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KILLER INSTINCT

Nicola Williams

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To my mum, Waveney Williams, our family matriarch, and

To the two newest additions to our family, Niylah-June and Neveah: the Whyteleafe Cherubs, who have brought so much happiness into all our lives – especially mine.

Tom Mannion scowled. Typical: you could never find a fucking cab when you needed one, even round here on a Thursday afternoon. He was due back in Chambers after a long and late lunch. He stood at the foot of the steps outside his club in St James’s, looked first at his watch and then up and down the street. It was unusually quiet. Idly, he wondered if something had happened with the traffic further up the road to cause it to stop. An accident maybe? Security alert, given the proximity to the Palace? He couldn’t care less about any of that. Unless it was going to make him late. Tonight was a key Chambers meeting and it was going to be big. Just how big? Only he knew.

As he looked at his watch again, he saw a dishevelled man about his age sidling up to him. He looked back up the steps to the club. The whole point of joining places like this was so you didn’t have to deal with beggars, especially immediately outside the building.

The man was getting closer; even from six feet away Tom could smell him. He wasn’t about to go into Chambers stinking of piss. Especially not today.

Tom turned to face him, deliberately aggressive. As he did, the beggar gave him a gap-toothed smile.

‘What the fuck do you want?’

The beggar instinctively took a step back. This wasn’t what he’d

expected. He’d been around here often enough to know a Savile Row-type like Tom didn’t square off, acting like a thug in a suit. The man was a little bigger than he’d expected too – not tall, but broad, with the beginnings of a paunch.

‘Sorry, mate. You couldn’t spare a couple of quid for a sandwich?’ He tentatively held out his hand.

Tom thought of the lavish lunch he’d just had. He looked at the man’s grubby hand. ‘No.’

Instantly, the man’s expression changed. He scowled, resentment and anger heavy in his voice. ‘Come on, you can afford it. I haven’t always been a fucking tramp. Fell on hard times, is all. I used to work in Hatton Garden back in the day.’ He paused, leaning towards Tom as if to get a closer look at his wrist. ‘A watch like that? You must have something for me . . .’

Tom balled his hands into fists. ‘You think I’m one of these posh gits round here who can’t handle himself? I ain’t got nothing for you so fuck off!’

Just then a staff member came out of the large, imposing doors behind him. Finally.

‘Everything okay, Mr Mannion?’

Tom looked at the tramp’s retreating back as he slunk away. For the first time in a very long while he thought of his dad. Decades after he’d left, when Tom had finally been bothered to find out, he’d discovered just how the old man had ended up. Dead in a ditch. No loss: in fact, what Tom could use from his death as leverage was the only thing his dad had ever given him. But even before that, he’d left home so long ago, drunkenly lurching into the night, that if he had come up to Tom in the street he wouldn’t have recognized him.

‘It is now,’ Tom said to the attendant. He sniffed the sleeve of

his jacket. It smelled okay. Then he turned and walked towards the Tube.

When he got to Green Park station he remembered why he no longer took the Underground. It was full of people who had nowhere to go, nowhere to get to urgently. During rush hour too.

Tom looked around. Though he hardly used public transport if he could help it, he still knew where to stand on the platform so that he would be directly at the exit to interchange at Victoria to get to Chambers. The meeting wasn’t starting until six p.m. – or whenever the majority of his barristers got there. Yes, his barristers. But he had a five p.m. meeting with Giles Townsend, the KC who was Head of Chambers. The man who actually thought he ran it – a fact that never ceased to amaze Tom.

Tom prided himself on being punctual. He liked to hold high standards across the board when it came to work. That made him someone who was respected and a little feared. He couldn’t give a fuck if he was liked. He hid whatever weaknesses he couldn’t improve, even as he tried to unearth the weaknesses of others.

Instinctively, he patted his breast pocket. He knew it was still there but, even so, he liked to check.

You could always tell a Londoner. They were the only ones walking with purpose. And every Londoner knew, if they used a station often enough, that going up the ‘No Entry’ stairs would get you to the exit that little bit quicker. And so he did just that, using his bulk to intimidate people into moving – even on occasion actually pushing people out of his way. Men, women, children. A woman fell over on to all fours in front of him, assuming a position he particularly liked to see women in. He couldn’t see her face but from what he could make out of her body she had to be young. Beautiful arse in white

jeans, plump but firm. As he stepped over her, he got a glance of her face in profile. She looked exotic, possibly mixed race. That would explain it. Her bag and its contents had gone flying. Some people stopped to help her pick up her things. He could hear her cursing him loudly as he made his way to his destination. Fuck the rules; they didn’t apply to him. Tonight was going to be big.

‘I should be there,’ Mary Fisher muttered under her breath, hoping that Ollie would hear. She was being peevish and fretful, and she knew it. If either of her kids had acted like this it would be excusable, even endearing, at best, and mildly annoying at worst. On an adult, it was definitely not a good look.

