An Immoral Code (4 page)

In response to Felicity’s observation about love being beautiful, Henry merely sighed and replied in a mutter that he wasn’t so sure about that.

By the time Anthony and Camilla arrived at the pub, Godfrey Ellwood was already there. He was a tall man, almost completely bald, with a leathery face and a sharp sense of humour. As a QC, Ellwood was renowned for his energy, for throwing himself wholeheartedly into cases, especially those in which he believed. The Capstall case was one of those. Whatever cynicism he might possess regarding the fate of those Names who had gambled greedily and lost, he was thoroughly convinced that Lloyd’s had failed the bulk of its members miserably, and that fortunes had been made by a few at the expense of the many. He regarded Capstall, the underwriter, as an overweeningly ambitious and irresponsible man who had written some of the most spectacularly bad risks in the market purely in the hope of long-term gain, at the expense of the Names on his syndicate. Ellwood’s personal convictions had entirely infected Anthony, his junior, and not since he had first helped Leo Davies on a case a few years ago had Anthony felt so inspired and enthusiastic. Ellwood managed to make him feel that they were acting for the little man against the mighty, that in taking on Lloyd’s
they were challenging an institution whose lofty disdain for its members was no longer tolerable. Those agents, underwriters and auditors who had been so dismissive of the threat of litigation three or four years ago now knew they had real cause for concern. This victory in the House of Lords, although only a stepping stone, was a significant achievement, and Ellwood was in an ebullient mood when he greeted Anthony and Camilla.

‘We’ve cleared that hurdle in no uncertain terms, eh? What’ll you both have? Julian says he’ll be down to join us shortly – got some speed and consumption claim to finish …’ They took their drinks over to a table, and sat discussing the case. Gradually the pub began to fill up, a few more people joined them, and by seven o’clock the place was crowded and smokey. Camilla, who knew from experience that more than two gin and tonics made her face permanently pink, sat nursing the remains of her second drink and shooting rapid, admiring glances at Anthony. She liked to think that working with him on this case had formed a bond between them, that she shared part of the glamour of this success. She was totally happy. Glancing around the pub, she suddenly saw a familiar face, a girl who had been in the year below her at Oxford, and with whom she shared several mutual friends. Proud to be seen in such distinguished company as that of Godfrey Ellwood and Anthony Cross, she gave her a little wave.

On the other side of the room, the blonde girl returned her wave unenthusiastically. She was alone, still waiting for her friends, and she did not particularly wish to be accosted by Camilla, who was looking pink and rather pleased with herself. They hadn’t met for some months, but she recalled that on the several occasions when she had been in Camilla’s company she had found herself distinctly bored. There was something desperately nice about her, and she tended to be too keen on talking about law. But Camilla had turned away now, so she
assumed she was safe. The girl, who was dressed in tight jeans and boots and a white polo-neck sweater beneath a denim jacket, in contrast to Camilla’s dusty black suit and high-necked white blouse, took a sip of her drink and ran her eye curiously over the people Camilla was sitting with. Typical crowd of barristers. Then she saw Anthony, and her gaze halted. She had never seen him in here before, of that she was certain. She would have remembered. At that moment, Anthony rose from his seat and came over to the bar with some empty glasses. He set them down on the bar not far from the blonde girl and fished in his wallet for a ten-pound note, and she gave him a long, discreet glance, enough to take in his tall, elegant figure, the handsome face, the rather girlish brown eyes. He glanced across and caught her eye, and they looked at one another for a significant fraction of a second. Then the barman said something to Anthony and he looked away again. She watched as he took the drinks back over to the table, sitting down next to Camilla and saying something to her which made Camilla smile with pleasure.

Perhaps Camilla wasn’t so boring after all, thought the blonde girl. The company she kept certainly wasn’t. Smoothing back her hair, the girl moved over towards Camilla, setting her face in a surprised smile.

‘Camilla!’ She bent and kissed the air next to Camilla’s warm cheek. ‘How amazing to see you! Do you mind if I join you for a moment until my friends come? It’s a bit busy at the bar.’

