An Immoral Code (9 page)

‘Fine,’ said Jennifer, smiling. ‘We went to the park and fed the ducks, and I found that there’s a playgroup at the church up the road. Quite a few nannies go there.’

Rachel felt relieved. She had worried about whether Jennifer would make friends in the neighbourhood. She was a very attractive girl, but seemed rather quiet. Rachel didn’t want to think of her moping around in her room in the evenings.

‘Good. I hope you’ll make some friends.’

Jennifer scraped the apple mush from around Oliver’s mouth with the edge of his spoon and took the dish over to the sink. ‘Oh, no problem,’ she said. ‘You know that health club up the road? I’m going to go up there this evening and see what it’s like. They’ve got a gym and a pool, and I might join, if it’s not too expensive. I do quite a bit of aerobics.’

‘Yes, I remember you told me,’ said Rachel. She leant against the edge of the table and watched as Jennifer wiped Oliver and unfastened his bib, longing to take over, for Jennifer to go out and let her have the baby all to herself. She felt something almost like jealousy as Jennifer lifted Oliver from his high chair and kissed his cheek. Then she handed him to Rachel and said, ‘There. Your mum’s been wanting a cuddle all day. I’ll just go and run his bath.’

‘Thanks. By the way, will you be eating with us this evening?’

‘No, thanks. I’ll have something before I go out. I don’t like eating too late in the evening.’

Better and better, thought Rachel. She had rather dreaded the idea of the nanny eating with herself and Leo every evening. She was a nice enough girl, but it might have been a little awkward. Rachel took Oliver through to the living room and sank into an armchair with him, nuzzling against the soft folds of his neck, listening to his happy burbling noises. It had been a good day. Going back to work had been invigorating, and wooing those clients at lunchtime had reasserted her confidence. On top of that, this girl looked as though she would work out. The house was tidy, Oliver was happy, and she did not feel as guilty as she had expected.

She heard the front door open and close, and after a few moments Leo came in. He bent to kiss her, and then Oliver, and she could smell smoke from his jacket and a faint scent of wine on his breath. ‘How was your first day back?’ he asked as he straightened up, and turned to go and fetch the mail from the hall table.

‘Good.’ She thought of lunch, of the smiling, nodding Japanese tanker owners who would be putting some prestigious work her way. ‘In fact, excellent. How was yours?’

Leo paused in the doorway. He thought of Charles Beecham, his laughter as he had listened to Leo talk, his slight expression of disappointment when Leo had said he had to go. He smiled. ‘It went very well,’ he replied. ‘Things are looking very promising.’

When the hearing finished late the following afternoon, the feeling amongst the Names and their lawyers was generally optimistic. In a mood of elation Basher Snodgrass invited Freddie to have dinner with him at the Beefsteak Club, and Murray Campbell and Fred took a taxi back to Bishopsgate in fairly high spirits. As Anthony and Leo crossed the Strand through the drone and thunder of late-afternoon traffic, street lights were already glimmering against the gathering dusk.

‘We should get a decision quite swiftly,’ said Leo. He had been vaguely disappointed not to see Charles Beecham in court that day, but he still felt buoyant from the brief time spent with him the evening before. ‘I mean, Fry’s decision was obviously wrong in law. Ludicrously wrong. They’re bound to reverse it.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ sighed Anthony, as they went up the steps to 5 Caper Court. He dreaded to think how it would affect the Names, especially those whom he had got to know on a personal basis, if they lost now. For Leo, he knew, the point was far more academic. He left Leo fishing around through the lunchtime mail in the clerks’ room and went upstairs to his
room, his bag and bundles of documents clutched about him. Camilla passed Anthony on the landing as he was trying to key in his door code.

‘How did it go?’ she asked.

‘Pretty well,’ said Anthony, grabbing at some documents which were slipping from his grasp. Camilla caught them.

