Errors of Judgment (7 page)

‘You think I’m not sincere?’

‘Of course not. I was just surprised. I mean – and don’t take this the wrong way – that I don’t automatically think of you as …’ He hesitated. ‘That’s to say, I’ve always regarded you as more—’ He broke off, groping for the right words.

‘Selfish. Out for the main chance. Only interested in number one.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘Only because you’re too polite. But it’s true. I’m all of those things. I know myself better than anyone. I take what I want when I want it, and am prepared to let very few things stand in the way of my enjoyment of life.’ They had reached Leo’s car. He turned, the street light etching the sharp planes of his face, glinting on his silver hair. His gaze sought Anthony’s. ‘As regards my private life – by which I suppose I mean my sex life – I have few morals and even fewer scruples. However, where my professional life is concerned, you know how I’ve always striven to maintain the highest standards, to work with the utmost integrity. I suppose the law is one area of my life where I actually want to be a force for good. I believe in the common law of our
country, I’m proud to be one of its practitioners, so I think maybe it’s time I did my bit. Not a bad aspiration. Look at Tom Bingham, and the legacy he’s left. The work he did as a judge will shape the law for years to come. Not that I expect my contribution would ever amount to as much, but still.’

‘Very noble.’

This remark seemed to exasperate Leo. ‘It’s not about nobility, Anthony. I remember the day I won my first scholarship from Middle Temple. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to allow me to keep studying, to do my pupillage without starving. I knew then that despite everything, despite growing up piss-poor in a Welsh mining village and having none of the advantages of all those public school types around me, my intellect and ambition were recognised and valued. This profession would let me climb as high as I wanted, if I was prepared to work hard enough. I’ve never stopped striving. Maybe now it’s payback time.’ Anthony was aware that the lilt of Leo’s Welsh accent had grown slightly stronger. ‘Do you understand? Because if you don’t, you should.’

‘I think I understand.’ There was a long silence. When Anthony spoke again, his voice was bleak, lost. ‘I just don’t want you to go.’

‘Nothing’s decided yet. I’m still thinking it through.’ Leo gazed at Anthony. ‘Whatever happens, I’ll never go. Not in that way.’

From where she stood in the shadows, Gabrielle could hear the low murmur of their voices. She wished she could hear what they were saying. And she wished the younger one would just go, and leave the field clear. If she didn’t make her move now, maybe she never would. As she watched, she
suddenly saw Leo lean forward, silhouetted in the gleam of the lamplight, and kiss the younger man. Not a light kiss, but passionate and lingering. And the kiss was returned. Gabrielle stood rooted to the spot.

Leo unlocked his car, got in and turned the engine, and the moment when she could do or say anything had passed. The Aston Martin purred over the cobbles and out of the Inn.

Gabrielle walked slowly down to Embankment. This was all getting too confusing. Was Leo Davies gay? She couldn’t believe it. It didn’t make sense. She thought about it as she walked to the station, and came to the conclusion that it made no difference whether he was gay or not. The point was that yet again she’d blown her chance. It was the last time she could afford to let that happen.

Anthony headed aimlessly through the dark courtyards and alleys of the Temple until he reached the Strand. He stood there for a moment, pretending to himself that he had been intending all along to go home, catch up on some work and have an early night, and that he was only now changing his mind. But if he’d meant to do any of that, he would have gone to the Tube. What was the harm in going to Blunt’s two nights in a row? Rigging up in his mind the little pretence that he was doing this because he might bump into Edward, he flagged down a cab.

When Rachel went upstairs to put Oliver to bed, she found him sitting on a beanbag, deeply absorbed in a Richard Scarry book which Leo had given him for his last birthday. She crept across the room, pouncing on Oliver and
tickling him till he squirmed giggling off beanbag. ‘Come on,’ she said, picking him up together with his book, ‘into bed.’ She dropped him onto the bed, then lay down next to him as he scrambled under the duvet.

‘Is Daddy coming to my concert on Friday?’ asked Oliver, thumbing through the book for his place.

‘I don’t know, darling. He’s got a very, very important case on at the moment, and he’s working every evening.’

Oliver lay back, his eyes distant. Sometimes he looked so like Leo. She smoothed his dark, soft hair. ‘I could ask him. You never know.’

His eyes brightened. ‘Yeah?’ Rachel nodded. As far as Oliver was concerned, it was as good as accomplished. ‘Wait till he hears me play the recorder. I’m sick!’

‘No, you mean you’re very good. “Sick” isn’t the right word.’ That was one problem about having a childminder. Oliver tended to pick up some unfortunate street slang from Lucy’s teenage children.

