The Pupil (14 page)

Leo said something to him as they walked back across the Strand, but Anthony couldn’t hear him above the roar of traffic. In Middle Temple Lane, someone stopped Leo to talk to him, and Anthony felt constrained to go on ahead. He walked back up the wooden stairs of chambers. Michael’s room was empty. He hadn’t really much idea of what Michael had been doing the past week or so, and he had no idea where he might be. Suddenly life had returned to its former rather barren state. Anthony still felt dazed by the anticlimactic culmination of the past two weeks’ effort. He tried to settle down to some work that he had begun a little while ago, but the thing seemed stale and lifeless. He felt suddenly and acutely friendless. His involvement with Leo during the case had become so complete that it
was something of a shock to be thrown back into solitude. For a brief period he had felt part of things, and he wished intensely to have that feeling back again. He
must
, he thought, get this tenancy. Then he would be sure of himself. He would belong. But there was Edward, there was always Edward.

When the phone rang, Anthony was almost inclined to let it go on ringing. It would be for Michael. But at last he answered.

‘Ah!’ said Mr Slee’s voice irascibly, ‘I thought I seen you come in. There’s a young lady to speak to you.’

For a painful few seconds, Anthony hoped it might be Julia, but he did not recognise the voice that spoke.

‘Hello, Anthony?’

‘Yes. Who is this?’

‘It’s Jocasta.’ It took a moment for the name to register.

‘Oh. Oh, yes! Hello. Where are you calling from?’

‘We’re still in the States.’ Anthony thought her voice now carried a faint Californian lilt. ‘Chay asked me to call and ask you to do something for him. He’s
very
busy right now, or he’d have called you himself.’ She made whatever Chay was doing sound improbably important.

‘How’s the meditating going?’

‘Well, that’s finished for the moment. We’re really more into the creativity side of things just now. Chay’s got something
very big
going down here. He’s got an exhibition in one of the galleries.’

‘An exhibition? What of?’ Anthony was finding this a little difficult to take in.

‘His paintings. His work. I can’t tell you, Anthony, he’s
been really inspired since we came to this retreat – I mean, he’s been working non-stop, it’s fantastic!’

‘It must be. He can’t paint to save his life. Anyway, he went through that phase about four years ago. What
kind
of exhibition?’

‘The usual kind. Pictures on walls, that sort of thing. His opening was the most tremendous success, honestly! It’s so exciting just being part of it. The critics all raved about his stuff. Anthony, your father’s a genius.’

‘No, he’s not,’ said Anthony reasonably. ‘But people are remarkably gullible. It amounts to the same thing, I suppose. No, really, I’m very pleased. What kind of pictures is he painting?’

‘Well, I read that someone called them minimalist abstract,’ replied Jocasta doubtfully, but Chay calls it abstract primitive. It’s fairly two-dimensional, anyway,’ she added confidently. ‘Lots of bright colours, that kind of thing. He’s working on a really big canvas at the moment, some New York gallery’s commissioned it.’

‘Commissioned? You mean, he’s actually making money out of this?’

‘A fortune! You wouldn’t believe the prices people in the Valley will pay for things.’

‘Good Lord!’ exclaimed Anthony.

‘Anyway, he asked me to ask you if you would go round to the flat and sort through the paintings he left there. His agent says it’s important to get some of his earlier work on the market right now.’

‘Oh, yes, his earlier work. I’m not sure if he was into his “abstract primitive” period then, but I’ll have a rummage
through and see what there is. But look, it’s going to cost a fortune to send them over to the States. I can’t possibly afford it.’

‘Don’t worry. Chay’s agent is going to arrange for one of the London galleries to ship them across, if you’ll just deliver them to the gallery. I’ll send you the name and address in a couple of days.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘So, how are you?’

‘Oh, I’m fine. Look, tell Dad – Chay – that I’m very pleased for him. It sounds – it sounds like he’s having a good time.’

‘Well, he is. He’ll call you. I have to go now. Bye.’

After he had hung up, Anthony pondered this unlikely turn of events with amusement. He had to hand it to his father – he had nerve. He felt a little better as he resumed his work, although in some way his sense of isolation had been heightened by Jocasta’s bright, excited phone call from far away.

After a while, he went out for a sandwich, chatted to some friends in the common room, and then returned to chambers. Still no Michael. Once again that sense of exclusion began to descend upon him, although he tried to dispel it by concentrating on his work.

