Errors of Judgment (6 page)

After supper Edward was still in a boisterous mood and wanted to go on somewhere. Someone suggested Chinawhite, someone else the Ministry of Sound.

‘Not a club,’ said Edward, ‘I’m bored with clubs. How about a casino?’

The idea met with general approval. ‘Right,’ said Edward,
‘let’s go to Blunt’s. We can walk it from here.’ He turned to Anthony. ‘You’ll like this place. Much less stuffy than Astleigh’s. The chap who runs it is the father of a chum of mine, Darius Egan. He’s a top man. I’ll introduce you.’

Fifteen minutes later they were at Blunt’s, a private members’ gaming club in Mount Street. Edward seemed to know just about everyone there. An extremely tall, thin man in an impeccably cut suit wove his way through the crowd to greet him.

‘Darius – good to see you!’ Edward and the thin man shook hands. ‘Meet my friend Anthony Cross.’

Darius nodded at Anthony. ‘Haven’t seen you here before. New member?’

‘I’m Edward’s guest.’

‘Jolly good. You don’t seem to have drinks.’ He snapped his fingers and a waiter shimmied across. ‘What do you chaps fancy? Cristal? Pol Roger?’

‘Cristal,’ said Anthony. ‘My treat,’ he added to Edward. God alone knew how much it would cost, but he had firmly decided he didn’t care. Those days were gone.

‘Where’s the old man?’ Edward asked Darius.

‘He’s around somewhere. Probably in the gaming room.’

They followed Darius into the busy casino. Anthony was intrigued by the different atmosphere at each of the tables. The roulette table was buzzing with laughter and excitement, a gaggle of pretty girls shouldering near to watch the wheel spin and the ball drop. Further on at the card tables things were quieter, with only the murmur of the croupier’s voice as he dealt the cards.

Darius’s father, Caspar Egan, was pacing the room, his manner relaxed but watchful. Like his son he was tall, but
fleshier, with cold eyes and smooth features ready for all social eventualities. Edward, who was an excellent customer, received his widest smile and most cordial greeting. Edward introduced Anthony.

‘Tony’s something of a casino novice.’

‘Really?’ Caspar turned his razor smile on Anthony, weighing him up. ‘We’ll have to find the right game for you. You enjoy poker?’

‘I haven’t played much.’

‘Try our stud poker table. You’ll enjoy it.’

‘I don’t really gamble,’ said Anthony. This confession instantly left him feeling foolish. He caught the amusement in Darius’s eyes.

‘Well, tell you what – as you’re a friend of Edward’s, allow the house to make you a little present of twenty pounds’ worth of chips. Just to get you started.’

‘No, really—’

A waiter arrived with the champagne and glasses. ‘Come on,’ said Edward, ‘let’s splash this around, buy some chips, and get down to business.’

Anthony decided the most politic thing would be to accept the chips, but not use them. He would remain a disinterested spectator, and let Edward and his friends do the gambling. He followed Edward to the roulette table, and watched as Edward dropped the better part of five hundred pounds in twenty minutes.

‘Ed,’ Anthony said, knocking back his second glass of champagne, ‘stop betting on the same number. Nineteen’s never going to come up. This is a complete waste of money.’

Edward shrugged, grinned, and dropped another two black chips on nineteen. Anthony groaned. The chattering
crowd fell quiet as the croupier spun the wheel and the ball clattered and bounced. Anthony happened to glance up, and there, standing on the other side of the table with a group of friends, was the girl who had been in the pub the other day, when he and Leo had been having lunch. She was dressed in a very short, silver-grey dress, her hair was loose about her shoulders, and her eyes were fixed on the wheel. He didn’t think she had seen him. Suddenly a shout went up and Edward was punching the air and whooping.

‘You jammy sod!’ exclaimed Anthony. ‘How much is that you’ve netted?’

‘Seven grand!’ replied Edward. ‘See? Just a question of holding the old nerve. Come on, Tony, time you had a go.’