Oliver shrugged. ‘Whatever.’ He buried his nose in his book again. ‘Can you read to me?’

‘Which story would you like?’

‘The one where the bears go to the hospital,’ said Oliver, handing the book to Rachel and snuggling down expectantly. ‘And you’ve got to do the doctor’s funny voice, the way Daddy does.’

Rachel propped herself up on the pillow next to Oliver and found the page. ‘I’ll try,’ she said, ‘but I’m not promising anything.’

She wasn’t promising anything about Leo going to the concert either, but that wasn’t the way Oliver saw things.

When she’d finished the story, Rachel tucked Oliver in
and kissed him goodnight, then switched the light off and went downstairs and rang Leo’s home number. He answered on the first ring.

‘You’re working,’ said Rachel.

‘Too right. The hearing’s coming up soon, and I have to prepare my cross-examination.’

‘Oliver asked me tonight if you would be coming to his concert on Friday.’

‘I don’t know. This case is killing me. I’ve still got—’

‘You don’t have to say yes,’ she interrupted. ‘Just maybe.’

‘Maybe, then. It’s not as though I don’t want to. What’s he doing?’

‘He’s in the recorder group, and he’s been practising like mad. I tell you, listening to a six-year-old play Bob the Builder over and over on the treble recorder every evening for three weeks should come under Amnesty’s definition of torture. Forget waterboarding.’

‘I’d love to be there. I’ll try.’

‘I said I’d ask you, and he thinks it’s a done deal.’

‘The pressure is registering, trust me.’

‘OK. Let me know.’

Rachel hung up, then went to her study and switched on the computer. She had already made up her mind to deregister from those online dating sites. How had she ever let herself be talked into it? At the time, with two glasses of wine inside her and Sophie at her shoulder, signing up had felt amusing and daring. Now it seemed utterly demeaning. When she went on to
The Times
site, she was surprised to find three messages in her inbox. Why should she be surprised? Just because she didn’t take this seriously, didn’t mean there weren’t men out there who did. She hesitated,
then curiosity got the better of her and she clicked them open. The first was from a man called James, a tree surgeon from Luton who listed among his hobbies paragliding and white water rafting. ‘Sorry, James,’ murmured Rachel, and moved on to the next. This was Andy, a banker from Barnes. His photo showed a tubby, cheerful man with a moustache, and the photo’s ragged edge, not quite meeting the side of the frame, indicated that some partner had been excised from it. His letter was sweet, but Rachel didn’t think she shared his interest in heavy metal music, nor did three teenage sons sound like a good thing. Why was she even reading these? She had absolutely no intention of taking this ridiculous thing any further.

At that moment the phone rang. Rachel picked it up. ‘Hello?’

‘Rachel, it’s Sophie. How are you? I’ve been meaning to call and see how you got on with the online dating thing.’

‘Well, strange coincidence,’ said Rachel, ‘I’m just looking at some replies as we speak. They’re awful. Actually, I only logged on to delete my registration. I’ve decided this really isn’t my kind of thing.’

‘Don’t be daft – you haven’t even given it a chance. Listen, I’ve just put the kids to bed. I’ll come over and have a look with you.’

‘You don’t really—’ But Sophie had already hung up.

She arrived a few minutes later, and followed Rachel through to her study and sat down next to her at the computer.

‘God, I see what you mean,’ she said, peering at James and Andy. ‘Let’s see the third one.’

Rachel opened the email. ‘
Hi, my name is Andrew,
’ read
out Sophie. ‘
I liked what you say about yourself, and think we have possibilities
, blah blah. Works as a commodities broker, likes films, books and art.’ She put her head on one side. ‘His picture’s nice.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I told you – I’m not up for this.’

‘Rachel, you know the rule. Give it a chance. Give
him
a chance. He looks OK, he ticks all the boxes – what have you got to lose by going for just one drink? He may be awful, and he may be really nice. You won’t know till you try.’

Rachel sighed. ‘I only logged on to delete myself.’ She stared at Andrew’s picture. He was fair-haired, broad-faced, smiling, quite attractive. ‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to meet him.’

‘Well, let’s take a look and see what replies you’ve got on the other—’

‘No! I’ll do one, and that’s all. Then I’m deregistering and never doing this again.’

Sophie nodded, still gazing at the screen. ‘You’ve got a good compatibility rating. Look.’

‘All right,’ sighed Rachel. ‘If it’ll keep you happy, I’ll email him and suggest meeting for a drink. He works in the City. But that’s it. After this, no more.’

