And Is There Honey Still For Tea? (9 page)

13

Saturday, 3 April

‘According to the map, it's just ahead on the left,' Jess Farrar said. ‘So let's begin to slow down. Change down into third.'

Ben Schroeder checked his mirror and selected third gear. His clutch control was not yet very fluent, and the Hillman Minx shuddered slightly as he came up on it rather too quickly.

‘Good,' Jess said. ‘About 75 yards ahead on the left. So signal, “I am slowing down and intend to stop”. There are no parked cars to worry about, so start pulling slowly in towards the kerb. Slower, Ben, down into second – clutch! clutch! – all right, good. And brake. You're getting too close to the kerb. Straighten up. Good. Now, clutch in, gear lever to neutral – neutral, Ben. Handbrake on. Release clutch. Switch off ignition.'

She breathed out heavily and nodded.

‘Good, you are making good progress. We will make a driver of you yet.'

Ben laughed. ‘I am sure I frightened you to death.'

She reached across and kissed him on the cheek.

‘There was the odd scare, but nothing serious,' she grinned. ‘This was good tonight, Ben. You drove all the way from Islington to Hampstead, in the dark and through some rain. This is the kind of practice you need. However many lessons you have, you still need time behind the wheel, so that when it comes time for your test, it all feels automatic.'

‘It doesn't feel at all automatic yet,' Ben protested. ‘I feel I have very limited control over the car.'

‘It will come,' she replied. ‘Give it time. I will drive back, so don't worry about that.'

Jess had taken the job with Barratt Davis while she worked out what she wanted to do with her history degree from Bristol University, but she was enjoying it enough to be thinking of making a career of her own as a solicitor. She was an inch or two shorter than Ben's five feet ten, and her figure was fuller than his almost austere slimness. Her eyes were hazel, and her hair, which she usually held at the back with a silver pin, a slightly darker shade of brown. When not dressed for work she wore autumnal browns, oranges, and yellows. Tonight, a pretty orange dress just below the knee.

Jess and Ben had met the previous year, when Barratt had instructed Ben in two very difficult cases in Huntingdon, one involving a vicar accused of molesting one of his choir boys, the other involving a man who was to be one of the last in England to be charged with and hanged for capital murder. The cases had been fraught with difficulty, tense, and traumatic. The vicar, the Reverend Ignatius Little, had been acquitted, but had later committed suicide in a police cell after being arrested for a similar offence. William Cottage had been hanged in August for the murder of Frank Gilliam, whom he had killed in a frenzied rage before raping and attempting to murder Frank's girlfriend, Jennifer Doyce. The difficulty of the case had been compounded by the fact that Ben's leader, Martin Hardcastle QC, was an alcoholic who decided not to call Cottage as a witness, even though Cottage claimed to have an alibi for the time of the killing. A verdict of guilty followed. Ben had argued in the Court of Criminal Appeal that the verdict should be overturned, but to no avail. The Home Secretary had refused a reprieve.

Ben and Jess had grown gradually closer during these exhausting trials. When Ben's beloved grandfather suffered a heart attack during the Cottage trial, she drove him to London, went with him to the hospital, and drove him back to Huntingdon the next morning. It was this episode which had led Jess to talk Ben into driving lessons. Ben had been born and raised in the East End of London, had attended school and university in London, and had spent his whole life travelling on public transport. But if he was to practise outside London, driving could be a necessary skill. Jess arranged lessons for him, and put L-plates on her car so that he could practise between lessons. Despite his pessimism, she felt that he was getting the hang of it.

Cottage's execution had left Ben feeling lost and hopeless, utterly defeated, devastated, not knowing where to turn. So on that very morning, she took him to Sussex, to the house of her aunt and uncle who were staying in France for the summer. She stayed with him, sat with him in the garden in silence for hours on end, walked into the village to shop or visit the King's Arms, shared a simple supper with wine with him before an early night. On the second night they made love for the first time, and Ben's right mind began to be restored. By the time they returned to London a week later they were in love.

