caressing look and a small, swift kiss before detaching herself and going to rummage in the cupboards.

‘Look here,’ said Edward, who was surprised and enchanted to find this unexpected treasure in Anthony’s kitchen, ‘why don’t you join us, Rachel? We’re just off for a spot of supper, then – well, see how the evening goes. What about it?’

Rachel stood up and lifted her jacket from the back of the chair. Alexandra watched as she put it on, wondering how wealthy Rachel might be, and why she’d never seen her around. Rachel smiled at Edward. ‘I’d love to, but I’m afraid I can’t. Really.’

‘Rachel,’ said Anthony, laying his arm around Rachel’s shoulder, noting that she did not stiffen as he did so, ‘is shortly to be married to our own dear Leo.’

‘What? Leo Davies? Well, congratulations!’ Edward beamed and decided that this was an excuse to give Rachel a kiss. Then he stood back and looked at her, which gave Rachel the curiously unpleasant sensation of being an exhibit whose only interest lay in belonging to Leo. ‘Well, well! And I’d always thought he was a raving poofter!’ Edward laughed immoderately, while Anthony closed his eyes briefly and smiled. Rachel said nothing, buttoning her jacket up slowly.

Anthony escorted her to the front door. ‘Thanks for dropping round,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry you’re going so soon.’

‘I’ve got to go round and sort out a few things at my flat,’ she replied. ‘I’m putting it on the market next week. I’m staying in Mayfair at the moment.’ Anthony nodded. ‘Well,’ she said awkwardly, ‘I’d better leave you to get on with your evening.’

And my life, thought Anthony, closing the door and leaning against it for a moment, listening to the sound of Tiggy’s bright, shrill voice in the kitchen.

In a set of rooms in the House of Lords, dark-panelled, discreetly carpeted, the air laden with a hush befitting the dignity of the assemblies of old men, Sir Basil was mingling at his ease with his future fellows on the Commercial Bench. The Lord Chancellor believed in holding regular little gatherings of his judiciary, feeling, as the outsider he perceived himself to be, that it helped to bring an informality and friendliness to his dealings with them.

‘And so Leo Davies is to be married?’ remarked Sir Bernard Lightfoot to Sir Basil, sipping at his whisky, and thinking that it was really rather superior to the last Lord Chancellor’s stuff. Lord Steele clearly knew his malts.

‘Yes – yes, we are all very pleased, of course.’ Sir Basil smiled serenely round at the little circle, at Sir Bernard’s narrow, lofty countenance, at Sir Edward Appleby’s gnome-like face, at Sir Frank, thoughtful and jowly, and at the Honourable Sir Roger Ware, who wore his usual imperturbable, knowing half-smile.

‘I must say,’ said Sir Bernard languorously, ‘that some of us were a little surprised. After the rumours which have been circulating, you know.’

Sir Frank sighed; why must Bernard always be so tiresome, making mischief? But Sir Basil must already know.

‘I’m sorry?’ Sir Basil inclined his white head courteously in Sir Bernard’s direction, thinking that he had always disliked appearing in court before this man. He had a mocking,
deprecatory manner, as though he found everything, even her Majesty’s High Court of Justice, Commercial Division, childishly amusing.

‘Well, you know, Sir Basil,’ replied Sir Bernard easily, shifting his weight, ‘that since Davies applied to take silk his private life has come in for some rather close scrutiny. And not all that we hear has been to the good. Rent boys, unusual proclivities, that kind of thing …’