‘Unlikely, I’d say,’ came a drawling voice behind them. Anthony glanced over his shoulder, and saw Piers Hunt-Thompson. It was seven years since they’d last met. Piers was a big, ugly, loose-limbed man, with a prominent chin and broken nose, but with an exceptional air of swaggering self-confidence which managed to intimidate men and charm women. He smiled at Anthony with lazy insolence. ‘Probably as tight-fisted as ever. Still watching the pennies, Anthony?’

‘Still cheating at cricket, Piers?’ replied Anthony.

A pretty blonde appeared at Piers’ side, dressed in a low-cut, tight-fitting red dress. When she saw Anthony, her eyes widened and she gave a little gasp of delight.

‘Anthony! How lovely!’ Julia leant forward and kissed his cheek as though they were old friends, as though the last time they’d met she hadn’t been shattering his heart into a million little pieces with her lies and betrayal.

‘Julia,’ said Anthony.

Julia caught sight of Edward. ‘And Eddie, too! This is a regular reunion.’ She kissed Edward.

Edward looked perplexed. ‘You only saw me last Saturday.’ He turned to Anthony. ‘Come on, Anthony, you can’t keep those chips in your pocket all night.’

Realising he had no choice, Anthony drew the two blue chips from his pocket and, after a moment’s hesitation, put them both on number five. Beneath Piers’ mocking gaze he felt out of his depth, regressing to the far-off student days when he’d had no money, no status, and no sense of self-worth in the company of well-heeled contemporaries. He was so busy hating himself for allowing Edward to bring him here that he didn’t even watch the ball as the wheel spun.

Then Edward was clapping him on the back. ‘Who’s the jammy sod now?’

A pile of chips was being shoved towards him.

‘Oh, well done,’ said Piers. ‘Now you can afford the taxi home. East Dulwich, isn’t it?’

Anthony ignored him. He pushed the chips back onto the baize. ‘Let it ride,’ he said.

‘Whoa!’ said Edward. ‘Don’t you want to split it?’

Anthony shook his head. As he saw it, the seven hundred he’d just won wasn’t his. The house could have it back. Everyone watched as the ball jumped and clattered, and just for an instant, to his own surprise, Anthony found himself wondering with a darting sense of hope whether the ball might not land on five again. Could he be that lucky? That would wipe the smirk off Hunt-Thompson’s face. But the ball came to rest on fourteen, and his chips were swept away.

‘I told you you should have split it,’ said Edward mournfully.

‘He’d started spinning the wheel,’ said Anthony.

‘Doesn’t matter. You can bet till the croupier declares the end of betting. You can place a bet and change it while the wheel’s spinning.’

‘How can you talk about splitting bets? You bet on nineteen four times in a row!’

‘Yes, but I know what I’m doing,’ said Edward gravely.

Anthony burst out laughing. ‘OK, Ed, tell me where I went wrong.’

Edward proceeded to explain the finer points of roulette, and the different types and combinations of bets. Anthony listened and learnt, partly out of a long-formed academic habit which made it almost impossible for him not to absorb information, and partly because he didn’t want to have to talk to either Piers or Julia.

After a while, when Piers and Julia had disappeared, Edward wandered off to the poker tables. Anthony stayed at the roulette table and watched the flow of play, and began to understand, with growing interest, the good and bad betting strategies. He’d known when he did it that putting that entire seven hundred on a straight-up bet had been stupid, but he hadn’t cared at the time. Now he began to regret it. He would do it differently if he could.

Piers wandered past. ‘Run out of money? I can make you a loan, if you’re hard up.’

The remark made up Anthony’s mind. He went and bought some more chips, two hundred pounds’ worth. He wasn’t a poverty-stricken student any more. He was a successful barrister with a healthy bank balance, and he could afford a few games of roulette.

