Errors of Judgment (2 page)

Leo sank into his chair and sat inertly for some moments, staring at the walls. God, he was tired. Tired of enormous cases, increasingly resentful of the time they consumed, the amount of paperwork and preparation involved. He had another big one coming up next month, and the mere thought of it made his heart sink. It could even stretch into the early part of next year. His practice was flourishing as never before, he was earning fantastic sums of money, but at what cost? His mind drifted back to Alison Lightfoot. That particular brush-off was another wake-up call. On every front, he needed to face up to the fact that he was no longer young. He pondered it gloomily. Fifty would take him beyond middle age and inexorably towards sixty. Sixty! He didn’t want to think about that. He sighed and glanced at his watch, and saw he still had an hour in hand before he met Jamie. There was plenty of work to be getting on with, including reading the papers which Felicity had given him, but that Friday feeling was upon him. He needed to be convivial, to relax and shake off his gloom.

He left his room and went upstairs to Anthony’s room. Anthony Cross, one of his closest colleagues, would surely be up for a chat and some chambers gossip. Unless, of course, he was heading off to meet one of his innumerable young women. Doubtless Alison wouldn’t have said no to Anthony – but then, Anthony was only twenty-eight.

When he rapped on Anthony’s door, there was no answer. Leo was about to head downstairs again, when he heard
voices and laughter coming from Marcus’s room at the end of the corridor – a few of the junior barristers winding down at the end of a busy week, maybe about to go out and hit the pub or the wine bar. He hesitated, wondering if he should go in for a chat, then thought better of it. They could do without him.

He headed back to his room, switched on his desk lamp, and began to work.

When he arrived at Balls Brothers, the wine bar was heaving with young City types in high Friday-night spirits. Leo shouldered his way through the crowd, and found Jamie ensconced at a corner table with a bottle of Château Belgrave and a copy of the
Evening Standard
.

Jamie waved Leo over and folded up his paper. ‘Come and have a glass of this very passable Pomerol.’ He poured Leo a glass and refilled his own.

‘You did well to bag a table,’ said Leo, glancing around. ‘So much for the credit crunch.’

‘I got in here half an hour ago. My slippery Cypriot had to catch an early flight. I fancy he didn’t want to hang round in the UK and risk getting his collar felt for various other financial transgressions. Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’ Leo continued to eye the other drinkers. ‘Is it my imagination, or are people in the City getting younger by the day?’

‘Like politicians and policemen, you mean? No, I reckon it’s just that most people our age are scurrying home to Surbiton or Woking to worry about their mortgages and pensions, and whether or not they can afford the school fees.’ He waved a hand. ‘This lot – look at them. All under thirty, no responsibilities. What’s a bonus here or there?’

‘Bonuses are one thing, but jobs are another.’ Leo tapped
the front page of Jamie’s evening paper. ‘Look at all the poor sods at Lehmans, wandering around with their cardboard boxes and black bin liners, not knowing what’s hit them.’

‘True. The world of investment banking is not a happy one right now. Friend of mine at HBOS is sweating every night, not knowing whether his job’s going to be there in the morning.’

‘Good news for lawyers, though. Nothing like a financial downturn to get clients litigating, chasing every penny, fighting every claim. I’ve never been busier.’

‘Well, hurrah for the commercial Bar.’ Jamie refilled both their glasses. ‘What about us sorry criminal hacks? I could do with a few more big earners, like that case today. By the time Margo’s finished with me, I’m going to need every penny.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Margo and I are splitting up.’ He uttered the words abruptly.

Leo set down his glass, truly startled by the news. ‘My God, Jamie – I had no idea. When did this happen?’ Leo had known Margo for twenty years, and had spent many weekends with her and Jamie and their two children at their house in Henley. The news was a shock.

‘A couple of months ago. I assumed the Temple’s rumour mill would have been grinding away,’ said Jamie. ‘Sorry to spring it on you.’

‘What happened? I thought you two were pretty solid.’

‘So did I.’ Jamie let out a deep groan, his big frame hunched over his glass. ‘She says she’s just got tired of the whole thing, doesn’t love me any more, is stifled by the idea of us staying together now the kids are grown up, wants to make a new life. Brutal stuff, Leo baby. Brutal stuff.
Maybe it’s the modern woman’s version of the empty-nest syndrome – my job here is done, the old bloke is boring, sex is boring, let’s see what else is out there. They say fifty is the new forty. Margo seems to believe it.’ Jamie drained his third glass. ‘So she’ll walk off with half the proceeds. Not the best time to be carving everything up, but needs must. I’m selling the house, the yacht – I’m going to keep the cottage in Scotland, though. The worst of it is’ – Jamie looked grim – ‘she has the idea that because Alice and Nick are over twenty-one that our splitting up won’t bother them. I think she’s so wrong.’