It was late in the afternoon when Leo came to Michael’s room. Anthony’s heart rose with pleasure at the sight of him. Suddenly the afternoon seemed fuller and brighter.

‘Well,’ said Leo, smiling and settling himself behind Michael’s desk, ‘that was a bit of an abrupt end to our soaring hopes this morning, wasn’t it?’ He chuckled slightly.
‘Still, it’s always nice to get one’s brief fee before it settles. I had three cases settle last month before I got my fee. Bloody annoying.’

Anthony reflected that at least Leo had the solace of having made some money out of the protracted stand-off. He’d only recently submitted his first note of fees to solicitors, and he didn’t expect to see any payment for some months.

‘It was a bit disappointing, really, I thought. I mean, all that work—’

‘Tchah!’ said Leo dismissively. ‘You may have been disappointed. I was relieved, frankly. Anyway, what’s the difference? The work’s got to be done in either event. It wouldn’t have settled if I hadn’t been instructed. Needed to get the fear up. Now, where’s Michael?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him all day.’

‘Pity. I rather wanted a game of squash. I need some unwinding after all that build-up.’ He yawned, running his hands over his hair, and glanced at Anthony. ‘You play?’

Anthony hesitated. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘My kit’s in the locker at Middle.’

Leo slapped the desk lightly and rose. ‘Excellent. See you downstairs in ten minutes.’

As Anthony was getting ready to leave, the telephone rang again.

‘Another call for you,’ Mr Slee said, ‘sir. A gentleman this time. Wouldn’t give his name.’

Anthony knew who it was even before he spoke. His heart sank. ‘Hello, Len?’

‘’Allo, Tone?’ In the background, Anthony could hear
the clink of glasses and the roar of pub conversation. ‘Sorry to bother you at work, an’ that, but I was wondering whether you’d got me readies yet?’

‘Look, Len, can you give me a couple more weeks?’ He tried to sound casually apologetic, to keep any note of anxiety from his voice.

‘Whassat? Sorry, Tone, there’s a hell of a racket in ’ere.’ Anthony could hear him cupping his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Come on, keep it down, Tel! Sorry mate,’ he said, returning to Anthony, ‘what was that?’

Anthony breathed deeply. ‘I haven’t quite got it all together yet, Len, and I wondered whether—’

‘Well, fifty would do for the moment. I’m a bit desperate, Tone.’

‘Len, I’m afraid I can’t pay you anything right now, to be honest. I’m sorry. Give me another week or two.’ He could hear Len muttering something to someone else at the other end. Then he spoke to Anthony again. He sounded sad.

‘This is very bad news, Tone. I was counting on that dosh.’ He paused. ‘See, it wasn’t strictly my money that I lent you.’

‘Look, I’m just asking for a week or two.’

‘Yeah, well, the thing is, my mate really wants ’is money back in a hurry. Know what I mean?’ He still sounded sad, almost thoughtful.

Anthony sighed. Why had he ever borrowed that hundred? ‘I know, I know. I’ll try to sort something out. Just give me a couple of weeks. I’ll have it. I promise.’ There was another pause; Anthony could hear Phil Collins on the jukebox in the background.

‘Well, I can only give you a week, Tone. My mate’s not best pleased. He’s talkin’ about comin’ round to pay you a visit at work. I said to him you wouldn’t like that.’

‘Oh, come on, Len!’

‘Tone, I’ll do my best, but ’e wants ’is money. I mean, you can understand that. I’ll tell him a week. I’ll give you a ring this time next Friday and we’ll all get together for a drink. Howsat?’ He sounded kindly, conciliatory.

‘All right. One week. But for God’s sake keep him away from here, Len.’

Putting the phone down, Anthony wondered how much of Len’s story he believed. This ‘friend’ might be mythical, a device to worry Anthony. On the other hand, the thought of some mate of Len’s strolling round to Caper Court and mouthing off indignantly about some money that Anthony owed him – it made his blood freeze. His own father had been bad enough, but that would probably finish his prospects for good.

His hands were sweating, he realised. Seven days was not a long time to get a hundred pounds together. He would think of something.

As he gathered his squash kit together and joined Leo, the pleasure of being in his company again temporarily obliterated thoughts of Len. Getting into Leo’s sleek blue Porsche, purring smoothly off through the evening traffic to Trafalgar Square and down Pall Mall, he felt something like happiness again.