Ollie watched his wife pacing up and down the large, empty kitchen, the lack of supplies a testament to the fact they rarely used the holiday home any more. Her attempt at cooking seemed to have been completely abandoned. He was still unpacking the car, and his arms were laden with the everyday items of family life they would need and had brought down to Cornwall. He took in the pasta bubbling on the stove, now surely overcooked, the half-chopped tomatoes and onions. She was so self-absorbed she hadn’t heard him come in.

He unceremoniously dumped everything on the kitchen table, making Mary jump. Then he walked over to the stove and turned off the gas, looking through the lid of the pot to the soggy mess within.

Mary could tell by his expression that it was inedible. ‘Sorry.’

Ollie shrugged. ‘It’s only pasta. We’ve got a lot of that, at least.’

Now that the bubbling had stopped, the house was oddly quiet. ‘Where are the kids?’

‘With Jenny. Just for the moment, while I’m cooking.’

‘Even Marty?’

Mary bristled. ‘Of course! It’s just for a bit.’ She knew she sounded defensive. She always did when talking about her youngest, ever since he was born. She had never felt that way about Isabella even though she was her first – not even when she had been pregnant. But then, things were different with her little boy. Everything was laced with guilt when it came to him, including work.

The thought of work took her straight back to the Chambers meeting. She was amazed she had stopped thinking about it, even for those few minutes.

‘I should be there. In person . . .’

‘Well, you’re not!’ Ollie’s tone was uncharacteristically sharp. ‘We’ve been planning this trip for months. You can’t upend everything because of a last-minute meeting; I don’t care how important it is. Besides, they said you could Zoom in.’

‘Not the same as being in the room, though. The Bar hasn’t changed that much. Once you have kids . . . Tom just sees me as a babymaker. And a privileged one, at that. I’m the only woman in Chambers with two kids under five. I’ve managed to build my practice back up, but deep down I know he doubts my commitment; taking up space in Chambers before I go off sprogging again.’ She shook her head. ‘We need a woman running that Clerks’ Room.’

Ollie shrugged as he unpacked, filling the cupboards. The midafternoon sun flooded the room with light. The first time they had seen it was on an afternoon like this. It was one of the reasons they bought the house, all those years ago. Even painting ‘O&M’ on the front gate. When they were happy. Really happy.

‘That’s what you always said you wanted: two kids, close together. Even when I wasn’t fully on board.’ Ollie couldn’t help smiling when he thought of his children. ‘Turns out it was the best decision ever, for me at least.’

Mary whirled round to face him. ‘Are you blaming me now? Oh, why am I even bothering to explain it to you? You’re a man. You wouldn’t understand.’

‘Yes, I’m a man. A man – not a fucking idiot! I’m a parent. You’re a parent. Remember that. It’s not just about you now. Or even just about us.’ He paused before continuing, his voice low but angry. ‘You’re not the only one making sacrifices here. Let’s not go down that road.’

Mary’s face reddened, but she said nothing. They moved around the room in silence, the tranquil warmth of the sunshine outside in direct contrast with the dark, unspoken tension between them.

Once Ollie had finished unpacking, he went to the fridge and pulled out a beer. Not yet cold, but it would have to do. He opened it, leaned against the fridge and looked at his wife. She was still halfheartedly attempting to make dinner while sneaking glances at her watch.

‘We don’t have to do this, you know.’

‘Do what?’ She knew exactly what he meant.

‘Stay together. Stay married “for the sake of the kids”. Even with Marty.’

Mary stopped chopping and looked at him.

‘It’s been like this for months. Arguments, your shitty attitude, that what you want comes before everything else. Even our kids. I’m not fighting for this marriage by myself,’ he continued.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Ollie! You want to do this now?’

‘We came here because we needed a break – as a family. We’ve only been here a few hours and already it’s clear where your priorities lie.’

Mary could feel tears stinging her eyes. ‘That’s not fair.’

‘Really? I know your meeting doesn’t start until six – because

you’ve mentioned it often enough; it’s only four thirty yet you keep looking at your watch.’ He took another swig from the bottle before setting it down on the countertop. ‘Go. Do what you obviously want to do. I’ll finish up here.’

‘Ollie –’ Mary began.

‘Just go.’

When Lee poked her head round the door of the Clerks’ Room, Dean, Tom’s Junior Clerk, was alone, taking care of things while Tom was in the meeting. He hurriedly put his phone away as she walked in. She waved her hand dismissively. ‘Don’t worry, Dean, I don’t care about that. Did it start on time? How much have I missed?’

‘Ten minutes, tops. They were having problems with the Zoom link, though, so they might not have started yet.’

‘Okay.’ She left her coat and case in the corner, knowing Dean would be there for the duration, and made her way to the boardroom.

Infrequent as Chambers meetings were, the power dynamics were clearly at play. Lee already knew that Giles would be holding court at the end of the long, polished oak table and that Tom would be sitting next to him. Not all Chambers were the same, but under Maple Court’s regulations, as Senior Clerk Tom would not be able to vote. However, his influence was so strong that everyone knew he wouldn’t need to. Giles Townsend might be Head of Chambers, but Tom Mannion was the King.