Leo studied his friend, noticing for the first time the grey pouches beneath his eyes, and the lines etched on his heavy face. Jamie and Margo divorcing. It seemed hard to believe.

‘Are you still living together?’

Jamie shook his head. ‘She moved out three weeks ago. She’s staying with a friend till we sell the house. Another divorcee. One of the things she told me was that she gets more emotional support from her friends than she does from me.’ He turned his puzzled eyes to Leo. ‘What does she mean by that?’

‘Couldn’t tell you,’ replied Leo sadly.

‘I hate going back there in the evenings. Place is so bloody empty.’

‘Come on, drink up. Let’s go and find something to eat, and drown your sorrows properly.’

They strolled to a little Italian restaurant in Bloomsbury, where they had dinner and a long discussion ranging from Jamie’s marriage to the economic crisis, then back again.

‘I’ve taken a big hit on my investments,’ Jamie told Leo over another bottle of wine. ‘The slump in shares has
wiped out a hefty sum, besides screwing the old pension – whatever’s left of it after Margo has her cut. I don’t especially care about selling the house, but I’m sad about the yacht. Had some bloody good times on the old
Mareva
.’

‘Do you have to sell her?’ asked Leo.

‘I don’t
have
to. Things aren’t that bad. I could keep her if I wanted to – but the fact is, Leo, I’d rather be rid of her. Too many associations. The boat was a present to ourselves, after the kids were off our hands. Margo and I used to love going off at weekends, just the two of us, catching a flight to Nice, grabbing the hire car, picking up some food and driving down to the marina. I’d sort things out on board, make my special cocktail, and Margo would stretch out in the sun like a happy cat. Weather’s always fantastic down there. Then if the wind was right, we’d take her out round the islands, drop anchor and have lunch, mess about – it felt like being young again.’

Leo signalled to the waiter and ordered two brandies, prepared to let Jamie talk on for as long as he wanted. ‘Sounds idyllic.’

‘It was.’ The brandies came. Jamie swirled his in silence, took a sip, and said, ‘I’m flying down there early tomorrow morning to lay the boat up for the winter. Then I’ll put her up for sale, take out an ad in
Yachting Monthly
or whatever, and wait for a buyer.’ He sipped his Courvoisier and mused, ‘First time I’ve been down there on my own since I bought her.’ There was silence for a moment. Jamie glanced at Leo. ‘You busy this weekend?’

‘Not particularly,’ replied Leo.

‘Fancy coming down with me? You’ll have no problem getting a seat on the plane. The easyJet flights are never full at this time of year.’

Leo pondered this, mildly surprised. It wasn’t his weekend to have Oliver, and the party he was due to go to tomorrow night – the prospect of which bored him already – could easily be ducked. A trip with Jamie could be amusing. On the other hand, it could be mildly depressing, given all Jamie had just told him.

‘Come on,’ coaxed Jamie. ‘What d’you say? We’ll have a laugh. God knows I could do with one. Show you the rocking sights and sounds of Antibes. Ever been there?’

‘Only fleetingly,’ replied Leo. He remembered flying down there a few years ago in the private jet of a Greek shipping heiress with whom he’d been sleeping at the time. They’d spent the weekend on her 150-foot yacht, with its crew of twelve, in the most extraordinary luxury he’d ever encountered off dry land. Dear Adriana, a great collector of things. Houses, yachts, paintings, money, men. She’d wanted to collect Leo, too, on a permanent basis. How come he’d passed on that one? He smiled at the recollection.

‘What’s so funny?’ asked Jamie, swallowing his brandy in two gulps.

‘Just remembering my last trip down there. I didn’t see much of Antibes.’

‘Time you did. It’s a fantastic place. Come on – we’ll go back to mine, get on the Internet and bag you a seat, have a nightcap, up first thing and head to Gatwick. What d’you say?’

Leo realised he hadn’t done anything spur of the moment for a long time. ‘Will it make you happy?’