At the end of half an hour, with a judicious spread of
bets, Anthony came away four hundred pounds up. He was elated, pleased to have quit while he was ahead. Edward congratulated him, and Anthony went to the bar to order more champagne. He glanced at his watch. It was past one o’clock and he had a con at ten the next day. He should go soon.

‘Past your bedtime?’ murmured a voice. He looked round and saw Julia.

She set her glass down and leant on the bar. She was close enough for him to smell her perfume. ‘It really is good to see you after all this time. I mean it. I’ve often thought about you.’

She wondered if Anthony could tell how hard her heart was beating. It had been a genuine shock to her to see him here tonight. He looked so well. The same as ever, the same boy she had loved, but more assured now, an entirely different creature.

Anthony gazed at her for a long moment. It was true, that one’s early loves left the deepest and most lasting impression. Julia was strange and familiar all at once. Her blonde hair still curled into the nape of her neck in that little-boy way. Her eyes were still beguilingly blue, clear and bright, but their warmth and sparkle had faded to something less girlish.

‘I’ve thought about you, too. How you broke my heart and hung me out to dry.’

‘Sounds like a line from a song.’

He smiled. ‘It was all rather corny, wasn’t it?’

As he spoke, the girl in the silver-grey dress appeared at the far end of the bar. Anthony watched the way she shook back her dark blonde hair as she spoke to the barman, puzzled
as to who she reminded him of. He touched Julia’s arm and nodded towards the end of the bar. ‘Who’s that girl?’

Julia glanced along the bar. ‘Gabrielle Stanley. Why?’

‘Do you know anything about her?’

Julia’s lip curled in a half-smile. ‘Anthony—’

‘What?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing. If you’re so interested, go and find out yourself.’ She finished the remains of her drink. ‘See you around.’

She walked away. Talking to him had been a mistake. Seeing him after all this time was bad enough. What had she expected? That he was still in love with her? That they could rekindle some old flame? She saw Piers talking to Darius on the other side of the room and went over.

‘Piers, I want to go.’

‘Ask the doorman to call you a cab.’

‘Please, Piers. I’m tired.’

‘Well, I’m not. Now fuck off home, if you must.’

Julia fetched her coat and took a taxi home alone.

Anthony left the bar and went back to the gaming room. Edward was now caught up in a game of stud poker. Anthony watched for a few minutes, but his glance kept slipping to the chattering crowd at the roulette table. He’d enjoyed his half-hour there. What Leo had said was true. It wasn’t so much the gambling – though winning had been pretty good, and it was nice to come away with an extra four hundred in one’s pocket. It was about having fun. It was about the room, the people. Something stirred in him, something like an itch. He crossed the room, bought some more chips, and went back to the roulette table.

Anthony found it hard to focus during his ten o’clock meeting the next morning. Not only was he mildly hungover, he couldn’t stop thinking about the five hundred pounds he’d lost on his second, disastrous outing at the roulette table last night. It wasn’t as though he’d been betting stupidly, on one number. He’d planned what seemed like a good strategy, using odds and evens, split bets and corner bets. He shouldn’t have lost as badly as he had. He’d been kept going by the conviction that on the next spin of the wheel his luck would recover. If Edward hadn’t called it a night he’d probably have gone on to lose even more. He couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been. Never again. He kept thinking about Julia, too. He could have done without meeting her again. She was someone he would never quite get over, despite all the hurt she’d caused.

He had to fight against these distractions to focus on the complexities of the case under discussion, and by the time
the conference ended at twelve-fifteen, he was feeling pretty lousy. He went to the clerks’ room in search of paracetamol.

‘I’ve only got Alka Seltzer,’ said Felicity, rummaging in her desk drawer.

‘No, thanks,’ said Anthony. ‘They give me indigestion.’

‘Weird. They’re meant to cure that. Sure you aren’t thinking of something else?’

‘No, I’m not thinking of something else.’

‘All right. Suit yourself.’ Felicity shut the drawer.

Leo came into the clerks’ room and dumped some papers on Felicity’s desk. ‘These need to go over to Brian Rosebery’s chambers asap.’