‘Fine. Whatever you say. Let’s do it now. D’you think a glass of wine would help?’

Rachel laughed. ‘There’s an open half-bottle in the fridge. Get pouring.’

Thursday morning, and life in the clerks’ room at 5 Caper Court was trundling along at its usual sedate pace. Robert was talking on the phone, receiver cradled between shoulder and ear, swivelling in his chair and idly stringing paper clips on a length of pink legal tape. Henry, taking a break from sorting through the morning mailbag, was sipping coffee and delivering pearls of clerkly wisdom to young Liam.

‘Barristers need training, see – like puppies. When they first come into chambers, with their degrees and that, they think it’s all about the law. But a successful practice is built on good PR.’ Felicity burst into the room at that moment, bearing a large cardboard box and a sheaf of papers between her teeth. She dumped the box on a table and dropped the papers on top. ‘It’s all about the three “A”s,’ continued Henry. A look of enquiry crossed Liam’s thin, pimpled face.

‘Availability,’ Henry ticked them off on his fingers, ‘Affability, and Ability. Three prerequisites of a good
barrister. They have to be good at their work, but they need to present an acceptable face to the world as well, and that’s where we come in. It’s our job to make decent human beings out of them. No good being a brilliant lawyer if you’re an arrogant sod that no one likes.’

‘When you’ve finished your masterclass, Henry,’ said Felicity, ‘I’d like to borrow Liam.’

Henry waved Liam away and returned to the mailbag. Liam went over to the table, where Felicity was producing bundles of ring-bound documents, sheets of paper and a pile of laminated labels from the box. ‘I need these name cards slotted into these labels,’ she told Liam. ‘Mr Bishop’s got a seminar this afternoon, so I need them all done before lunch. OK?’ Liam nodded and settled to work.

Felicity sat down at her desk. Henry glanced across at her. She was looking exceptionally pretty that day, dressed in a plum-coloured angora sweater and a tight skirt, wearing her hair in a way that he liked, caught up at one side.

‘How’s Felicity today?’ asked Henry.

‘Fine,’ said Felicity. Their eyes met, and Henry could tell from her expression that something wasn’t right, that she was debating whether or not to tell him. In the end she said, ‘I got a call from Vince’s mum.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah.’ Felicity glanced at Robert, who was still chatting away on the phone. ‘Listen,’ Felicity went on, leaning across, ‘can we have a bit of a chat at lunchtime?’

‘Of course,’ said Henry.

Leo put his head round the door. ‘Henry, do you have a minute?’

Felicity gave Henry a smile and a wink. ‘Man in demand.’

Henry followed Leo upstairs to his room. Leo sat down and put his feet on the desk. Henry closed the door and leant against the bookcase, waiting. He’d never known Mr Davies to beat about the bush.

‘Henry, I’m thinking of applying to become a High Court judge.’

Henry nodded. His face was inscrutable. ‘I had wondered. What with you sitting as a recorder this past year.’

There was a silence. Leo waited for Henry to say more. As the silence lengthened, Leo observed, ‘You’re not telling me what you think.’

‘What I think?’ Henry’s gaze wandered round the room. He wasn’t going to betray his true feelings to Leo, which were of alarm and dismay. Leo was his top earner. Not that this was entirely a mercenary issue. He had Leo’s best interests to consider. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Mr D. I’m surprised. I mean, by the timing. You’re one of the best commercial silks in the Temple. A couple more years and you’ll have the world at your feet. Not being presumptuous, or anything, but are you sure you’ve thought this through?’

Leo sighed. ‘As best as I can, given how bloody tired I am these days. To be frank, Henry, lately I feel as though I’m on a treadmill. The work doesn’t stimulate me the way it used to. I’m physically and emotionally exhausted.’

Henry raised his eyebrows. ‘Maybe you need to say “no” more often. Manage your clerk. Don’t let him work you too hard.’

Leo smiled in return. ‘True. You are a pushy bastard.’ His smile faded. ‘Seriously, though, it’s getting hard to muster enthusiasm. With some of these recent big cases, it’s like pushing a boulder uphill.’

‘You have to face the facts. Solicitors aren’t going to instruct you on winning cases. It’s the big losers they need you to manage. They know you can take on something that looks like it’s a no-hoper, and turn it around. That’s why they pay the fees.’

‘I know that. But it gets wearing. I’m beginning to feel I’d like an easier life.’

‘Now, if you were to say to me in three or four years’ time that you’re thinking of going upstairs, I’d say that was the right time. But now? When you’re at the top of your game?’