As she entered, she saw an empty chair, next to Tom, which was surprising as some people were standing and others were perched on windowsills. The more senior members of Chambers knew the drill; they had clearly arrived early enough to get a seat at the table. None of the junior members dared to take the empty seat; she saw someone

take a step towards it before being frozen by a gimlet-eyed stare from the Senior Clerk. Lee didn’t relish the idea either but as she looked around the room she realized there was nowhere else to sit.

She started picking her way through her assembled colleagues. She could feel eyes boring into her back as she made her way to the chair, the conversation dropping to a hum.

As she sat down, she tried to lighten the mood. ‘Well, I know you didn’t save this seat just for me, Tom.’

‘No, I didn’t. But I knew you got out of court late, and that you’d be the only one to take it,’ he said, then looked across the table at a young blonde woman. ‘Well, either you or Ms Green.’

Unfair and unnecessary, Lee thought, especially as most people believed Anne-Marie Green was Giles Townsend’s niece. There was a connection between them, but it wasn’t that. She herself had only found out by accident, though she had a feeling Tom also knew – he seemed to know everything.

‘I’m fine where I am, thank you.’ Anne-Marie was blushing, but her voice and mannerisms were controlled.

‘Can we get on?’ It was Giles who spoke, trying to get things back to the matter at hand.

Lee had read the agenda. Apart from her crime team, after a long day she only had the energy to concentrate on things she was interested in – like the report from the Civil Liberties and Human Rights Practice Group. Henry Prentice, its head, spoke next. ‘So,’ he said, after he had summarized the recent work that the team had been doing, ‘you’ve had a chance to read our report – I hope – as well as just having heard my summary. We’re never going to be the biggest practice group but we’re punching above our weight and our reputation is growing. Next week’s Marlowe event will definitely put us – and Chambers – on the map.’

The only way you wouldn’t know about Henry Marlowe was if you had been hiding under a rock. He was a humanitarian in the truest sense of the word. Very bright – his First in Law at Oxford before switching to Medicine was a clear example of that. But it wasn’t until he started working in the world’s conflict zones that he really found his niche. Now he was transitioning again – not to places where people were being bombed every day but to other places in the global south where the medical need was just as great. And he could speak with authority about human rights in the countries where he had worked. He had even been called as an expert medico-legal witness in cases where atrocities and war crimes had been committed.

‘Human rights doesn’t really pay, though, does it? Not like Commercial.’ It was a statement from Tom rather than a question. Lee glanced at him. First Anne-Marie, now this. He was being unusually chippy and provocative. It wasn’t like him to be openly hostile. If nothing else, Tom was a past master at not showing his hand, at playing his cards close to his chest. Much as she hated to admit it, they were very similar in that way.

But Henry, true to his ex-hippy roots, didn’t rise to the bait.

‘Well, we’re the only barristers’ Chambers publicly affiliated with the Marlowe event. And if you look at the others – MSF, Amnesty, a former Foreign Secretary – we’re in very good company. Lots of media interest too. We’ll become the top set of Chambers for this type of work.’

‘Yeah – bet they’re not all coming to hear about his work in conflict zones, though! Can you blame them?’ One of the younger barristers quickly went online and pulled up a particularly fetching photo. Because of the upcoming event there was even more Marlowe coverage than usual. ‘I mean, look at him!’

‘Gay or straight?’ someone asked.

‘I wish!’ Both Henry and a female barrister commented longingly at the same time. Everyone laughed, lightening the mood for the first time that evening. Everyone except Giles and Tom.

Giles tapped his fountain pen on the table in an attempt to call the meeting to order. ‘If we could get back to the matter at hand, please! Tom, Henry – I trust all the preparations are in hand.’

Lee suppressed a smile as Tom looked at his boss, clearly thinking Why are you asking me? ‘Well, as you know, I’m not responsible for organizing the catering, Mr Townsend, but if Maple Court’s name is attached, I’ll make sure it’s up to our standard.’

Giles nodded. ‘And now to the last main item. As you know, the Silk who had expressed an interest in joining us has accepted.’ At the mention of another KC joining Chambers a low murmur went around the table. Mary and the others on the screen, whose attention was clearly starting to drift, listened with renewed interest.

‘And you still can’t say who?’ Mary asked.

‘Not yet.’ It was Tom who spoke this time. ‘He still has some loose ends to tie up. You know what happens when news like this leaks. But definitely by close of play tomorrow.’ It was clear from his expression that he wouldn’t budge on the matter.

After two hours it was finally over. As those Zooming in disappeared one by one from the large screen, someone asked, ‘Anyone fancy a drink? It’s not often we’re all together like this nowadays.’

Lee hesitated. Why not? She wasn’t in court tomorrow. ‘Yeah, I’ll come.’

A couple of the younger barristers looked at her, surprised.

‘Really? That’s great, Lee. It’s been a while.’

She smiled. ‘Don’t look so shocked. Jury came back late today, but we won. I doubt there’ll be anything for me tomorrow at this late stage so . . . just for an hour. And remember, winner buys the first

round.’ She watched as Tom went into the Clerks’ Room. Through the half-open door she could see him signalling to Dean that he could go. ‘Just give me a minute.’