‘I’ll get Liam to do it. Liam!’

Liam scuttled over. ‘Twenty Essex Street,’ Felicity told him. ‘Step on it.’

Leo glanced at Anthony, who was staring out of the window and fiddling with the blind cord. ‘You OK?’

Anthony yawned hugely and rubbed his hand over his face. ‘I’ve been better.’

‘I was hoping to have a chat later on. With you and Michael. How about a drink in Middle Temple Bar? Around six?’

Anthony nodded. ‘If I’m still alive.’

Leo shrugged on his jacket. ‘Right,’ he told Felicity, ‘I’m off to lunch.’

‘Don’t forget you’ve got a con with Murray Holden at two-thirty.’

‘I won’t. See you later.’

Later that afternoon, around quarter to six, Gabrielle Stanley saw Leo coming out of chambers. She had been hanging
round the cloisters for the better part of an hour waiting for this moment. She watched him pause at the bottom of the steps to button up his coat. A chilly wind drove a flurry of autumn leaves across the flagstones. She stepped out from behind the pillar and was about to head across the courtyard when a tall, thin man with glasses hurried out of chambers to join Leo. She remained where she was, her heart thudding, and watched them walk through the archway to Pump Court. She tried to make sense of her confused emotions. Part of her was actually relieved that the other man had made speaking to Leo impossible. In which case, why had she been lurking here half the afternoon, freezing her ears off? She knew the answer to that. Even if she wasn’t going to be brave enough to talk to him – and she had to, she really had to, otherwise this was totally pointless – she wanted simply to be able to look at him. The longer she looked, the closer she came. That was what she’d been telling herself, but in fact, unless she spoke to him, all the looking in the world wasn’t going to get her anywhere. There had been that afternoon in court two weeks ago, when she’d spent two whole hours staring at him. Watching him sit, stand, speak, sigh, smile, glance at his watch, shuffle his papers, yawn, feeling herself getting closer and closer. Afterwards, as the court emptied, she’d thought she might go for it then, just walk right up to him – but she hadn’t. She couldn’t. He was with people. No, that wasn’t true – there had been a whole three or four minutes when he’d been walking down Middle Temple Lane on his own, and she’d simply bottled it. And if she went on bottling it, this thing was always going to remain beyond her grasp.

She set off after them, maintaining a discreet distance, a
slight figure in tight jeans, knee-length boots, and a baggy suede jacket over a cowl-necked sweater, hair pulled scruffily back in a hairband. Her eyes were fastened on Leo. He and the thin man paused at the doorway to Middle Temple Bar, waiting for someone who was coming up the lane from the Embankment end. As he drew closer, Gabrielle recognised the young man who’d been with Leo in the pub, and at Blunt’s last night. She’d been careful not to meet his eye across the roulette table, but she had the feeling he’d recognised her. He might say something to Leo, and that could be a problem.

The three men went inside, and Gabrielle crossed the lane to Fountain Court, where she dithered for a while, kicking shoals of dead leaves and wondering what to do. This was getting pathetic. She had to be braver. It was tonight or never. If he’d gone for a drink, which he obviously had, he surely couldn’t be more than an hour at most. When he came out she would follow him to where she knew his car was parked in King’s Bench Walk. Then she’d just have to go for it. She felt her stomach drop through the floor just thinking about it. Resigning herself to another wait, she walked back to the bottom of the lane and leant against the wall, eyes fixed on the doorway to the bar.

‘I’ll get these,’ said Leo.

Anthony and Michael Gibbon settled into a couple of armchairs. The bar was almost deserted, with only two people hunched silently over a game of chess at the far end.

‘Place is dead,’ said Anthony. ‘Where is everyone?’