‘Are you joking? A boy’s weekend away will do me the power of good.’

‘OK,’ said Leo, and raised his glass. ‘Anything to oblige a friend. Cheers.’

At midday on Monday Colman came out of the Lloyd’s Building, and shivered in the sharp wind that gusted along St Mary Axe. She wished she hadn’t left her coat in the office. Yesterday had been gloriously mild, but today had brought a change. As she hurried down the steps she saw a tall, dark-haired young man emerging from the Willis Building opposite. Well, well – Anthony Cross. It had to be all of three years since she’d last seen him. Surprising that they hadn’t run into one another before now. Sarah studied him as he paused to chat to a colleague. Less of a boy and more of a man now – those gentle good looks had hardened, and made him more attractive than ever. She watched as Anthony parted from his friend and headed towards Leadenhall Market, then strolled across the road to intercept him.

Anthony, still preoccupied with details of the oil pollution conference he had just left, didn’t notice Sarah until she was
almost upon him. He stopped in surprise. ‘Sarah – hi. How are you?’ Sarah’s previously long blonde hair was shorter now, but there was no forgetting that pert, pretty face, and the full mouth with that charming, lopsided curve which always seemed to suggest some secret source of amusement. She was wearing a neatly tailored suit and high heels, and hugging a leather broker’s wallet.

‘Fine. And you?’

‘Good, thanks.’

‘Been a while, hasn’t it?’

‘It has.’ He had mixed feelings about this chance encounter. A few years ago, when Sarah was a pupil at 5 Caper Court, the two of them had had a brief but ill-advised relationship, the fallout from which had been disastrous. It was quite something, seeing her again in the flesh. ‘So – what are you up to these days?’

‘Working as a broker for Portman’s.’

‘Right. Employing those formidable negotiating skills of yours.’

‘Kind of you to say so. At least, I assume you’re being kind.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Look at that. Nearly time for lunch. What say we go and have a glass of wine and catch up on old times?’

Anthony hesitated. Sarah had a deserved reputation as a manipulative, scheming troublemaker. But she was also disturbingly sexy and provocative, qualities too easily forgotten until one was up close to her. The scent of the perfume she always wore hit him like a memory.

‘OK, why not?’ He had no reason to hurry back to chambers.

‘Let’s see if we can grab a table at the Market wine bar.’

They were ahead of the rush and found a secluded corner table. Sarah picked up a discarded copy of
The Times
, while Anthony went to the bar to order glasses of wine and a plate of sandwiches. ‘Things must be getting bad when the big three banks go cap in hand to the government to bail them out,’ she remarked to Anthony, when he came back.

Anthony glanced at the headlines and nodded. ‘Gordon Brown may get what the hard Left have always wanted – the nationalisation of the banks. I can’t believe it’s happened so fast.’

‘It’s going to be hellish on the City job front soon – just like the nineties.’ Sarah helped herself to a sandwich. ‘Not that either of us remembers that. Anyway, let’s not talk economic doom and gloom – there’s far too much of that these days. Tell me what’s going on at Caper Court. God, it seems like a lifetime since I was a pupil there. Everyone still as dull and worthy as ever?’

Anthony smiled wryly. ‘I imagine by your standards we’re tedious in the extreme.’

‘Mmm. Life as a barrister would never have suited me. Far too much like hard work. Come on, give me the
low-down
on everyone. Is Henry still dying of unrequited love for Felicity?’

‘Actually, there’s a rumour – unsubstantiated beyond a sighting of Henry in a pub with some lady – that his heart belongs elsewhere.’

‘I don’t believe it. It was an open secret that he adored Felicity.’

‘Henry probably realised it was one-way traffic. He’s not getting any younger. Probably wants to settle down. Anyway, the great love of Felicity’s life, Vince, is coming out of prison soon.’

‘I’d forgotten him – didn’t he get done for manslaughter, or something?’

Anthony nodded, helping himself to another sandwich. ‘Hit some chap in an argument, and he fell over and cracked his head and died. Vince has done half of his sentence, so government policy means he’ll be out before the end of the year.’

‘Right.’ There was a pause, then Sarah asked casually, ‘And what about Leo? How’s he?’

The question surprised Anthony. As he recalled, Sarah’s friendship with Leo had been the reason why she’d come to Caper Court in the first place. ‘You don’t see him?’