‘Here, I’ll bring these in,’ she said, and followed him into the room, tucking untidy strands of her hair behind her ear with her free hand. All afternoon she had been waiting for him to come back from court, so that she could ask him something, and now she could feel her heart beginning to thump at the prospect.

‘Thanks,’ said Anthony, dumping everything in a heap on his desk. ‘It’s a pity Jeremy works you so hard – you could have come along to the hearing. You’d have found it interesting, particularly since you helped out on the last one. Maybe I could have a word with Jeremy and ask him to let you do a bit of work with us. Then you could come to the full hearing.’

‘When’s that?’

‘Oh, some time next year – March, probably. It’ll take four or five weeks – possibly longer.’

‘I see,’ murmured Camilla. She hesitated, rubbing the toe of one shoe against the back of her tights, and then suddenly said, ‘I was wondering, Anthony, if you’d do me a favour. That is – well, it’s not exactly a favour …’ She could feel herself beginning to blush and wished she could stop it. She didn’t normally blush when talking to men, but when Anthony gave her that sideways glance with his brown eyes, it was heart-stopping.

Anthony smiled at her. She was rather sweet, in an idiotic way. No one would imagine she was twenty-two. And why did she wear those awful suits with skirts that came halfway down her calves, and which completely concealed her rather nice figure? It might be an idea if she did something about her
hair as well. It was a pretty colour, but it always looked a mess. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘Spit it out.’

‘Well, it’s just that I’ve got two tickets for Grand Night on Thursday next week – you know, in Middle Temple. I was going with a friend, but she’s had to cancel – and I wondered whether – well … actually, really, you know, whether you would like to come.’ Grand Night was, as its name suggested, a gala affair in the Temple, a splendid dinner for which everyone dressed up, attended by the great and good of the judiciary, plus a handful of celebrated thespians who seemed to attach themselves somehow to the legal world. It was pompous, elaborate, and quite good fun for those who were seated well away from the high table and could get riotously drunk. Anthony had been once before. Camilla went on rapidly, ‘I mean, it’s purely – well, that is, I gather you’re going out with Sarah, and things, and I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I mean, it’s nothing like that. I just had a spare ticket, you see, and wondered, if you’re not doing anything, whether you’d like to – but I suppose you’re busy, and so on—’

Anthony, realising she could go on indefinitely in this confused vein, held up a hand. ‘Whoah! Stop. Enough.’ Camilla stopped and stared at him. He nodded. ‘Yes, I’d like to very much,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’ He immediately wondered whether he was doing a wise thing. It might not be a good idea to encourage her. Still, she herself had made it clear that it was purely a friendly thing, and it was useful to show one’s face occasionally at these official bashes. Camilla looked mildly astonished and gave a smile of delight, a smile that lit up her eyes, Anthony noticed. She had a sort of transparency, an innocence that was in complete contrast to Sarah’s opaque cleverness.

‘Great!’ She beamed. ‘Great … well … I suppose you’ve got a lot to do. I’d better let you get on. We can talk about it nearer the time. Bye.’ She left the room abruptly, leaving
Anthony smiling in bemusement. Why on earth had he agreed to go? Grand Night, when they wheeled out every Bencher in existence, even the ones you’d thought were dead, or looked it, at any rate. Well, he’d said yes, so that was that. He thought fleetingly of Sarah, whom he’d spoken to last night. She had been cool, but had agreed to see him tomorrow evening. He was aware that their relationship was moving on to another level, one at a remove from the utterly physical obsession which had obliterated anything else in the early weeks, and he was not entirely sure whether he liked Sarah enough to continue it. But when he thought about making love to her, the sensuous perfection of her silky body, he managed to persuade himself that he might as well let it carry on for a while. Perhaps it would be best, however, not to mention that he would be going out with Camilla next Thursday.