‘When I was a student,’ said Michael, taking off his glasses and polishing them with the end of his tie, ‘this place would
be absolutely heaving at this time of night. Of course, back then, you could get a treble Scotch for seventy-five pence, or near enough.’ Leo returned from the bar at that moment with two whiskies and a pint of beer. ‘I was just remarking to Anthony – remember how in our day this place would be full to bursting every evening? Everyone came. Students, juniors, QCs, the odd High Court judge. The bar was so heavily subsidised you could get drunk on next to nothing. Great days. Of course, that kind of thing is frowned upon now.’ He rubbed the bridge of his nose and replaced his glasses, and took a sip of his Scotch.

‘D’you remember Jess?’ said Leo. He shook his head. ‘Dear God.’

Michael smiled and nodded. ‘She ran the bar thirty years ago,’ he told Anthony. ‘Long gone. Absolute battleaxe, face that would turn milk. Everyone was terrified of her, even the most senior people. I have never known a woman carry out the business of dispensing drinks so begrudgingly, or with such apparent loathing for her customers.’

‘People used to compete with each other to get her to crack a smile,’ said Leo, ‘or just be civil. But the more fawningly polite they were, the more they tried to butter her up, the worse she was.’

‘Andrew Carrick had the trick. Jess absolutely loved him. He was this very tall, pompous QC, who used to swan in and order drinks in the most lordly way, calling Jess “my good woman”, treating her like some parlourmaid. She lapped it up. It was the only time I ever saw her smile. He would lean over the bar and tell her filthy jokes, and she would cackle. The rest of the time she had a face like stone.’

Anthony smiled. He’d heard all this before.

‘Of course, it’s not just the bar,’ said Michael. ‘It’s the whole place. Did you know,’ he said to Leo, ‘that they’ve closed the buttery?’

‘Really? That’s sad.’

‘And one evening last summer,’ went on Michael, ‘I came in, bought a drink, was about to take it outside, when someone told me the garden was out of bounds. Can you imagine? They were catering some outside event, so members of the inn weren’t even allowed into their own garden. I frankly don’t know what the place is coming to.’

‘I hear,’ said Leo, ‘that they’re thinking of turning this whole building over to offices.’

Michael tut-tutted and shook his head. He and Leo sat silently sipping their drinks, deploring the way the world was going. ‘So,’ asked Michael after a few moments, ‘what was it you wanted to talk to us about? You’ve been most mysterious.’

Leo set his glass down on the table. ‘I’m thinking of applying to become a High Court judge.’

Anthony felt a momentary shock. He knew Leo had been sitting as a recorder here and there for the past eighteen months, which was one of the prerequisites, but he hadn’t really expected this. ‘I assumed you were just going through the motions,’ he said. ‘With the recorder thing.’

‘So did I. Maybe I am. But the idea has its attractions. I wanted to talk it over with you two, find out what you think.’

‘I think,’ said Michael, crossing his spindly legs and frowning into his whisky, ‘that you’re mad. I mean, think of the drop in earnings! You’re at your peak right now.’

‘I know that. On the other hand, if I want to qualify for
the full pension entitlement, I need to serve twenty years on the bench. Judges retire at seventy. I’ll be fifty next year. Perfect timing.’

Anthony couldn’t believe Leo, of all people, was sitting here talking about pension entitlements. Leo, who lived life for the moment, who despised conventions and those who lived by the rules, whose mercurial character he had always assumed to be above such mundane considerations, was actually making purse-lipped calculations about his retirement, like some accountant from the suburbs. ‘Very prudent of you,’ he observed. ‘You’ll be buying a pipe and slippers next. And a cardigan. How about a potting shed while you’re at it?’

‘You may sneer,’ said Leo mildly, ‘but when you’re my age, such things become important.’

‘What – potting sheds?’

Leo smiled, saying nothing, and finished his whisky.

‘I’ll get another round,’ said Michael, and rose to his feet. ‘Anthony?’

‘I’m fine for the moment, thanks.’

‘You don’t seem too happy about my possible career move,’ said Leo to Anthony, when Michael was out of earshot.