‘Why should I?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I just assumed you were still in touch.’ Anthony paused, then said, ‘Leo is as well as ever. Doing all the usual Leo things.’

Sarah thought she detected a certain edge to Anthony’s voice. She knew enough about the relationship he had with Leo, about the odd kind of love which existed between them. Something Leo could handle, but not Anthony.

‘He should be careful,’ she said. ‘He’ll break someone’s heart one of these days.’

‘I should think that happens with alarming regularity. The only person in the world he really cares about is Oliver.’

Sarah nodded. ‘His Achilles heel.’

‘An odd way of putting it.’

‘You think? I find people’s weak spots, their vulnerabilities, are always the most interesting things about them. And the most useful.’ As Sarah stretched to pick up a sandwich, her jacket fell away a little to reveal a glimpse of soft, curving breast, and Anthony felt a little jolt of lust at the recollection of times spent in bed with her.

She looked and caught his swift, straying glance. ‘What are you thinking about?’ she asked, knowing perfectly well.

‘Old times,’ said Anthony.

Sarah eyed him speculatively. Anthony had always been famously and rather sweetly vulnerable where the opposite sex was concerned. It was Sarah’s guess that he now considered himself a seasoned man of the world. Perhaps he even thought of himself as being in the same league as Leo, whom he so admired, capable of picking up and dropping lovers without a second thought. Very few belonged to that special breed of people. She and Leo did. Anthony never would.

‘Old times as in – us?’

Sarah’s assessment of Anthony was more or less accurate. He had been disappointed and hurt by love too often, and now maintained a kind of emotional veneer, a pretence at invulnerability. Deep down, he was as susceptible as ever, longing for love, for some special person, though he would have denied this even to himself.

‘I wouldn’t say there was ever an “us”,’ replied Anthony. He leant closer to her, enjoying her subtle perfume. ‘We were both only ever after the same thing.’

‘Love?’ She spoke the word lightly, her eyes fixed on his face. She did enjoy this kind of game. Poor old Anthony, he really thought he knew where it was going, too.

‘Was that ever particularly important to you? No, I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.’

‘Mmm, indeed. You sound like you’re still interested.’

Anthony felt strangely and pleasantly light-headed. Half an hour ago he’d been discussing the finer points of jurisdiction, and now – this. It brought home to him
that his life right now was lacking in excitement and spontaneity. He had a sudden memory of sitting in some bar with Sarah years ago, when he’d first known her, and kissing her without warning. He wanted to do that now. She’d always had such a lethal effect on him. Even though he hadn’t been in love with her, or romantically involved in any sense, she’d been able to manipulate him through sheer sexuality. This time, things were different. If anything was going to happen – and she clearly wanted it to – he would be the one in control. He’d show her this was a game he could play just as well.

‘I could be.’

‘Nice to see you taking the initiative for a change. If that’s what you’re doing.’

‘So – what are we talking about here?’ He glanced around. They were pretty much out of sight of the rest of the wine bar.

‘You tell me.’ She leant in closer. ‘You’re the one making the running.’

His glance rested on her slightly parted lips. Unable to resist, he put his fingers lightly beneath her chin, and leant to kiss her. But Sarah drew back, pushing his hand gently away and smiling.

‘I think you’ve failed to notice something.’ She held up her left hand, and Anthony saw the flash of a diamond.

He managed to laugh. ‘Congratulations. Nicely concealed.’

‘It was there all the time, only your attention happened to be elsewhere.’

‘Who’s the lucky – or possibly unlucky – guy?’

Sarah twisted the ring on her finger, letting it catch the
light. ‘How ungallant of you. His name’s Toby Kittering, and he’s an investment banker.’

‘Right.’

Sarah sighed. ‘Oh, Anthony. You haven’t changed. You’re still so – what’s the word? So tractable. Here – have the last sandwich.’ She pushed the plate towards him. ‘I have to go.’ She stood up, picking up her folder. ‘It was fun catching up. Give my love to everyone at Caper Court. Especially Leo. Bye.’