‘From where I’m sitting, Henry, three or four years seems like a long time. My son is six. He’s growing up. I don’t want to miss all that. I really begrudge working long weekends on big cases. For what? Money I don’t necessarily need.’

‘You’re a lucky man to be able to say that, Mr D, in the present climate.’

‘I don’t mean to sound arrogant.’ Leo rose impatiently and went to the window. He stared down at the courtyard below.

Henry sighed. ‘What can I say, sir? There’s no denying you’d do well on the bench. A credit. But I’d be sorry to lose you. And like I say, I’m not sure it’s the right time.’

Leo turned and nodded. ‘I hear what you say. Thanks for listening.’

Henry left Leo’s room and went downstairs, pondering the conversation. It would be a big blow if Mr Davies left 5 Caper Court, no question. In common with the other clerks in chambers, Henry depended for his living on taking a slice of the fees the barristers earned, and in that regard Leo was
important, his best earner. In fact, without Leo, chambers would be seriously short of good QCs. There was Jeremy Vane, who had tried and failed twice to become a High Court judge, so he wasn’t going anywhere. And Stephen Bishop. Michael, too, but Henry wouldn’t be surprised if he tried for the bench in a year or two. The rest were all younger, without Leo’s reputation and experience. He would be a huge loss. There was no way of telling how far Leo had made his mind up, but Henry happened to know that the Judicial Appointments Commission were looking to fill twelve posts by next October, and if Leo did decide to apply, he couldn’t see them turning him down. Not if they had any sense. Mind you, from what you heard these days, sense was in short supply in the JAC. Not like the old days, when the Lord Chancellor’s Office ran the show, the dependable Mr Dobie at the helm.

Henry went back to his desk and worked through the morning, and at lunchtime he and Felicity went round the corner to a sandwich bar.

They sat perched on high stools next to a counter by the wall, Felicity with a can of Fanta and a chicken salad roll, Henry with a coffee and a cream cheese and smoked salmon bagel.

‘So, what did Vince’s mum want?’ asked Henry.

‘She wants to throw a party for Vince when he gets out of prison next week. And she wants me to help organise it.’

‘That’s nice,’ said Henry, privately thinking there was something a bit iffy about throwing a party for your son who’d just done a stretch for manslaughter, but not liking to say.

Felicity shot him a look. ‘No, Henry, it’s not nice.’

‘No.’

‘It’s going to be hard enough seeing him again, without having to put up bunting and let off party poppers.’ Felicity took a moody swig of Fanta.

‘Maybe—’ began Henry, then thought better of it.

‘Maybe what?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Come on – out with it.’

‘Maybe it would have been better if … well, at the beginning, when he was convicted, if you’d, you know, if you’d—’

‘Dumped him?’

Henry stirred his coffee. ‘Sounds hard, but yes. Maybe finishing then would have been for the best.’ He waited for Felicity to bite his head off, tell him he was a heartless sod. But she didn’t.

‘I thought of it at the time. Let him down gently.’ She swirled her can of Fanta. ‘But it didn’t seem fair. He was so … so crushed by everything. I mean, that whole thing, hitting that bloke, and him dying. It was all an accident. I couldn’t just turn my back on him.’

‘But you wanted to?’

Felicity was silent, remembering the way things had been between her and Vince before he’d gone to prison. He’d been out of work as usual, and she’d been carrying him, paying for everything, including his booze and dope. Admittedly he’d been trying to haul himself out of the waster culture he’d inhabited for so long, hoping to get his black cab licence somewhere down the line, but that prospect was shot now. What was he going to do when he got out of prison? On recent visits he seemed elated at the prospect of release, but
the last Felicity had asked him about his plans, all he’d said was, ‘My main plan is just to be with you, babes. That’ll do for the moment. Then I’ll see.’ She remembered, too, her short-lived pregnancy, and the guilt and miserable relief she’d felt after the miscarriage. A baby would have trapped her, tied her to Vince for ever.

When she said nothing, Henry persisted. ‘Is he going to be living with you?’

Felicity raised sad, brown eyes. ‘It hasn’t come up. But I reckon he thinks everything will go back to being the way it was.’