She drew up a chair and sat down with Camilla and Anthony, and the others at the table edged their chairs round to make room for her. She glanced around, her eyes not meeting Anthony’s, but aware that he was looking at her.

Camilla was momentarily flustered, then said, ‘Oh, everyone, this is Sarah – Sarah Colman, a friend of mine.’

There was a general murmur of ‘how do you do?’, and then the conversation resumed. Camilla, who had been pleased enough to wave to Sarah at a distance, was less sure that she wanted her attractive friend muscling in on this exclusive little circle. Still, there she was, lovely as ever, with that knowing smile. She’d often wondered why it was that Sarah, who was a year younger than she was, always managed somehow to appear older. But at least on this occasion Camilla could steal a march on her, since Sarah was still only at Bar School, a mere novice, and could not boast of such sophisticated experiences as appearing in the House of Lords with Godfrey Ellwood, QC. Camilla quickly let it be known what was being celebrated, and Sarah smiled with only the mildest condescension. ‘Aren’t you clever? But now tell me, who did the real work while you were taking notes?’ And her cool glance fell on Anthony, whose face at that moment turned in her direction.

‘Sorry?’ said Anthony, uncertain whether he’d been addressed or not.

‘I was just asking Camilla whether you’d been involved in the case she’s been telling me about – I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’

‘Oh!’ exclaimed Camilla in mild embarrassment, ‘Sarah, this is Anthony Cross. I’m sort of working for him while my pupilmaster’s away.’

Anthony stretched out his hand and Sarah took it. Camilla saw him smile at Sarah in a way that he had never smiled at her, and felt her heart lurch in fear and anguish. ‘How do you do?’ said Anthony. ‘Yes, I’m Godfrey’s junior in the case.’ He glanced at Ellwood, then looked back at Sarah. ‘Are you at the Bar?’ he asked with interest.

‘Not yet,’ she replied. ‘I don’t sit my Bar finals till next summer. But I’m hoping to specialise in commercial work – if I can get a pupillage, that is.’ She smiled significantly at Anthony
as she raised her drink.
‘You
wouldn’t know of anyone who needs a pupil in a year’s time, would you?’

Anthony laughed, and ran his fingers through his thick brown hair. Camilla knew that mannerism – oh, how well she knew it and how much she adored it. She knew that it was something Anthony did when he felt himself either distracted or flattered. She wished he would not do it now. She watched as he looked up at Sarah, who was finishing her drink.

‘Well,’ said Anthony, who was not unaccustomed to being flirted with, ‘I’ll certainly try to think of someone.’ He glanced at Sarah’s empty glass. ‘Can I get you another drink?’

‘Thank you,’ said Sarah, and he took her glass and went to the bar. Sarah widened her eyes as she smiled innocently at Camilla. ‘What a nice man,’ she remarked, and then glanced around while she waited for Anthony to return to the table. She loved the suspenseful excitement of encountering someone new and attractive, and there was the added zest of putting Camilla’s nose out of joint.

Camilla, who now felt thoroughly resentful, managed to blurt out, as Anthony came back to the table, ‘I hardly think you’ll have much trouble getting a pupillage, Sarah, since your father’s the Recorder of London.’ She had intended this to signify that Sarah got by on connections rather than ability, but Anthony merely looked at Sarah with increased interest as he set her drink down.

‘Really? Of course – Colman. I thought the name was familiar when Camilla introduced you. Actually, I appeared before your father a couple of weeks ago …’ He carried on talking to Sarah. Camilla, who was sitting on the other side of him, could not help feeling excluded. She could not join in their conversation without raising her voice and making Anthony turn back in her direction, and she had an unhappy feeling that he might not be much inclined to do that. She nursed her
glass and sat quietly pondering the situation. It wasn’t fair that she should feel at a disadvantage, but she did. She should feel superior to Sarah, who was still a student, after all, but it suddenly seemed to Camilla that, far from being superior, her own position was invidious. In Anthony’s company, in Ellwood’s company, she was on the very lowest rung of the hierarchy, a mere pupil. Sarah, however, was not yet part of the pecking order. Anthony did not regard her in any particular light, and Sarah could afford to behave with him exactly as she chose. At that moment Sarah laughed, a very clear, pretty laugh, meant to be heard, and Camilla glanced at her balefully. She suspected that Sarah, even when she had to go through the rigours of pupillage, was unlikely to feel any of the inferiority which she herself felt towards other members of chambers. Camilla sipped morosely at the lemony dregs of her gin and tonic.