Halfway through their seventh game, Anthony felt exhausted. He had begun by playing cautiously, with the natural diffidence of the young. He knew that he was quite good and, aware that Leo was some twenty years his senior, wished at all costs to avoid embarrassment. But Leo was every bit as good as he was, and had the added advantages of weight and a ferocious competitive streak. He played hard and fast, laughing when either of them hit a particularly good shot, swearing under his breath at any shot he fluffed. Anthony, however, was faster round the court, and as the games progressed it became apparent that they were evenly matched, neither able to gain a clear advantage.

‘All right!’ panted Leo at last, leaning against the back wall of the court. ‘I’ve had enough!’ He laughed and wiped his brow. Anthony laughed, too, and moved with relief towards the door.

‘I’m glad you said that. I was about to collapse.’

‘Damn!’ said Leo, slapping him on the back. ‘Maybe we should have carried on. I was probably just getting into my stride.’

They made their way to the changing rooms and the showers. Leo watched as Anthony kicked off his clothes and turned on the shower. Steam filled the air and spray hissed. Leo showered as well, talking above the noise. He let the hot water stream soothingly over his body as he watched Anthony towelling himself dry. His body was slender, yet hard and muscular, his skin still pale and soft like that of a child. Leo watched as Anthony unselfconsciously thrust his slender, sinewy arms into his shirtsleeves, pulled on his underpants and trousers, stuffed his kit into his bag. He was chatting away with the innocent good nature of any young man, unaware that at every move he made Leo felt his throat tighten and the muscles of his stomach contract.

He heard Anthony ask if he wanted a drink, and turned away from the vision, closing his eyes for a few seconds.

‘Yes,’ he said, after a pause, opening his eyes and gazing briefly at the wall of the changing room. Then he turned and smiled his brilliant smile. ‘I’ll buy you dinner afterwards, if you like. Make up for this morning’s lack of excitement.’

They had a drink first in the bar of Leo’s club. It was a masculine place, heavy and warmly lit, with deep leather armchairs. Anthony nursed his Scotch in its tumbler, feeling the alcohol taking delicious possession of his body, relaxed now after its exertion. Leo was less voluble than before, tired after their game. Anthony glanced at him across the
table, feeling a sway of affection as Leo leant back and closed his eyes briefly.

‘Why did you become a lawyer?’ he asked Leo. He was genuinely curious. He wanted to know if any further affinities bound him to this man, as though to solve the puzzle of Leo’s attraction. Leo smiled and tucked his chin down. He took a moment before answering.

‘Like you, I suppose, I wanted to escape.’ Anthony took a quick gulp of his Scotch; it burnt his throat. He wondered how much Leo knew of his own circumstances. Perhaps Michael had told him. ‘I wanted to escape the petty provinciality of a Welsh village. The Bar’s like another world, see? It’s like nowhere else on earth. Like a great, big, special club. I wanted to belong.’ He took a sip of his drink. ‘You want to belong, don’t you?’

Anthony laughed, embarrassed. ‘Well, yes. It
is
somehow special, isn’t it?’

‘Exclusive, you mean? Oh, I’ll say. It’s surrounded itself with a mystique so strong that the people who live and work in the Temple actually begin to believe it. Some of them even live on another plane from the rest of humanity. Just look at the faces of some of those men. They’re almost from another century. They’ve passed the whole of their lives in circumstances of such exclusive privilege that they hardly know what goes on out there. They think they do, but they couldn’t begin to understand ordinary lives. That’s only a few, mind you.’ Leo summoned the waiter over and ordered another round of drinks. ‘But I’ll tell you something,’ he went on. ‘You look closely at any barrister – even the simplest hack – and you’ll find there’s something
strange going on. It’s as though each one is slightly crippled inside, in some odd way. You can’t help it. That atmosphere makes you that way. Just think of some of the oddballs you see around you in the Temple every day. You take them for granted, don’t you? Just because the very peculiarity of their setting makes them seem somehow normal.’

Anthony pondered this. There were certainly some weirdos around. That Hungarian chap, with the waxed moustache and the duelling scars, who took snuff and talked nonsense, and managed to eke out a living at the Criminal Bar. Or the lunatic whom Anthony saw regularly in Middle Temple Bar, always smiling, carrying all his briefs around with him in an old leather suitcase, the inside pocket of his jacket stuffed with little cards on which he was playing forty or so chess games at one time with different members of the Bar. They were taken for granted, accepted as everyday features of life in the Temple. He could think of many others, less eccentric than those two, but each with his own idiosyncrasy or slight twist of the mind. They were all accepted in that microcosm of a world.

