Law and Peace (28 page)

Oh.

 

 

Thursday 5 June 2008

Year 2 (week 36): QueenBee

 

Smutton called me over to her office again today. The more I see of this glamorous solicitor the more she brings to mind a queen bee dominating the hive around her. This is not only because she's more alpha than any male or simply because she makes the other solicitors around her appear like drones. No, it's also because, above all, she is always ready with a sting in her tail. Today it was aimed at the judge himself.

‘I'd like your assistance in looking a little closer into the er, personal affairs of our good friend the judge in the Moldy litigation.'

‘How can I help?' I asked.

‘Well, it just so happens that I've discovered the name of the lady with whom he is having an affair. He's something of a sugar daddy to her by all accounts. She's a friend of a friend and tomorrow evening you and I will be attending a drinks party that she is hosting. Sound good?'

‘Er, yes. Sure,' I replied. ‘But what exactly do you want me to do?'

‘Oh, BabyB. You're not quite as naïve as you like to let people believe. Let's just say I'd like you to get to know her a little better and discover if the judge has any . . .' she drew breath, smiled and then continued, ‘. . . special interests. I'm sure you'll work it out.'

With which she dismissed me from her presence and left me to ponder my first meeting with SugarBaby.

All in all . . . bee-witching . . . (sorry).

 

 

Friday 6 June 2008

Year 2 (week 36): Virgin on the rude

 

‘I've been examining law students today,' said OldSmoothie at chambers tea.

‘Yes, I bet you have,' said BusyBody sarcastically.

‘In every conceivable way, no doubt,' said UpTights.

‘Intimately,' added BusyBody.

‘You know, sometimes I get sick and tired of the two of you lowering the tone of every conversation with your whining and innuendo. Particularly when it concerns the people who carry the future of this great nation on their shoulders. Low-grade, petty and occasionally even potty-mouthed cant if you ask me.'

‘Which is rich coming from a low-grade, petty and often potty-mouthed . . .'

BusyBody drew breath to deliver her final verdict and as she did everyone else stopped talking as they feared she might be about to go just too far. Then quick as a flash TheVamp interrupted with, ‘. . . runt, naturally.'

Collective sighs of relief followed and then OldSmoothie, assuming his most haughty and pompous look, said, ‘Ladies, listen to yourselves carping away like the three witches in
Macbeth
. All I would offer you in reply are the fine words of Aristophanes: “To be insulted by you is to be garlanded with lilies.”'

BusyBody fell quiet, as if surprised that for once she'd been included in the specific insults that are usually directed at UpTights. Then she looked at OldSmoothie and said, ‘Why are you always so rude to UpTights?'

‘Because she's a calcified witch,' said OldSmoothie without even blinking. ‘Her heart turned to stone years ago and whatever soul she had wasn't able to survive in the bitterness and bile that pumps through her veins.'

‘But you've got to admit that you just enjoy being nasty,' said TheCreep, rather uncharacteristically.

‘Oh do give it up, won't you,' said OldSmoothie. ‘You young ones are all the same. So full of wide-eyed hypocrisy that you don't even realise you're all headed in just the same direction. You can carp all you like but as sure as the sun goes up, and in UpTights's case down, one day in, er . . .' he coughed, ‘. . . twenty years time, you'll wake up and realise that you've turned into us, whether you like it or not.'

Then he looked at TheCreep and gave a cruel smile, pointed at him and said, ‘Although, that's not to say you're going to suddenly start growing, in case you're wondering.'

By now he had drawn an audience and he continued his lecture. ‘You've already set your trajectory. You just don't realise it yet. You won't until it's far too late. It's like when they used to warn you about the wind changing when you were a child. Whatever might be in those oh so earnest little hearts of yours, you're never going to be a UN goodwill ambassador or win a Nobel Prize. You're never going to climb Mount Everest, or even simply live by the sea and write a novel. Instead cash will be king, your clerks will have more say over your lives than your family and you'll all have glorious careers at the great English Bar. So wake up kids and smell the stink of your lost dreams. They left town when you signed up for law school and boarded the cop-out-and-get-rich train of hypocrisy.'

There was prolonged silence and then everyone returned to their cups of tea and conversations as if nothing unusual had occurred at all. As I listened to OldSmoothie, I thought of my mum's and Claire's outbursts and of the grubby depths to which I had allowed myself to be dragged by Slippery and ScandalMonger and for a moment the bleak truth of OldSmoothie's words left me shaken.

Immediately after chambers tea I had a short conference with Arthur and Ethel in chambers and afterwards I took them along to meet OldRuin. As he poured them tea from a pot that he'd just made Ethel said, ‘Hmm, we do like a good cup of Lapsang.'

OldRuin smiled and said, ‘Yes, it's silly really but it's my favourite because it takes me back to the smell of the smoked tea we'd make as children as we built a fire and played by the river.'

‘For me it's linseed oil on willow,' said Arthur. ‘Just the slightest whiff and I'm taken back to those long lazy Summer afternoons watching the village cricket as you wait to go in to bat.'

‘Which always reminds me of white-sliced cucumber sandwiches, scones and a big urn of hot tea,' said Ethel.

It was no surprise that they all got on extremely well. Before they were about to leave Arthur gave me a far more serious look than he's ever done when talking about the case and said, ‘I'm afraid that whilst we were waiting earlier we overheard what OldSmoothie was saying, BabyBarista. In fact I think the whole of the Temple did for that matter.'

‘Oh,' I said, looking embarrassed. ‘Yes, we're all doomed to end up like him.'

‘Don't you believe a word of it, young man. There's always hope. Right up to the end. Never let him tarnish those dreams with that terrible jaded cynicism, which reflects only on him.'