Camilla went back to Jeremy Vane’s room, and Jeremy glanced up at her with a frown. He was a heavyset, pedantic man in his late thirties, with a ponderous manner which made him seem older than he was. The more light-hearted, easygoing members of chambers, such as Leo, had little time for him, although it had to be acknowledged that he was hard-working and conscientious, possibly too much so. Certainly Camilla, bright and willing as she was, did not entirely enjoy working for him. He was not easy to get along with, and he had a tendency to treat her rather as a workhorse, giving her boring, repetitive tasks to do, instead of involving her with the minutiae of his cases.

‘Can you take those briefs and give them to Felicity or Henry, please?’ he asked, indicating his wire basket in which two briefs lay, scrawled with upside-down loops to show they were completed. Camilla, still smiling from her talk with Anthony, picked them up. ‘And then,’ added Jeremy, glancing at his watch and picking up the phone, ‘perhaps you could look up this list of cases for me. I’d like the books, marked, on my
desk first thing tomorrow, before we go into court.’ He waved her away and began to speak into the phone.

Camilla went downstairs to the clerks’ room, where Felicity was busy tapping at the computer screen and sipping coffee. She glanced up at Camilla and took the briefs from her.

‘Mr Vane’s latest efforts? Thanks. He’s always late getting them back.’ She noticed that Camilla’s face wore an unusually glowing look. ‘You look like the cat who’s just had some. Tell me about it.’

Camilla glanced across the room to where Henry was busy on the phone. ‘I’ve just invited Anthony to Grand Night – it’s a sort of formal dinner in Middle Temple Hall. It’s a week on Thursday. He said yes.’

‘He never.’ Felicity smiled at Camilla’s radiant pleasure.

Camilla shrugged. ‘It’s just platonic, I know that. I mean, he’s got a girlfriend. Someone I know, actually.’

Felicity waved this away. ‘Doesn’t mean a thing. Anthony’s girlfriends come and go so fast it’d make your head spin.’ She folded her arms and sat back, surveying Camilla with a candid expression. Gawd, she was a mess. Nice face, good cheekbones, good skin – but not so good that she could go about with absolutely no make-up, the way she did – and possibly quite a good figure. The trouble was, you couldn’t tell, beneath those layers of drab clothes, and those high-buttoned blouses that were meant to be white but had gone grey with being washed too often. Felicity wondered what she was planning to wear to this thing next Thursday. She sighed involuntarily at the thought, and then her eyes met Camilla’s.

‘What?’ asked Camilla. ‘Why are you looking like that?’

Felicity shifted in her seat and crossed her legs. ‘You really want to know?’ she asked.

Camilla looked at Felicity’s frank expression and wondered whether in fact she did. ‘Go on,’ she said.

Felicity leant forward and, putting one elbow on the desk, rested her chin on it. ‘The trouble is, see, with someone like Anthony, you’re going to have to try a little harder. Take my meaning?’ Camilla said nothing, but glanced at Henry, who was still talking on the phone, and subsided into a chair opposite Felicity. She looked despairingly at her. ‘I know you barristers have got to wear all that black stuff,’ went on Felicity, ‘but – well, there are ways of making it a bit more attractive. Know what I’m saying?’

‘I look awful, you mean.’ Camilla’s tone was dull.

Bloody awful, thought Felicity, realising she was reaching one of those sticky conversational patches that always made her long for a fag. That was the trouble with the chambers’ ‘no smoking’ policy, which only Leo seemed to manage to flout. It stopped you from lighting up just when you needed it most. ‘No!’ Felicity’s voice was bright and reassuring. ‘No, I didn’t say that. It’s just that – well, what are you planning to wear on Thursday?’

Camilla looked at her sadly. ‘Well, I’ve got the dress I wore to my college May Ball … I suspect it’s a bit tight now, though.’

‘What colour is it?’

‘Black.’

‘Uh huh.’ Felicity thought for a moment. ‘Definitely not,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘Definitely not your colour. That’s half the trouble, see? Black doesn’t suit you. Now, what you want, with your colouring, is some deep sort of colour, but vibrant. Sort of dark magenta, or dark green, something like that.’