‘Yes,’ he conceded. ‘You’re right, of course. But what does that make you and I?’

‘Well,’ laughed Leo, reaching forward for his fresh drink, ‘there are
some
fairly normal people at the Bar. You might be one of them.’

‘I think I’m fairly sane,’ replied Anthony seriously. Then he looked up at Leo. ‘But then, I don’t belong yet.’

‘You’re worried about Edward, aren’t you?’

Anthony’s second drink had removed some of his inhibitions. ‘I suppose I am,’ he said, and started to
explain the whole thing to Leo, his fears and his hopes, his confidence in his own abilities and his doubts of the system which would probably allow a lesser man to gain the tenancy. He even touched on the sense of exclusion that he felt from time to time, the sense that he might never belong. Leo nodded.

‘Let’s finish this over dinner,’ he said. ‘I’ve booked a table at Le Gavroche.’

On the way to the restaurant, Anthony carried on talking.

‘If I thought I wasn’t good enough,’ he explained, ‘then I wouldn’t mind. I’d have looked somewhere else. But I know I’m good. I know that commercial work suits me. Michael believes it, too.’

Leo nodded. ‘He does. He thinks you should become our next member of chambers.’

But what do
you
think? Anthony wanted to ask. He couldn’t; he would never know. Leo might like him, but Leo might have other ideas entirely about who was best suited for chambers. When they reached the restaurant, Anthony quickly realised that this place was rather more special than the wine bars where Leo had occasionally treated him to supper. Leo watched Anthony’s face as he looked around; the waiter brought the menus, and Anthony glanced at the prices, then looked hastily away. It was amusing to Leo to watch the younger man’s cautious pleasure, his curious appraisal of the other diners, some of them well-known faces. As the meal progressed, he delighted in Anthony’s enthusiasm for the food, and took particular pleasure in ordering a wine that was far more expensive than was
necessary. When Anthony said that he had never tasted anything so wonderful in his life, Leo knew, with a pang, that it was true, and that he had meant it. He watched Anthony’s happy face, his dark eyes brilliant from the wine, his mouth moving rapidly, expressively, as he talked. The boy was an utter delight. So untouched, with so much to be shown him. His tastes, Leo reflected, were completely unformed – he was still groping, tentatively, for the mystery that was to become himself. For a moment, he almost envied Anthony the uncertainty of his future.

They finished their wine.

‘No coffee, thank you. Just the bill,’ said Leo to the waiter. ‘I thought you might like to come back to my house for some coffee,’ he said abruptly to Anthony. Anthony, happily dazzled by his evening, simply nodded in reply.

When the bill came, Anthony said anxiously to Leo, ‘Look, you really shouldn’t have brought me to a place like this. I wish I could split the bill with you, but—’

Leo raised a hand. ‘What a ridiculous idea. You’re my pupil – for the time being, anyway. The least I can do is show you how to dine expensively. The pleasure was all mine, believe me.’ He flipped through the credit cards in his wallet, then glanced up at Anthony. ‘You’re really hard up, aren’t you?’

‘Well, yes,’ murmured Anthony, staring at the tablecloth, and then looking up candidly at Leo. ‘I am, as a matter of fact. I’m living on scholarship money.’

Leo nodded. ‘I remember doing that. I’ll tell you something – in my day, we had to pay our pupilmasters for the privilege of being unwaged slaves, see? You’re lucky
that’s changed, at any rate. No, I remember how difficult it was. You could never afford a decent meal.’

‘No,’ said Anthony. He hesitated for a moment. The business of Len and his money was weighing on him, and he felt that he had to tell somebody. Leo seemed enough of a friend to tell. Anthony recounted his story. When he had finished, Leo smiled dismissively.

‘Take out a bank loan. Or tell your mother. She won’t be as upset as you think. Mothers never are. You know, you’re lucky to be living at home. When I was studying at the Bar, my dear old ma was still back in the valleys. Which is where she is now, as a matter of fact.’ He smiled and handed his card and the bill to the waiter. Anthony wanted to explain further to him, to make Leo understand the real difficulty of his position, but he knew that to do so would seem insufferably boring – worse, it might sound as though he were asking for Leo’s help. He let the subject go, and they left.