Anthony said nothing for a moment. A vision had been building in his head of chambers without Leo, without the sound of Leo’s voice, his laugh, his footstep on the stair, his knock on the door. It would be lifeless, dead. From the first day Anthony had set foot in 5 Caper Court eight years ago, Leo had been, for Anthony, the scintillating heart of the place. His remarkable intellect, his exceptional eloquence and his brilliance as a cross-examiner set him apart from all
the other solid, drab, clever members of chambers, including kind, pedantic Michael. On the surface he was the perfect embodiment of a successful barrister, destined to forge a career leading from the High Court Bench to the Court of Appeal, and to the ultimate pinnacle of the Supreme Court. Anthony knew all that. But he knew too that there was another side to Leo, a darker, more dangerous side. He knew Leo as a man who, free from the trammels of his professional life, took his pleasures where he chose, men or women, who had finessed the art of seduction, of love, of life itself. He had taught Anthony many things – including things which Anthony sometimes wished he’d never learnt. He simply didn’t believe that this side of Leo would be content with the humdrum life of a High Court judge.

When he spoke, all he could find to say was, ‘Chambers won’t be the same without you.’

‘For heaven’s sake, I haven’t even applied yet. Even if I do, the Judicial Appointments Commission could well turn me down. It happened to Jeremy. Twice.’

‘I doubt if they’d turn you down,’ said Anthony. ‘You’re too good. And they’re crying out for decent people.’ Michael returned at that moment with the drinks, and Anthony added, ‘Michael’s right – it’ll mean a massive drop in income.’

‘I’m not too concerned about the money. As long as I have enough to live comfortably, and to educate Oliver. One has to keep a balance in all things. No point in earning huge fees if the work is killing you.’

‘I didn’t realise it was that bad,’ said Michael.

‘Perhaps that’s overstating the case, but the fact is, I’m tired. I just seem to go from one big case to another, and the
workload is beginning to get to me. In fact, I feel exhausted most of the time.’ Leo picked up his fresh drink. ‘Plus, I’m not getting any younger. Cheers.’

‘Of course, the title’s always an attraction,’ mused Michael. ‘I imagine more than a few chaps finish up on the bench because their wives fancy being called Lady whatever.’

‘That certainly isn’t high on my list of priorities.’

‘They say it can be a lonely life. Did you know Hugh Laddie?’ Anthony shook his head. ‘Leo will remember him.’

‘Patent barrister,’ said Leo. ‘Invented the Anton Piller order. Nicest man you could hope to meet.’

‘Tremendous chap,’ agreed Michael. ‘The least stuffy person you can imagine. Great fun. Exceptionally clever. Became a High Court judge, but found the job so boring and lonely he packed it in. First and last judge ever to do so.’

‘It’s not the most convivial life, I grant you,’ said Leo. ‘That said, grafting away on big cases gets pretty lonely. As for boring – I’ve reached the point where I feel as though I’m doing the same work over and over.’

‘I suppose,’ said Michael, ‘that at least being a judge allows you to try out new areas of law.’

‘Mmm. Then again, do I want to be sitting on fraud trials? Or hearing rape cases, for that matter?’ Leo swirled his Scotch in its glass. ‘But it shouldn’t just be about me – what I get, or don’t get out of it. There is the altruistic point, the public service aspect. Becoming a judge is a way of contributing. Maybe it’s time I put something back.’

‘Have you discussed it with Henry?’ asked Anthony.

‘Not yet. I’ll have a chat with him next week. I wanted to sound you two out first.’

‘Did you expect us to talk you out of it?’

‘No. I merely wondered if you had any arguments against that I hadn’t already thought of.’

They carried on talking it through for the better part of an hour. When they left the bar, it had grown dark, and the late October air was chilly. Michael said goodnight and headed off to the tube station.

‘I’ll walk with you to your car,’ Anthony said to Leo.

They crossed the road together. ‘Did you mean that stuff about public service?’ asked Anthony.