‘Is that what you want?’ Henry hated to see her so troubled. He wanted to be able to put out a hand, comfort her. In truth, he wanted to do more than that. He wanted to enfold her in his arms, kiss away her anxieties, tell her he was here now and that Vince was an irrelevance, a nowhere man. In indulging this wish, he didn’t think of himself as being in any way disloyal to Cheryl. The fantasies bred by his unrequited love for Felicity had been going on for so long that they occurred in a parallel universe, a place apart from reality. He was in that place right now, wishing Vince out of her life, putting himself at its centre, in a kind of happy daydream. His adoration of Felicity was so habitual, so devoid of possibility, that it didn’t even depress him any more.

Felicity shook her head. ‘I dunno. It’s like it’s not up to me. Everyone’s making assumptions. Vince, his family. They kind of include me in everything to do with Vince’s future without even thinking. Like this party. And here’s me, too weak to say anything different. I’ve put my life on hold for the past few years, because I didn’t want to hurt
anyone. I didn’t want to make things harder for Vince than they already were. I didn’t want to upset his mum, with everything she’s been going through. And now I’m stuck. Am I mad, or what?’

‘You’re kind, is what you are. Too kind. You think too much about other people and what they might want. So you end up doing what might not be best for you. Let me ask – if Vince hadn’t gone inside, do you think you and he would still be together?’

Felicity shook her head. ‘I can’t say. If I’d had the baby – well, I don’t much want to think about that. How it would have been. The thing is, with Vince being in prison, I’ve put off asking myself questions about him and me, what’s going to happen. Now they’re staring me in the face.’

‘I think the truth is, too.’

Felicity struggled against this. Henry was giving her an honest answer, yet she wasn’t prepared to accept it. ‘Maybe I should just wait till he gets out, see how things are then, take it from there.’

Henry nodded.
Let all that happen
, he was thinking,
and it’ll be too late
.

Felicity was painfully aware of her own cowardice. To change the subject she asked, ‘So, how’s things with you and Cheryl. Everything OK?’

Henry nodded. ‘Coasting along. You know.’

Dear Henry, thought Felicity. He always looked so morose, even when he smiled. Like a sweet spaniel. She hoped this Cheryl wasn’t stringing him along. He deserved someone decent. She knew how Henry felt about her. It brought out some weird, deep-seated guilt that she couldn’t return his feelings. He really was the nicest man she knew.

Suddenly, half-embarrassed, Henry added, ‘We’re thinking we might get married next year.’

‘No!’ Felicity feigned delight and surprise.

‘Well …’ Henry toyed with his teaspoon. ‘We’ve been seeing one another for the better part of eighteen months. Seems about the right time. I’m not getting any younger.’

‘Well, that’s lovely. I’m glad for you both.’ Felicity laid her hand over Henry’s and smiled into his eyes. The uncertainty of her own feelings puzzled her. She should be pleased for him. Perhaps she felt this way because he’d found something she hadn’t, and wasn’t ever likely to find with Vince.

‘Thanks.’ Henry wasn’t sure why he’d told her that about him and Cheryl. It wasn’t even true. Well, not yet, though Cheryl had been hinting that way, and Henry was
hard-pushed
to find reasons not to. He suspected he’d said it to provoke some reaction in Felicity that he was never likely to get. And there she was, smiling away at him as if it was the best news she’d ever heard. And her hand over his in a way that meant they were really good friends. Just good friends.

Sarah took Toby’s call just before lunchtime.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Sarah. ‘You sound weird.’

‘I’ve been canned,’ said Toby. ‘Sacked. We’ve been told to clear our desks by noon.’

‘Oh God.’ Sarah’s stomach felt like it had hit the floor. ‘Oh God, Toby, that’s awful. What are you going to do?’

‘What am I going to do? Well, I’m filling a black bin bag as we speak, and when I’ve done that, I’m heading to the pub to get off my face.’ He hung up.

Sarah sought out her broker friend Miranda, an American
woman in her thirties whose husband had been sacked by his investment bank just weeks earlier.

‘Another casualty,’ said Miranda. ‘Saul said that Graffman Spiers would probably go to the wall.’ She glanced at Sarah’s stricken face. ‘I’m truly sorry. I know how you feel. Come on, why don’t we drown our sorrows?’

They went to a wine bar in Fenchurch Street to discuss the crisis over glasses of Sauvignon Blanc.

‘At least Toby told you straight away. Saul didn’t let on for four whole weeks,’ Miranda told Sarah.

‘Four weeks? What was he doing all that time?’

‘Going to the gym. Boozing with friends. Having expensive lunches. Doing the denial thing. He rinsed through his final pay check in under a month. I was mad as hell, until I realised the poor guy was actually in shock. Works eighty hours a week for fifteen years, suddenly he wakes up one morning and he doesn’t know what he’s for any more.’