She waited until Dean had left before entering, closing the door quietly behind her. Tom was at his desk looking at two computer screens in front of him. He glanced up as she entered, but said nothing, clearly waiting for her to speak first.

‘Anything for me tomorrow?’

‘You know there wouldn’t be for a Friday, Ms Mitchell, not when you finished so late tonight. Especially not at your Call. That’s for the pupils to pick up the scraps. So,’ he pushed back his chair and looked directly at her, ‘what did you really want to talk to me about? I hope it’s not about Ms Green.’

‘No; she can speak for herself. But the fact that you mentioned it shows you know it was below the belt, Tom. Everyone . . .’ Lee carefully considered what she should say next, ‘everyone knows of her . . . connection with Giles. But she works hard, gets good results. She’s proved herself; she’s earned her place here.’

‘Really?’ Tom said, drily. ‘She’s still here because her current older man is the senior partner in our biggest firm of instructing solicitors. Everyone knows that. Hard to reject someone like that.’ He paused before continuing. ‘Didn’t think you’d be in favour of nepotism.’

He almost sounded jealous, Lee thought. It had to be her imagination. ‘You know I’m not. But she’s – what? Two, three years Call? Pick on someone your own size. I know you, Tom.’

‘No, you don’t,’ he shot back. ‘But you do know me better than anyone else in here, I’ll grant you that. And we’re more alike than you’d care to admit.’

She watched as he unlocked a drawer and took something out before locking it again. He turned off his computer, signalling that,

as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. ‘If you can only spare an hour in the pub, I suggest you get going. Goodnight, Ms Mitchell.’

Tom had to meet someone too, but not in the pub and it wouldn’t take long. Back to the club; a quick but important pit stop on his way home – well, to his London home. The thought crossed his mind that he should ring his wife. The Cotswolds was too far for him to commute every day – much to their mutual relief – so he only went home at weekends. Of course, it wouldn’t matter to her if he called or not. It wasn’t like that for them any more. Had it ever been? He doubted that now.

A uniformed attendant greeted him. ‘Your guest is here, Mr Mannion. As you know, we wouldn’t normally let anyone past Reception who wasn’t a member but you said it was important to be discreet, even in here. I’ve put him in Whispers Corner.’

Tom knew exactly where to go when he entered the bar. These old nineteenth-century buildings seemed to be designed for secrecy, and the club still retained all its original features – which were put to very good use. Whispers Corner, a deep alcove, would virtually guarantee they would be neither seen nor disturbed.

A smartly dressed Asian man, about Tom’s age or a little older, slightly greying at the temples, was nursing a tall ice-filled glass, an open bottle of tonic water on the table in front of him. Tom walked towards him, beckoning a waiter over as he did so.

‘Want a gin for that?’

‘You know I don’t,’ the man replied. He took another sip as Tom settled himself, then put the glass down slowly. ‘Well?’

‘It’s decided. It’s going to be you.’

‘So you pulled it off.’ The man gave him an appraising look. ‘Can’t imagine it was easy to persuade Giles.’

‘So? I want you there. Fuck Giles Townsend. I’ll tip the scales just enough.’ He held his thumb and forefinger millimetres apart.

‘I’ll owe you for this, Tom.’

‘Owe me? Oh no,’ Tom said as he leaned towards him. ‘I, my friend, own you.’

Lee sat on the bed and watched as David pulled his suit jacket over his shoulders.

Fixing his shirt collar, he grinned at her reflection behind him in the mirror. ‘You know, I would get into a lot of trouble if I looked at you like that. Especially just before we had to go out.’

‘But you do,’ she replied, smiling.

‘Yeah, you’re right about that,’ he laughed. Suddenly he turned, pulled her up from the bed, grabbed her and spun her round before kissing her, a slow deep kiss that was usually the precursor to something else.

‘Come on,’ Lee said, playfully pushing him away. ‘You know we don’t have time for that.’

‘Well, I might not be in the mood later . . .’

‘Yes, you will. If not, I can definitely help you with that!’

‘Have you ever known me to need help in that department?’

‘No, sir!’ She winked at him and they both laughed again. She sniffed his neck. ‘Why do you always smell so good? Even without aftershave?’ She looked at their reflection in the mirror – two tall Black people in their mid-thirties, smartly dressed, looking as if they would rather be on the bed behind them than about to set out the front door.

‘I know you’re not a suit-and-tie guy . . .’

‘No tie. I told you.’

‘I’m just saying you look great.’

‘Well, if I’m going to your work event I can’t let my girl down.’

‘I’m just surprised you wanted to come. I’m glad, though.’

‘This Marlowe guy is impressive. You know, when white people say they’re going to Africa to “do good”, I wonder if it’s the type of “good” that led to slavery. But this one – he’s been quietly working away for years and is only now having his moment. I want to hear what he has to say. But if anyone says anything to me that sounds like it comes from a “White Saviour” complex, you know I’m going to have to check them, even if it’s someone from your Chambers. I’m just saying.’