‘I’d have thought that you might have had enough of lawyers without becoming one yourself,’ said Anthony. The tilt of his chin as he drained his glass gave his glance an unconsciously seductive air.

‘Mmm. Depends on the kind of lawyer one meets,’ replied Sarah. ‘Anyway, these things often run in families, don’t they? What does your father do?’

Ah, the question, thought Anthony. The idle, potent question that hummed throughout drinks parties and over restaurant tables and in crowded hallways at parties wherever people under thirty gathered. It marked out the middle-class, aspiring child so surely. No one ever asked, ‘What does your mother do?’ That would give no indication of status, of family background or connections, of whether the family house was large and in the country, or small and in the suburbs.

‘He’s an artist,’ replied Anthony.

‘Really? Would I know his work?’

‘You might. Chay Cross.’ Anthony’s voice was diffident,
but he still expected the customary reaction when people learnt who his father was. The high-minded might seriously regard his father as one of the foremost abstract expressionists of his day, but to Anthony he would always be a superannuated hippy, possessed of only a modicum of talent, who had happened to get lucky by suckering the gullible artistic elite.

‘You’re joking!’ Sarah smiled in amazement at Anthony. ‘I wouldn’t have guessed.’

‘We’re not at all alike,’ replied Anthony, hoping that he was not going to have to talk about his father and his work for very long. Both subjects bored him. He was much more interested in finding out more about this extraordinarily pretty girl who had materialised from nowhere. She had an assuredness, a knowingness that he found oddly exciting. Suddenly he met her eyes again, and saw in them an expression which aroused in him a kind of instant desire, such as he had not felt in a long time. There was an intensity, a sexuality, about her gaze that made him feel for a few seconds as though no one existed in the room apart from her. It was an extraordinary, quite dizzying sensation, passing almost immediately. Then he saw her glance towards the doorway and smile.

‘My friends have just arrived,’ she said, and raised her glass to finish her drink. Anthony glanced momentarily to his left and saw that Camilla was now engaged in the general conversation and unlikely to overhear him.

‘Are you spending the whole evening with your friends? I mean, do you have plans for later on?’ he asked quietly, just as she was about to rise. He hoped his voice sounded casual, but was astonished to find that his heart was thudding. He had never known any girl to have such an instantaneous effect upon him. He wanted suddenly to be able to leave with her now, go somewhere, anywhere.

She leant down to pick up her bag and murmured, ‘I’m
afraid I do.’ She paused and then added, ‘But I’ll be here at the same time tomorrow.’ It was the briefest exchange, overheard by no one, but at that moment Camilla had turned and caught the faint intensity of the moment, like an animal with a scent. She stared at Anthony, and then Sarah raised her head and smiled at her. ‘Lovely to see you again, Camilla. Got to go, I’m afraid.’ Her eyes did not meet Anthony’s again as she left the table.

It was after ten when Anthony arrived at chambers the next day, and Henry put his head round the door of the clerks’ room just as he was heading upstairs.

‘Godfrey Ellwood’s chambers have rung three times already. You’d better speak to him as soon as you can. Something’s up. I’ll get him for you.’

The phone was already ringing as Anthony came into his room, and he picked it up straight away, still tugging off his coat and unwinding his scarf as Godfrey Ellwood came on the line.

‘Have you heard what’s happened?’ demanded Ellwood, clearly furious about something.

‘No – what? I’ve only just got in,’ replied Anthony. ‘Don’t tell me it’s something in the judgment—’

‘God, no, the judgment’s fine! But I’m being asked to withdraw from the case.’

‘What? Why?’ Anthony was aghast at the thought of losing his leader at such a critical juncture.