OldRuin smiled and said, ‘It's true, BabyB. You're part of a wonderful profession which will allow you to do whatever you choose.' His voice lowered as he continued, ‘Though we have to be careful to avoid it becoming all-consuming.'

Ethel smiled and Arthur's face lifted as if he'd just thought of something and he said, ‘You know what, I think you need to meet my friend TheColonel. Next time you've got a case in the West Country, you must tell me.'

 

 

Monday 9 June 2008

Year 2 (week 37): JudgeFetish

 

So Friday evening went ahead as planned and I went along as Smutton's date to a very swanky drinks party in Holland Park; all high ceilings, waiters and girls on their gap years serving canapés. Well, girls on their gap years and er . . . Worrier. I saw her coming out of the kitchen carrying a tray and when she saw me she not only blushed but dropped the tray in shock. I helped her pick the food up.

‘Oh, BabyB. I was so hoping I wouldn't see anyone I knew.'

‘But why are you waitressing?' I asked. ‘I thought you were working for some firm of solicitors?'

‘I am, BabyB. But I'm still re-training and they're hardly paying me anything. Which on top of all the debts I racked up last year means that I've got to do a bit of moonlighting to make ends meet. Someone at work told me about this posh waitressing racket.'

‘Well, I bet you get a few stories to tell with this job,' I commented cheerfully, hoping I'd help to calm her down.

She brightened up at that and said, ‘Oh, BabyB, you'd never believe some of the things I've seen.'

Her wide eyes were even wider than usual and she looked really quite pleased with herself to have experienced such things, albeit vicariously. Before I could hear more I caught an irritated look from Smutton and I jumped to attention, wished Worrier the best and went back to her side. Next minute and she was swishing me over to the other side of the room (after a little grope of my bottom) and introducing me (with a sharp elbow in the ribs) to SugarBaby, a lovely looking lady in her mid-twenties.

‘Er, hello,' I said rather lamely. ‘I'm BabyBarista.'

‘Hello,' she answered. ‘I'm Susie. How lovely to see someone my own age.'

As we both looked around the room I realised it was full of very grown-up banker and private equity types with their equally grown-up WAGs in tow. Well, I say WAGs but there were also plenty of banker women with their own partners in tow, though there doesn't seem to be any equivalent term for them. Maybe HATs: husbands and toyboys. The judge thankfully wasn't around this evening, which made things far easier. Actually, I was just relieved not to be standing around talking about how interesting it must be to be a barrister and listening to people asking how we manage to defend people we know are guilty. (After all, what do you expect? The guilty ones tend to pay more. It's far harder to defend someone you know is actually innocent.)

SugarBaby actually proved to be extremely good company, all the more so given the alternatives, and by the end of the evening we were still engrossed in not talking to the bankers. However, the trouble was that the more drunk I got the more I started to talk about Claire and about how I had lost any chance with her. This didn't actually go down as badly as it might have done, because SugarBaby then started to tell me all about her current beau, although as she said early on, ‘I can't really tell you very much, BabyB, because he's married.'

Well I knew that already, of course, not that I was going to tell her. But I did start to wonder whether, if this was all the revelation I was going to get out of her, then perhaps the evening was going to prove somewhat fruitless. But as the party went on, more details about our judge started to emerge, albeit somewhat organically. Perhaps the juiciest of these was:

‘You know, BabyB, it's weird but he's got a thing for shoes and underwear.'

‘Oh yeah,' I replied drunkenly, ‘don't we all?'

‘No. I mean he really has a
thing
for it. For Myla underwear, even if it's just a hint of it, and Christian Louboutin shoes. That little red Louboutin sole sends him wild.' She gave a twirl of her ankle and looking down I caught a glimpse of polished leather above a scarlet sole. ‘It's a complete fetish. Drives him absolutely crazy.'

Oh.

As I looked at SugarBaby's shoes I was beginning to see that JudgeFetish might have a point, and by the end of the evening there was only one place I was heading and it wasn't to Smutton's. Mind you, whilst she was busy fooling around with yours truly, SugarBaby continued to ramble on about how good her sugar daddy was to her, keeping up a constant, whispered refrain of ‘this can't lead anywhere'.

All of which worked for me and it was mid-Saturday morning when I finally made the walk of shame home from her little judge-funded flat in West Kensington. I texted Smutton to organise a meeting with her this afternoon.

 

 

Tuesday 10 June 2008

Year 2 (week 37): First blush

 

Before we go any further, let me explain how I feel about older women. Or at least how I've recently started feeling about older women since Sarah Palin was first touted as a Vice-Presidential nominee in the States. I don't know whether it's the glasses or the Lois Lane-type appeal but she's definitely got something and it's certainly not her policies. Given that she's over twenty years older than me, this is beginning to give me cause for concern. Not only because I've inexplicably developed a crush on a politician but also, more worryingly, because she seems to have awakened what has presumably been a latent interest in older women more generally. OK, I admit that in the past JudgeJewellery has caused me to blush, but I figured that she was just a one-off, particularly as I'd been so horrified when UpTights tried it on last year. But now SoccerMum Sarah and her sexy little pair of glasses have taken it to a whole new level.

Thus I found myself in a particularly vulnerable state yesterday afternoon when I arrived for my meeting with Smutton, an older woman who puts even TheVamp in the shade when it comes both to glamour and flirtation, not least because I knew that the conversation was likely to veer on to sex and women's underwear.

‘Ah, if it isn't BabyCasanova himself,' she purred. ‘First it was TopFlirt I hear and now SugarBaby. Good work, BabyB. You really are a very talented little barrister who I'm sure will go very far indeed.'

She raised an eyebrow as if to smirk ‘all the way in fact' without actually saying it. I blushed because although neither ‘conquest' had been part of a grand sordid plan of seduction, she was merely stating the facts.