‘If they do something idiotic like that they deserve to be checked. But my colleagues aren’t that bad.’ She then thought of Giles. ‘Well, maybe one.’

He kissed her again, this time on the forehead. ‘Come on. If we’re not going to be late for a good reason,’ he squeezed her around the waist, ‘let’s try and get some decent seats.’

As they got out of the taxi, Lee had never seen quite such an eclectic mix for a legal event.

A number of legal and human rights organizations, including Liberty and MSF, had collaborated to bring everything together so this definitely wasn’t entirely the responsibility of Maple Court Chambers, let alone Chambers’ Human Rights team. However, they were the only set of barristers’ Chambers that were involved. Lee could definitely feel the ‘Tom effect’, giving it just that extra bit of polish and sheen. As they climbed the steps into the Great Hall, she could see rows of serried chairs set out facing a specially constructed stage, with technicians milling about making sure the lighting was right and the AV and mics worked. But it was still early. Just before the entrance

to the hall there was a reception area where guests were being encouraged to meet and mingle. There was the press, of course, dying to get a glass of free champagne, but they had been kept to a minimum: only from the more reputable outlets, not from the ones who would want to report on ‘Hot Hal’ and speculate on whether he was dating. Importantly, the event would generate work for Maple Court, so even if there were barristers there from other sets of Chambers, Tom was making sure everyone knew that Maple Court was a key sponsor. When Tom saw Lee he gave her a nod of recognition. For a moment, she thought he was going to come over and say something, but he appeared to decide against it. At the same time she could feel David’s body stiffen as he stood next to her. She knew that was never a good sign, but she couldn’t understand why. The last time he had met Tom was at the only other Chambers event he had attended, years ago, and as far as she remembered they seemed to get on fine. Maybe it was nothing; she made a mental note to ask later.

Henry Prentice was looking surprisingly relaxed as Lee and David walked up to him.

‘I thought you’d be really worried about all this,’ Lee said. He shrugged. ‘When you’ve had a meditation practice for as long as I have, very little disturbs your equilibrium. I’m sure he’ll be great. Plus,’ he started counting on his fingers, ‘one, it will put Chambers on the map. Two, Tom will now have a bit more respect for us Human Rights practitioners. And three, it will raise money for the Marlowe Foundation – he wouldn’t have done it otherwise. Win, win, win.’

Lee looked around. ‘So where is he?’

Prentice shrugged and smiled so benignly that Lee wondered if he was stoned.

‘Oh, he’s here – round the back somewhere. No doubt trying to

centre himself.’ He clasped his hands close to his chest as if in prayer. Lee and David looked at each other. ‘That’s what I would be doing, if I were him. Meanwhile, let’s have some more champagne. It’s the good stuff too. Tom’s doing, no doubt. Just as long as it doesn’t cut into whatever we make. After all, it’s for charity.’

David nudged Lee. ‘Let’s go and find our seats.’

The Great Hall of Lincoln’s Inn was an imposing place. With its Minstrels’ Gallery, carved oak ceiling and dazzling fresco, its centuries of history were embedded in every arch, painting and shield. Lee watched as David strode ahead, looking as if he owned the building. She also observed with pride how people automatically stood back and stepped out of the way to let him pass, like the parting of the Red Sea. He made sure Lee was comfortable in her seat before sitting down himself.

Out of the corner of her eye Lee could see Tom speaking to someone, clearly about the seating arrangements as he was pointing in their general direction. For her part, she was happy with her seat – close enough to see everything but not right up front. In law, in life, that was always her preferred position.

Then the lights were dimmed. Instantly, the noise level dropped, conversation dipping to a murmur as the last remaining people scrambled to their seats.

There was a short documentary-style film about atrocities in parts of the globe that the world had forgotten, the sparse commentary making it even more affecting as the images, sometimes unbearable to watch, spoke for themselves. Such was the emotional punch that it seemed much longer than ten minutes before the lights went up again.

Henry Prentice stepped up to introduce the man of the hour. He described how they had first met at Oxford, Prentice starting later, having spent time on the hippy trail. How much admiration he had

for Marlowe’s intellect matched with a passion to help others, even at a young age. How even when Marlowe seemed to be drifting and without purpose, he always believed that, despite coming from generations of inherited wealth, his burning desire to make a real difference for people and in places where it was most needed meant he would come good. It was a simple and surprisingly effective introduction. Maple Court would get a lot of work as a result – of that there was no doubt.

Then Henry Marlowe walked on stage. The august grandeur of the Great Hall acted as a restraint on the audience reaction, but only barely. The febrile atmosphere was charged with energy – a cross between an old-fashioned religious revival and a rock concert.

Even though he wasn’t physically her type, Lee had to agree with the general consensus – he was extraordinarily handsome. Late thirties, tall, tanned, with thick, shaggy blond hair that needed a haircut yet somehow added to his allure. Like David, he wore a navy-blue suit and white shirt without a tie. He came out and shook Prentice’s hand before, smiling, they briefly embraced. When he pulled out a pair of spectacles it suddenly occurred to Lee that he was embarrassed by his good looks, as if they were a distraction from the seriousness of his work.