Anthony sat for a few minutes after Sarah had gone, feeling rather stupid. He was annoyed with himself for letting that happen. Presumably she had been trying to prove that he was easy, that he was predictable. It wasn’t the way he liked to think of himself. But there was a basis of truth in it. He sat there, his mind wandering from the particularity of Sarah’s put-down to the generalities of his life. Everything about it was predictable. What did it consist of, except for getting up, going to work, seeing the same faces every day? Even his social life was centred upon a largely unvarying, safe group of friends. The last couple of girlfriends he’d had seemed to have been cut from the same template – half-hearted career girls from nice, middle-class backgrounds waiting for the right man to come along so that they could get married and have babies. They had made him feel like a fraud, a lot of the time. His own dysfunctional upbringing, with its chronic lack of money, hadn’t equipped him to deal with their expectations. He lived and worked in a world where most people seemed to have been to public school and Oxbridge, and had spent eight years working to fit in. Most of the time he succeeded, but there were also times when he wondered what he was doing there.

Anthony picked up his glass and drained its contents, his thoughts straying, as they so often did at such times of insecurity, to Leo. Like himself, Leo was an outsider from humble beginnings, an interloper in this elite world. And Leo dealt with the situation by operating on Jekyll and Hyde principles – keeping ahead of the game by being a brilliant lawyer, one of the best in his field, making as much money as he could, and using it to indulge himself in a hedonistic private lifestyle far removed from the dull, respectable conventions by which most barristers lived. Perhaps that was the answer. Instead of looking for love, hoping to find the right person to make sense of everything, he should take a leaf out of Leo’s book. Live dangerously. Become less easy, less safe. Someone whom the likes of Sarah wouldn’t find so – what was the word she’d used? So tractable.

He ate the last sandwich, paid the bill and decided to try and excise thoughts of Sarah by walking all the way back to chambers.

Anthony picked up his mail from the clerks’ room and was talking football with Henry when Leo arrived, looking somewhat haggard.

Leo shrugged off his overcoat, flung it over a chair, and fished a batch of letters from his pigeonhole. ‘Thanks for rearranging this morning’s con with Beddoes,’ he said to Henry. ‘My flight into Gatwick last night was delayed, and I really didn’t feel up to it.’

‘Not a problem. He’s coming in later today – four o’clock.’

‘Heavy weekend?’ Anthony asked Leo.

‘You could say that. I spent the weekend in the South
of France with Jamie Urquhart. Did you know he’s getting divorced?’

‘No! Wow. That’s a surprise.’

‘Liam …’ Henry addressed a thin, fresh-faced boy of eighteen or so, seated at a desk opposite Felicity, wearing a conspicuously new suit and an alert expression. ‘Coffee time, if you would be so kind.’

The boy got up. ‘Right. Yes. I’m on it. What would everyone—?’

‘Black, one sugar,’ said Felicity, without looking up from her computer screen.

Robert swivelled round in his chair. ‘White, two sugars.’

‘White, no sugar,’ called out Carla, the office manager, from her desk at the other side of the room.

Liam began ticking them off on his fingers, looking anxious. ‘OK, two white, one no sugar, one with one sugar—’

‘Two,’ said Robert.

‘Yeah, right – white, two sugars. Black, one sugar – no, wait …’

‘I’d write it down if I were you, lad,’ said Henry, handing him a pen and a piece of paper. ‘I’m a tea, no sugar.’ Liam began to make his list. He glanced uncertainly at Leo.

‘Would you like a coffee, Mr …?’

‘Davies,’ said Leo. ‘Yes, Liam, I would most certainly like a coffee. Make it black, strong, and no sugar, please.’

‘Mr Cross?’

‘Nothing for me, thanks.’

Liam left the room, frowning at his list.

‘That, I take it, is our new fledgling clerk?’ said Leo.

‘Liam Sturgis. Very bright lad. Keen to do well. I hope to
have him in shape by the time Robert leaves us in March.’

‘Let’s hope he lasts longer than – what was her name, the previous one? Seemed like she was hardly here for more than a few days.’

‘Julie.’ Henry shook his head. ‘She wasn’t really cut out for it. Not everyone is. The girls seem to have higher expectations than the boys – don’t like fetching and carrying. I have hopes for Liam. He’s my brother-in-law’s sister’s son, if you follow. His father’s one of the clerks at twenty Essex Street.’

‘Ah, so it’s in the blood,’ smiled Leo.

‘So to speak, sir. So to speak.’ Henry reached out to pick up the phone which had just begun to ring.

Leo resumed his conversation with Anthony. ‘Yes, so – as I was saying, Jamie’s getting divorced, and over a very boozy dinner on Friday night he persuaded me to accompany him to Antibes, to say farewell to his beloved yacht and help him drown his sorrows. The result was …’ Leo winced.