The drive from the restaurant to Leo’s mews house was short; there was little traffic in the Mayfair streets. Leo turned the car into a deserted cobbled back street, and threw Anthony a bunch of keys as they got out.

‘You go on ahead while I put this in the garage,’ he called. ‘The white door on the left over there.’

This curiously intimate gesture made Anthony feel even happier, though he did not know why. He fumbled with the key in Leo’s lock, then let himself in. He found a light switch and snapped it on. A stairway was directly ahead of him, and he made his way up into a long, low-ceilinged room. It was largely in darkness, and he was feeling around
for a light switch when he heard Leo on the stairs behind him. Leo brushed gently past him and clicked a switch on the far side of the room.

‘I’ll make some coffee,’ he said with a quick smile at Anthony, and strode swiftly to the kitchen, pulling off his tie and dropping it on the sofa as he went.

Anthony looked around. The room was starkly furnished, the sofas of grey leather and the chairs and dining table of black wood and chrome. The room was lit by tall black metallic lamps, which threw light upward in white arcs, so that the light in the lower levels of the room was ghostly and muted. Everything was immaculately tidy; even the few magazines, obscure art publications of which Anthony had never heard, were arranged exactly four-square in the corner of a low table. Some abstract sculptures stood on shelves and side tables, but even their lack of symmetry seemed somehow carefully balanced. Everything formed part of some geometric whole. It was not a room to feel particularly comfortable in, Anthony reflected. Leo’s tie, lying on the sofa where he had flung it, looked almost dangerously haphazard.

Anthony stepped lightly across the grey carpet and peered through the kitchen doorway at Leo making the coffee. The kitchen, by contrast with the living room, was brilliantly lit by overhead spotlights, their light bouncing off the stark white cupboards, cooker and floor tiles. There were no dirty dishes, no toast crumbs, not a trace of human debris; somehow Leo’s warm, male form, his back to the doorway and Anthony’s gaze, looked like that of an animal interloper in some clinical domain.

Leo brought the coffee through in a stainless-steel pot, with some little matching cups. From a low cupboard he produced a decanter of brandy and two glasses. The coffee smelt very fragrant. Anthony tried to picture Leo pushing a trolley round a supermarket, choosing the coffee, standing in the checkout queue with the fat mums and bratty kids. Somehow he couldn’t.

Leo poured the coffee in silence, handed a cup to Anthony and smiled. Anthony noticed that the sugar was the little brown rock-like crystals that you got in certain types of restaurant. He couldn’t imagine that in the supermarket trolley, either. He sipped his coffee and looked across at Leo, who seemed in some way uncomfortable. Not the man himself, but something about his appearance – perhaps it was the lack of a tie and the untidy aspect of his unbuttoned shirt. His handsome face looked tired, too; the odd lighting in the room cast gaunt shadows under his cheekbones and eyes. He took some brandy when Leo offered it, although he knew that he had drunk a little too much already, and then, because Leo was still silent, he said, ‘You told me why you became a barrister, but you still haven’t told me why you became a lawyer.’

Leo smiled; Anthony felt a sense of relief at this, and smiled in response. ‘That’s very true. A fine distinction. Why did I become a lawyer?’ Leo groaned in amusement and rubbed his hands across his face, covering his eyes momentarily, and then looking at Anthony. ‘Because I like to win.’ He leant forward. ‘Because that’s all that law is about. Anybody who tells you anything else – that it’s about justice, or helping the victims of society, or about seeking a higher truth – is 
wrong. It’s a game; some of us know the rules better than others, and some of us are more likely to win. I like winning. You know, when some young sod gets off on a mugging charge on a technicality, it’s no triumph for justice. The law hasn’t won, right hasn’t won. The lawyer who spotted the technical mistake and got him off – he’s won. Some lawyers use lies like the truth.’ He poured some more coffee. ‘You were disappointed today because we didn’t have our day in court, weren’t you?’ Anthony nodded and sipped his brandy, his eyes held by Leo’s. ‘If you look a little deeper, you’ll see that you were disappointed that we didn’t get the chance to win. We would have won.’ He picked up his glass of brandy and sat back. ‘There’s no question about that. But if we had, the satisfaction wouldn’t have been in the justice of it, but the success of it.’