Camilla sighed. ‘I’m so awful at choosing clothes, though. I really hate it. I hate those shop assistants who come in and ask you how you’re doing when you’re trying to do up the zip. I’d rather wear my old college dress than shop for something new. Besides, I haven’t got much money.’

‘How much could you run to?’ Felicity put her head on one side, already dressing Camilla in her mind. She’d have to find out what lay beneath those horrible suits of hers, though. Girl might have a waist like a sack of potatoes, for all she knew.

‘I don’t know. My mother offered to lend me some money to get something new, but she didn’t say how much. Anyway, I said my old dress would do.’

‘Well, you find out what she’ll give you, and you and me will go shopping tomorrow lunchtime. You can’t go to this posh do with Anthony wearing some old black number that doesn’t suit you. You put yourself in my hands, and I’ll make you look fantastic. Dress, hair, the works. How about it?’

Camilla looked at her wonderingly. ‘You mean you’d help me choose something? And do my hair?’

Felicity smiled, nodding. ‘Yeah, and a bit of make-up. We could have you looking like a million dollars, I reckon. At least good enough to be seen with our young Mr Cross. Have you ever seen him in a dinner suit?’

‘Anthony? No.’ Camilla could imagine, though, how wonderful he must look.

‘Well, he’s something to live up to, girl, I can tell you.’ Henry put the phone down on the other side of the room and came over. ‘We’ll go up west tomorrow and kit you out. It’ll be fun,’ added Felicity.

Camilla smiled uncertainly. She wasn’t sure about Felicity’s taste – she could be pretty outrageous. On the other hand, she did seem to know what men found attractive. She nodded. ‘Yes. All right. Thank you.’

Felicity flapped a hand. ‘Nothing to it. You’ll see.’ She watched as Camilla went back upstairs to look up Jeremy’s cases, two inches of dusty hem hanging down at the back of her skirt. Felicity sighed and shook her head. Oh, well – nothing like a challenge.

‘What was that all about?’ asked Henry.

‘Oh, Camilla and me are getting up a sort of chambers feminist group. Something quite radical – militant, even. So you lot better watch yourselves,’ said Felicity breezily. She smiled at Henry. ‘We’re calling it the Inner Thigh Club.’ She picked up the briefs which Camilla had left, put on her coat, and went out, leaving Henry looking uncertainly after her. He never knew what to make of Felicity. He had spent the past few weeks trying to persuade himself that she wasn’t on his level, that she was really quite common and not worth being hung up about. His mother wouldn’t have liked her, that was for sure. But that kind of thinking hadn’t helped. He still found himself fantasising about her when he was doing the photocopying, or some other mundane task. She was, he suspected, on a level way above him, and there was no way of reaching her.

That evening Sir Neville Graham, Master of the Rolls, as wise and fair-minded a man as ever distinguished the senior ranks of Her Majesty’s judiciary, sat nursing his varicose veins by the fireplace at White’s. He was waiting for his two fellow Lords of Appeal to join him to discuss their judgment in the Capstall case, and was impatient for their arrival, having decided not to order a drink until they got there. He glanced at his watch. Ten past seven. Blast them. He longed for a large Scotch, but it was a peculiarity of his character to set up little rules and codes for himself, and then employ all his powers of self-discipline to abide by them. It had begun in his boyhood, when, at boarding school, he made it a rule not to have jam on his bread unless the second hand of the dining-hall clock was approaching an even number when he came into the hall. He still avoided the cracks in paving stones on those rare occasions when he found himself walking in London’s streets, and his clerk had noticed that Sir Neville liked to have the pens on his desk arranged
on the left-hand side of his blotter. He was unaware, however, that Sir Neville made it a private rule to have morning coffee at half eleven instead of eleven if the pens should perchance be arranged on the other side. Now he would not permit himself to order his drink until his colleagues showed up.