Ben knew the rule about seeing solicitors or those who worked for them. This was seen in the profession as a form of ‘touting for work'; but the rule made no sense to him, and in any case he was too much in love to care. They were discreet, spending evenings at his flat in Canonbury or at hers in Covent Garden. Their relationship was no secret to Barratt Davis, who approved unreservedly and felt nothing but disdain for the pretension of the Bar in laying down such archaic rules of conduct. It was now no secret to Bernard Wesley, who also approved, but who, as Head of Chambers, felt he had a duty to counsel Ben and to try to guide him through this professional minefield. An invitation to dinner at the Wesley house was a promising sign, but one which gave both Ben and Jess some anxiety. Sometimes, late at night, as they were falling asleep, they would talk about their predicament, imagining solutions as radical as starting a new life together in Australia. But then the morning would come, and their families were still there, and there was work to do, and a new day to be lived.

Ben locked the car. Jess carried flowers, which they had bought for their hostess. They walked together in the lightest of rain to the front door, which was enclosed by a white stucco porch and lit by an enormous carriage house lamp. The house was a massive one which backed on to Hampstead Heath, and there was a freshness in the still evening air.

‘Ben, Jess, welcome,' Bernard Wesley said. He looked over his shoulder, and called out. ‘Amélie, they are here.' He took the flowers from Jess and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Thank you. Do come in.'

He placed a hand on Ben's shoulder. Ben had been told that dress was casual, but his pupil-master and mentor, Gareth Morgan-Davies, who was second in seniority in chambers, and who had known Bernard Wesley for many years, warned him that ‘casual dress' meant something different to Bernard Wesley than it might to most others. It signified mainly that there was no need to wear a tie, and Gareth had advised a smart jacket with an open collar. Ben was relieved to find that Gareth's advice was exactly right.

The house was warm and inviting. They were ushered into a spacious living room with a high ceiling, tastefully furnished in contemporary style. Amélie was a petite, vivacious woman, with dark hair and mischievous eyes, who seemed to glide rather than walk into and out of rooms. Her informality contrasted immediately with her husband and yet, strangely, complemented it. She wore a striking red and black kaftan with black sandals which, whenever she was seated, spent far more time off than on her bare feet. Both wrists and her left ankle boasted thin bracelets. She greeted both Ben and Jess with a warm kiss as Bernard introduced them. Amélie was an academic, a specialist in modern French history, and although her lightly-accented English was flawless after many years of life in England, she floated effortlessly between English and French, which she also read and wrote every day of her working life. Bernard was opening a bottle of Chablis which had been waiting in ice in a pewter cooler on a side table.

‘I have sherry if you prefer, or I could probably even mix a martini, if anyone would like one.'

‘That looks fine,' Ben said.

‘Just a small glass for me, please,' Jess said. ‘I have to drive home. We gave the chauffeur the night off.'

‘You can't get the help these days, can you?' Wesley replied with a smile.

Amélie took a glass of Chablis and excused herself to return to the kitchen.

‘
Malheureusement
, we have also given the night off to the chef,' she smiled. ‘So I must take his place for a few minutes. Please excuse me.
Dix minutes
, Bernard.'

‘D'accord, chérie
.'

Wesley waved Ben and Jess into comfortable armchairs, and asked Jess about her family and work. Being used to Bernard Wesley only as his formal Head of Chambers, Ben was surprised at his ability to put Jess at ease with a relaxed and casual line of chatter, bringing Ben into the conversation too, at intervals. Exactly at the end of the predicted ten minutes Amélie appeared, pushing open the sliding doors at the far end of the room, which led into the adjacent dining room. The room was lit only by two small wall lamps and two large candles held in exquisite silver candlesticks. From somewhere outside, not loud enough to intrude, the soft strains of
Eine Kleine Nachtmusik
drifted around the table. A rough country pâté awaited them, with a basket containing two baguettes and glasses of a white Burgundy.

‘Help yourselves to bread,' Bernard said. ‘Just tear a piece off.'

‘The pâté is delicious, Mrs Wesley,' Jess said.

‘It is Amélie,' she insisted, then paused.