He was right, though – the humanitarian work of the Marlowe Foundation was serious and so was the expression on his face as he spoke about it. Lee imagined it would take a unique type of person to be with him – to share the horrors interspersed with only a few victories along the way. Just enough wins to keep going despite overwhelming odds. Knowing that you couldn’t save everyone and having to live with that.

‘And now for the Q and A,’ Prentice said, once Marlowe had finished and the applause had died down.

‘Yes,’ Marlowe said, looking around the hall, his gaze finally coming to rest on the press pack below. He grimaced, then, seemingly remembering where he was, changed his expression to something more neutral and controlled. ‘I don’t find it easy talking about myself. I’d much rather talk about the Foundation and my work. But I’m a realist. I know that’s not the only thing people want to hear.’

‘Well, let’s start with something easy. Fun fact: we’re both Henry,’ Prentice said, ‘but I’m Harry, he’s Hal.’

‘Only to my friends,’ Marlowe interrupted. ‘If anyone I don’t know calls me Hal I don’t answer.’

‘Including the media, “Hot Hal”?’ Prentice teased.

Marlowe looked pained and shook his head, but said nothing.

‘Don’t worry,’ Prentice continued, trying to put him at his ease, ‘I won’t be asking you about your personal life or about the most recent intrusive press photos, but I will ask this: you do so much challenging work and this must be an enormous emotional weight to carry on your own. How do you cope?’

‘Well, I have a supportive and very committed team, both here and in-country. Some paid, some volunteers. We’re small, but we punch above our weight.’

‘But if you’re the leader it can be solitary work. “Heavy is the head . . .” and all that.’

‘It’s been tough at times, yes. Very tough.’

There was a pregnant pause. Prentice raised an eyebrow and waited for Marlowe to say something further. However, the younger man had become expert at dodging questions that could reveal more than he wished to. ‘I thought we were going to discuss the work we’ve recently been doing in diamond mining conflict areas?’

Prentice took the hint. ‘Yes, let’s move on to that.’

As taciturn as Marlowe was about anything personal, when he

spoke about his work he was as fired up and passionate as before. There was real anger in his voice as he described the horrors he had seen. Maimed men, women and even children; the complacency of foreign governments as well as that of the UK ; the recent serious attempt on his life forcing him to beat a strategic retreat. ‘We’ve had to move our operation out of that region temporarily. But only temporarily,’ he added – though the audience clearly did not find that declaration reassuring. ‘I’m definitely going back, unless life takes me in another direction.’ As he said this, Marlowe broke eye contact with Prentice for a few seconds, looking past him to something or someone offstage, and smiled. Just for a moment, the accumulated stress of his work seemed to melt away. Still smiling, he turned to the audience.

‘But on a lighter note, I can tell anyone here where to buy an ethically sourced, conflict-free diamond –’ He stopped short very suddenly, his face flushed.

Prentice pounced. ‘Come on, Hal – what’s going on? There’s a bunch of lawyers in here – you can’t fool us.’

Marlowe shook his head in disbelief. ‘I don’t know how that happened. I must be slipping.’ He hesitated before continuing. ‘You know how I feel about discussing my personal life, Harry. It’s a distraction. I want to keep my work front and centre. It seems to be all or nothing when you’re in the public eye. So I’ve always said nothing and let the chips fall where they may. But,’ he emphasized this last word, taking a deep breath, ‘there is someone who is very special to me.’

There was chatter in the audience. Prentice looked at Marlowe but he said nothing more.

‘And?’

‘And nothing. She’s very private.’

‘So it’s a she. You know you’ve broken thousands of men’s

hearts – including mine, if I were ten years younger.’ They both laughed. ‘And women’s too, of course.’

‘Come on, Harry, this is getting too “daytime TV ”. That’s all I’m going to say; believe me, I hadn’t even intended to say that much.’ He turned to the audience. ‘Sorry.’

‘Well, she must be very special. And very proud of you.’

‘She is very special. I love my work but you’re right – the things I’ve seen . . . I didn’t think I would find anyone else who could cope with that. And I don’t know if she’s proud of me – I hope she is – but I do know she’s proud of what I do.’

Prentice tried probing just a bit further. ‘So, diamonds? Any particular reason . . .’

Marlowe held up his hand. ‘Enough, Harry.’ He was still smiling but there was an edge to his voice.

From his vantage point in the Great Hall, Tom looked at the press pack, busy typing out messages on their phones, taking notes, posting on social media. The fact that Prentice had managed to wheedle out this news, even though Marlowe had said as little as he could get away with, was fantastic for Chambers. This revelation would be all over the papers tomorrow – and on social media tonight – and Maple Court would be attached to that. Anything that raised Chambers’ profile was good news as far as he was concerned, even if it was who this do-gooder was shagging. Idly, he wondered about Marlowe’s type. Most likely someone like Anne-Marie Green – slim, blonde, posh, petite. Roger Wykeham had made sure to stick close by her side all evening, marking his territory. Tom knew she was the kind of icy blonde he himself could never get if he didn’t have money. Or power. That’s why he had enjoyed fucking her. Just the once; bad for business otherwise. There were women everywhere, he didn’t have

to stick to Chambers – so it had been easy to turn down Mary Fisher, particularly when he knew what she really wanted. With AnneMarie, he just wanted to have something over Giles. Tom wondered if he had ever found out.