‘According to Fred Fenton at Nichols and Co, it’s because I
acted for a firm of accountants called Bessermans in some case three years ago.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Marples and Clark, the auditors – you know, one of the defendants in the Capstall case – apparently took Bessermans over two years ago. The other side are now saying that there’s a conflict of interest, that I can’t act against Marples and Clark. One sees their point, of course, but it makes me bloody angry, after the months of work and preparation.’ Ellwood was trying to contain his temper, aware that he was powerless to do anything.

‘This is awful,’ said Anthony. And it was. Godfrey Ellwood had been a guiding spirit in the case so far. Anthony, as he tried to digest this staggering information, felt as though he had been cut adrift. ‘Do you have any idea who they’re going to replace you with?’

‘Not a clue,’ sighed Ellwood. ‘It’s a bloody mess. I’m just sick and depressed by the whole thing. And no doubt our ever loyal instructing solicitor, Fred Fenton, will use it as an excuse for a discount.’

‘I can believe it,’ said Anthony unhappily. When they had finished speaking, Anthony hung up and sat back in his chair, pondering the possibilities. This would mean a new leader would have to be instructed, and they would be back at square one. Worse than that, there was a hearing coming up in two weeks’ time on another preliminary matter, involving a time-bar, and any new leader was going to have his work cut out to read all the papers by then. The action group committee weren’t going to be best pleased when they learnt about Ellwood. They had staked all their faith in the brilliance of their leading counsel, and now he was being booted out only months before the full hearing. Anthony covered his face with his hands and groaned. When word of this reached Freddie Hendry, a positive torrent of faxes would doubtless be unleashed on 5 Caper Court.

The offices of Nichols & Co stood in Bishopsgate, not far from St Mary Axe, affording an excellent view of the soaring chrome and glass tower of the new Lloyd’s building. The coffee pot, Fred Fenton called it. Fred was a twenty-seven-year-old solicitor who had been with Nichols & Co for six years, and as he now stood in the office of his colleague, Murray Campbell, waiting for Murray to get off the phone so that they could discuss this latest catastrophe to befall the Capstall case, he cast a malevolent gaze through the window at Richard Rogers’ monstrous edifice. He now loathed anything to do with Lloyd’s of London. When he had been assigned to this case six months ago, he had been quite excited at the prospect of becoming involved in such an enormous piece of litigation. Now he wished that that dubious honour had been bestowed upon any other assistant at Nichols & Co except himself. He slept, ate and breathed the Capstall syndicate and its miserable history, and longed for a return to days filled with a variety of different pieces of work, instead of the dragging weight of this great albatross of a case.

Murray, a tall, overweight Scot in his late thirties, put down the phone at last. ‘Sorry about that. Now – this business with Ellwood. We’ll have to find another leader pretty damned quick, someone who’s not already involved with some other piece of Lloyd’s business, and someone bloody good. Any ideas?’

‘One or two,’ replied Fred. ‘I had originally thought of Mark Dempster, at 4 Essex Court’ – Murray nodded approvingly – ‘but from what his clerk says – and this is only reading between the lines, mind – there’s a chance he could be made a judge within the next six months, and then we’d be scuppered twice.’

‘Quite. To lose one leader may be regarded as a misfortune, but to lose two …’ Murray sighed and rubbed his chin. ‘Who else, then?’

‘Well, neither Eric Wilson nor Leo Davies has anything major going on at the moment.’

‘Davies only took silk a few months ago, didn’t he?’ asked Murray. He got up, hitching his trousers, and began to pace the room slowly.

‘Well, yes, Wilson is a bit more seasoned, and he’s first class, but I reckon he’s not so good on his feet as Davies. There’s no one better in a courtroom than he is, and that’s important in this case, especially when it comes to cross-examining Capstall and the other side’s expert witnesses.’

Murray paced silently for a moment, then he nodded. ‘Fine. Let’s give him a go. He’s in the same chambers as Anthony Cross, anyway, so that helps. Give his clerk a ring.’

At that moment the door opened, and Mr Rothwell, the senior partner, looked in. ‘Thought I’d just tell you two that Rachel Dean – rather, Rachel Davies – will be rejoining us in a couple of weeks’ time.’