‘Bernard tells me that you are conducting, how shall I say, the forbidden
affaire
,
n'est-ce pas
? How exciting! I must know everything about it!'

Ben was momentarily thrown off balance. Was she mocking them? But her eyes were sparkling and she was smiling warmly; she was an ally.

‘Amélie likes to get straight to the point,' Bernard said apologetically.

Jess laughed. ‘We don't mind,' she said.

‘Quite the contrary,' Ben added. ‘We are only too glad of all the advice we can get.'

‘The powers that be,' Bernard explained, ‘take the view that a barrister who has any kind of social relationship with a solicitor, or someone who works for a solicitor, must be touting for work, which is strictly forbidden under the code of practice.'

‘But you told me that the solicitor already sends Ben work,' Amélie protested.

‘That is true,' Bernard agreed. ‘But to some people, it makes no difference. These people believe it is wrong under any circumstances for the Bar to fraternise with solicitors.'

‘Fraternise?' Jess repeated. ‘What a terrible word! Is that what we are doing? Fraternising?'

‘I know,' Bernard said sympathetically. ‘The Bar does like to keep a safe hundred years or so behind the times.'

‘
Ce sont des imbéciles
,' Amélie said. ‘Bernard, there must be something you can do about it.'

‘I am certainly going to try,' he replied. ‘The benchers can give their approval if they are convinced that it is a serious relationship. The point is supposed to be that a barrister should not use his social contacts to persuade a solicitor to send him work that might otherwise go to another barrister who doesn't have the same contacts. Work should go to the most deserving, not to those who can exploit their social contacts. That is obviously the real purpose of the rule, and it has nothing to do with your case.'

‘The Bar can be very reactionary,' Ben said quietly. ‘It has always seemed to me that they cling to obsolete rules for their own sake.'

‘They have that tendency, certainly,' Bernard agreed. ‘But they have to move with the times to some extent. They should be getting worried that they may be vulnerable in law if anyone took them to court over it. You see, they may not be able to justify the rule except in a genuine case of touting. So the rule is far too wide. There was a member of the Bar some years ago – I forget his name – who had a daughter who was an actress. The daughter became engaged to marry a solicitor, and the Bar threatened to disbar this poor chap if he went to the wedding.'

‘
Mon Dieu
,' Amélie said, horrified. ‘What did he do?'

‘He told them to get stuffed and went to the wedding,' Bernard smiled, ‘and fraternised with his son-in-law regularly thereafter. Of course, the Bar did nothing. It just made them look stupid. They know the rule needs to be changed, and we are going to encourage them to change it now before they look even more stupid.'

Amélie touched Jess's hand.

‘Don't be discouraged,' she said.

‘I'm not,' Jess said. ‘I sometimes get angry about it, but I am determined to stay calm and see it through.'

‘Good for you,' Amélie said.

Jess turned to Bernard. ‘Thank you,' she said.

‘You are very welcome.'

Amélie laughed. ‘It is a cause dear to Bernard's heart,' she said.

‘Oh?'

‘But of course. It is not known generally in the chambers, I think, but Bernard is himself the incurable romantic.'

Ben smiled. ‘Really?'

‘She exaggerates,' Bernard insisted.

‘
Non, pas du tout
.' She leaned over towards Jess confidentially. ‘I met Bernard in Paris many years ago. I was finishing my studies at the Sorbonne, and he came to see the city before he started his practice.'

‘I had just finished my pupillage with Duncan Furnival,' Bernard said.

‘
Oui, c'est ça
. As a student I did not have much money, so I had a tiny flat in a building on the Quai aux Fleurs.'

‘The whole place was not much bigger than our living room and dining room here,' Bernard said.

‘Yes, and it was on the sixth floor.'

‘And no lift.'

She laughed. ‘But every day after we had met, Bernard would call on me and bring some flowers, and if we could afford it we would go to the
bistrot
and eat a
croque monsieur
and drink a glass of
vin ordinaire
. He was very proper, but also very gallant, the complete gentleman
tout à fait comme il faut
. And he was as romantic as can be. And now, every year, we find a
bistrot
for our anniversary, either in London or in Paris.'