Anne-Marie was usually the best-looking woman in any room but tonight there was a dark, curvy type that would give her a run for her money. Dressed conservatively, but not like a barrister. Great arse. She’d disappeared behind the stage; maybe one of Marlowe’s team. Then he thought about Prentice again; in just a few questions he had achieved what many had tried and failed to do for years. Tom looked at him with renewed respect. So, not just a dozy ex-hippy, then. His cross- examination must be devastating in court. Shame he didn’t do crime.

At the end the applause seemed to go on forever. Lee could see that even David was impressed. She wondered who this special woman was and whether she was waiting backstage. Whoever she was, Marlowe was right – doing work like that, day in, day out, was no joke even if you were dedicated to it. Her work, while at times extremely challenging, paled in comparison with his. Even so, as she did more and more emotionally wrenching cases, would she have been able to cope if it wasn’t for David? She thought back to one particularly dark time. No, she wouldn’t. She looked over at David, still clapping. She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

He looked at her, surprised. ‘What was that for?’

‘I’ll tell you when I get home. Better yet, I’ll show you.’

He slid his arm around her shoulders. ‘Want to go now? I know you have to work the room at these events. I can spare maybe . . . five minutes?’ They both laughed.

‘I don’t feel like working the room tonight. I always do that. I just

want to go home with you. Let me have a word with Harry Prentice and then we can leave.’

Many people were already leaving but there was still a sizeable crowd in front of the stage. Lee picked her way through the throng, trying to get to Prentice. He was harassed and flustered, for once losing his legendary calm.

‘What part of “No” don’t you understand? I told you right from the start, no post-talk interviews!’

‘Oh, come on,’ a reporter pleaded. ‘Couldn’t you ask him to come and talk to us for just a few minutes? Please? ’

‘With all of you here? Don’t make me laugh. Besides, he knows what you want to ask him and he’s definitely not going to discuss that !’

Backstage, Marlowe could hear what was going on.

‘Why the hell won’t they just leave?’ He was pacing up and down like a caged animal.

His girlfriend returned to the spot where she had been standing throughout the talk, a vantage point across the hall. She knew her main role at times like this was to be a calming, steadying influence, to give moral support.

‘I know you hate this but you’re the story here, my love, especially now they know about us.’

‘They don’t know who you are.’

‘Yet,’ she added. ‘But it was bound to happen.’ She sighed. ‘You know I love you, but my life, even though it wasn’t easy, was much simpler before.’

‘I know.’ He came up and, standing behind her, gave her a hug. She was small enough that he could rest his chin on top of her head.

‘Look, I want to do some simple Londoner things while we’re here. You know, walk around, take the Tube . . .’ Suddenly she

stopped speaking. He could feel her body stiffen. She leaned forward, staring at someone across the room.

‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing,’ she replied automatically. Then, ‘No, not nothing. You know I told you about that prick who barrelled into me on the Tube last week and sent me flying? That’s him.’

‘Who? The stocky one in the suit? Are you sure?’ When she nodded, he said, ‘Wait. Stay here!’

It was hard to tell who was more shocked – his girlfriend, the press pack or Marlowe himself as he strode across the stage and down the steps.

‘Hey, you!’

It took Tom a moment to register what was happening. ‘You talking to me?’

‘You like throwing your weight around, pushing women out of the way? Bullying them? What are you like with men?’

The entire hall was silent. All eyes were now on the two of them. Tom didn’t like being embarrassed, especially in public. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr Marlowe.’

‘Last Thursday, remember? Or do you do it all the time?’

Tom stared at him, warily, not sure where this was going. He thought back to the week before. The most important thing to him that day had been Chambers’ meeting . . . then he looked towards the corner at the far end of the stage and there, for the briefest of moments, he saw the same woman he had earlier spotted peering out of the shadows. Her. He remembered. The Tube journey back from Green Park. So this was his woman – the one who had captured the heart of the legendary Henry Marlowe. She must be quite something if he was prepared to make a scene in front of all these people. For a moment he thought about making light of it, even complimenting

him on his good taste, but Marlowe was younger, taller, fitter – and angrier. He also had the attention of the entire room. If Marlowe took it the wrong way, Tom could easily find himself flat on his back. Not a good look for one of the most well-known Clerks in the Temple, not to mention for Chambers’ reputation. Besides, he didn’t want blood on his Turnbull & Asser shirt. He needed to defuse this immediately.

‘You’re right, Mr Marlowe. I’m really very sorry. I was in a hurry to get back to Chambers and my mind was on other things, but my actions were inexcusable. The least I could have done was to help her up, make sure she was okay. And no, I don’t make a habit of behaving like that.’

Marlowe said nothing. Tom continued, ‘I’m happy to apologize to the young lady in person if you like . . .’ He took a step forward but Marlowe immediately blocked him.