Murray raised his eyebrows. ‘Return of the Ice Maiden, eh? Funnily enough, we were just talking about her husband. Ellwood’s had to drop out of the Lloyd’s litigation, and Fred was suggesting Leo Davies as a replacement.’

‘You could do a lot worse. I’m sorry to hear Ellwood’s been dropped. What’s all that about?’

‘Conflict of interest,’ said Fred.

Rothwell shook his head. ‘Shame. Anyway, thought I’d pass on the news about Rachel.’

When the door had closed, Fred remarked, ‘That’s a bit of a surprise. I mean, she had the baby only a few months ago. You wouldn’t have thought she’d bother coming back to work, given the amount of money her husband must be coining.’

‘A very chauvinistic attitude,’ replied Murray with a grin. ‘She wants her own career – doesn’t want to waste away as a bored rich housewife. And very creditable. She’s an excellent lawyer.’

‘Oh, granted,’ said Fred. ‘She just always struck me as the type who’d be happy at home with her babies.’

‘Who knows about women, Fred?’ said Murray, seating himself at his desk again. ‘Anyway, you’d better get on to Leo Davies’ clerk before someone else does.’

‘Mr Davies will want a brief fee of two hundred and fifty thousand, and a refresher of two thousand a day,’ said Felicity crisply.

At the other end of the phone, Fred Fenton sighed. It was pure extortion, the amount these silks demanded. ‘Look, this isn’t some multinational corporation here. These Names can’t just chuck it about. Call it two hundred thousand for the brief fee, and a daily refresher of a thousand.’

Felicity smiled. She never thought of it as money – it was just big numbers, and a bit of difference splitting. ‘You can’t get the best for peanuts,’ she reminded Fred, then thought for a few seconds. ‘Tell you what – two hundred and thirty thousand and twelve hundred refresher.’

Fred hesitated. He hoped Davies would be worth it. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You’d better contact Ellwood’s chambers and ask them to send the papers over.’

‘Right ho,’ said Felicity cheerfully, and put the phone down. At that moment Leo came into the clerks’ room in his shirtsleeves and dropped some letters in the outgoing mail tray.

‘What are you smiling about?’ he asked morosely. ‘You’re always smiling.’

‘I just like to brighten your day up, Mr Davies. Actually, that was Nichols and Co asking if you’d like to be instructed as leader in the Capstall case. Godfrey Ellwood’s had to stand down. And I checked your diary and said you’d love to. How about that?’

Leo regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Mmm. Well, now. That’s rather interesting, isn’t it?’ His manner was casual, but Leo felt an inner excitement such as he had not felt in a long time.
To replace someone like Godfrey Ellwood in a case of this magnitude was something of a challenge. He’d had plenty of decent work since becoming a QC, but this could be landmark litigation. This could make his name in a very big way.

‘I’ll ring Brick Court and ask them to send the papers round, shall I?’

‘Yes, you do that. Though I imagine Anthony’s got any amount of stuff – we don’t want to duplicate too much.’

As he made his way upstairs, Leo reflected on Anthony’s likely reaction to this news. Given the way he’d been actively avoiding Leo’s company for the past few months, he might not exactly relish having Leo as his leader. They would necessarily be spending a lot of time together from now on. Leo suddenly realised how much he genuinely liked that prospect. Since he had met Rachel, Anthony’s company was something he had missed. He had long ago learnt to suppress the physical and emotional attraction he had once felt towards him, had taught himself to think of his feelings as those merely of friendship and not love, but he would never be able to deny the pleasure which he took simply in being with Anthony, talking to him, watching him. And he knew that the pleasure was mutual – had been mutual, before Rachel. If it was a kind of love which existed between them, Leo did not believe events could entirely extinguish it. They would see.

He saw Anthony in the common room at teatime that afternoon, and realised from his demeanour that he had not yet heard the news. Leo approached him, setting down his cup next to Anthony’s and dropping into an armchair opposite him. Anthony, who had just picked up a copy of the
Evening Standard,
gave Leo a glance and a smile that seemed half-cold. He turned his gaze to the paper.

‘You’ve got a new leader in the Capstall case,’ said Leo, and stirred his tea, watching with mild pleasure the way that
Anthony’s languid expression suddenly sharpened with interest. He stared at Leo.

‘I hadn’t heard anything. How do you know?’

Leo paused for a few seconds, sipped his tea. ‘I know, because Nichols instructed me this morning.’

Anthony sat staring at him for a moment. ‘I see,’ he murmured. ‘I see.’ He nodded, then looked away. Leo, as he regarded him, had no idea what he was thinking. There had been a time once when he had been able to read every emotion in the younger man’s face, but this was a more mature, guarded Anthony, one who, as his success as a barrister grew, had cultivated a certain hauteur. Only occasionally was Leo able to glimpse the boy beneath the cool exterior. Anthony looked back at Leo again, his expression cold. ‘I’m rather surprised that Fred Fenton or Murray didn’t mention it to me first – I mean, before they instructed you.’

Something in Anthony’s tone made Leo feel a sudden flash of anger. He put down his cup. ‘That is a quite extraordinary remark.’

‘Is it? I don’t see why you think so.’ Anthony was about to pick up the newspaper again, but Leo laid a detaining hand over it.

‘Anthony, for better or worse, I have been instructed as leader in this case. Now, if you don’t like it, you can always ask to be taken off it. I can think of many excellent juniors whom I would be happy to see in your place.’ As he spoke, Leo found himself wondering how this hostility had suddenly sprung up between them, when only a few hours ago he had supposed this might provide an opportunity for them to renew their friendship. Clearly that was not how Anthony saw it.

Anthony gave a faint smile. ‘I’m sure you can. How about Leslie Curtis, that pretty blonde chap in 4 King’s Bench Walk? Just your type.’

The restraint upon his temper which Leo had assiduously cultivated over the years very nearly snapped at this. But not quite. He smiled quickly in response, and glanced away. ‘My dear boy, in that regard, I can think of no one who could possibly exceed your own attractions. No, I was speaking more in intellectual terms.’ Anthony flushed. There was silence for a few seconds, and then Leo sighed and said in neutral tones, ‘Look, it’s going to be impossible for us to work together if things are to go on like this. Whatever is wrong between us, we have to straighten it out.’

Anthony struggled for a minute to maintain his cold demeanour, and failed. ‘Christ, Leo …’ His voice was almost angry.

‘Come on,’ said Leo, glancing at his watch. ‘It’s quarter past four. Never too early for El Vino’s. Let’s go for a drink and sort this out.’

‘I’ve got too much—’

‘Forget it,’ Leo cut in. ‘Whatever it is, it’ll wait. This is more important. Besides,’ he added, ‘it’s Friday.’ He stood up and put his hands in his pockets, looking down at Anthony. For a moment Anthony hesitated, then, with a reluctant sigh, he rose, dropping the newspaper beside his empty teacup, and followed Leo out.

They walked together in silence through Serjeants’ Inn and passed through the side door into the dim interior of El Vino’s, Anthony aware of some emotion at work within him which he could not quite define. Was it fear? Apprehension? As they sat down together at a corner table in the near-empty bar, Anthony watched Leo ordering a bottle from the waitress, and then suddenly realised that what he felt was a kind of excitement. Excitement, fear, pleasure – all these things mingled together. And relief – relief that after all these months they would be able to talk alone, and frankly. Then Anthony realised that he had
no idea what he was going to say to Leo. Nor what Leo might say to him.

The waitress brought a bottle of chablis and two glasses, and Leo lit a small cigar. He glanced at Anthony. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked. Without waiting for his answer, Leo turned to the waitress. ‘A round of smoked salmon sandwiches, please,’ he said.

When she had left, Leo poured them each a glass of wine. Still Anthony said nothing. He sat regarding Leo, waiting. Leo sipped his wine in silence for a moment or two, drawing on his cigar occasionally, staring thoughtfully at the table. Anthony knew, from all the times he had watched Leo in court, the way in which he would keep his gaze averted from a witness for long, suspenseful seconds, that Leo was carefully formulating whatever it was he had to say. But now he could afford to take longer than he ever did in court. At last he looked up at Anthony.