‘You’re not going anywhere near her!’

Tom was taken aback by the vehemence of his reply. ‘Then at least allow me to make a substantial personal contribution to your Foundation. It’s the least I can do.’

Lee, along with other members of Chambers, stood silently watching this play out. The Great Hall had surely never seen anything like it. For her, it was a revelation. She couldn’t remember the last time Tom had apologized for anything, and on the rare occasions when he did, there was always an ulterior motive, never because he recognized he was in the wrong. She also doubted he would ever have made a donation to the Marlowe Foundation if he hadn’t been embarrassed into it. She knew he would keep his word on this at least – in financial matters he was very trustworthy.

‘Hal. Hal.’ It was Prentice, gently trying to pull him away. Suddenly Marlowe seemed to remember where he was. Most people had

left but there were still thirty or so there – lawyers, judges, activists, bloggers, journalists – all staring at him and the man in front of him. Photographers had been banned but people had mobile phones. He realized with a start that his hands were balled into fists. Instantly, he unclenched them.

‘Speak to Harry about the money.’ His reply was short and curt. ‘And it better be very substantial.’

He turned and climbed back up on to the stage. Prentice made as if to follow him but then seemed to think better of it.

‘What was all that about?’ Lee asked him.

Prentice shook his head. ‘I have no idea. Much as I would have liked to see him punch our Senior Clerk, I’ve never known Hal to lose it like that before. In public too. Whoever she is, she’s much more than just a girlfriend.’

Lee and Prentice both watched as Marlowe reached the side of the stage. Watched as a woman stepped out briefly, smiling up at him, hugging him. She leaned into him and he gently pulled her head to his chest. That simple action alone seemed to calm him down. Even from where she was standing, Lee could see his shoulders relax. Then he saw someone take their phone out and he turned his body protectively, shielding her from anyone that would try to take a photo. But just before he did, the woman opened her eyes, briefly scanning the room before coming to rest on Lee.

They both recognized each other. Lee was shocked. It had been years. A little darker from the Gambian sun – or wherever she had been. Her body a little fuller, in a ripe, sexy way. Lee had always wondered what she would do or say if she ever saw her again. Now she was rooted to the spot.

Then Simone and Hal Marlowe both turned and disappeared from view.

For once, Tom had something to be grateful to his wife for. They lived very separate lives but even they managed to bring themselves to go on holiday with each other on occasion. He had her to thank for his Maldives tan; at least that helped to hide his blushes.

He looked around. He had to get back control. Now. He saw Dean and some other Junior Clerks standing at the entrance of the hall. Clearly, they had been just about to leave when this started but, like everyone else, they had all been agog at the scene playing out before them. He strode over. He could see some of them hastily putting their phones away, others trying to get through the door as fast as possible. But not fast enough.

‘Oi! Where do you think you’re going?’ He didn’t shout or raise his voice. He didn’t have to.

The young men immediately stopped. Tom was feared throughout the Temple for a reason.

‘I don’t care what you say about him, but you better keep my name out of your mouth and off your social media. Understand? If you don’t, I’ll find out. You know I will.’ He grabbed Dean’s arm. ‘Come with me.’

‘Why?’ Dean asked as Tom pulled him away. ‘Where are we going?’

‘We, my son, are going for a drink.’

As they walked, Dean was trying to calm his nerves. Tom had called him ‘my son’, which he’d never said before and somehow spooked him even more. He didn’t think he had done anything to make his boss angry at him . . . he ran through images in his mind as rapidly as he did with his Instagram feed. But he noticed that, as they walked further and further away in silence, the tension was easing from Tom, like a coiled spring unwinding. His breathing was less laboured, and by the time they arrived at their destination he was walking at normal speed.

The hotel bar wasn’t a place where Dean would hang out – definitely not one where he and the other Junior Clerks were planning to go or would have ended up. Of the ring of pubs and other watering holes near Chambers, this was the furthest away and definitely one of the most expensive. He might have known Tom would bring him to a place like this. He’d never even been inside before – only walked past on occasion. He thought about the local Wetherspoons round the back of his estate and wondered how many beers he could get there for the price of one in this establishment. At least, he thought doubtfully as he entered, looking around, he hoped it sold beers – ones he would recognize.

He followed Tom in the direction of the bar, hoping to somehow pass him on the way. If he got in there first he could buy his boss a drink – an action that he hoped would for once make them more like equals. He only prayed he could afford it.

He managed to get past Tom but just as he was about to reach the bar the older man tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Over here.’

He turned and saw Tom heading towards a quiet area with low, discreet lighting. The seating, upholstered in dark green leather, was softer than any Dean had ever sat on in his life. He looked around. There weren’t many people in here for a Thursday night, and most

of the patrons were older than him and clearly richer. The tables were spaced out, evidently designed to maximize discretion.

Tom beckoned a waitress over.

‘Good evening, Mr Mannion.’

Tom gave her a brief nod then turned to Dean. ‘What are you having?’

Dean didn’t know what to order in a place like this. He looked at the waitress. She was about his age but, from the look of her, well out of his league. Still, he wasn’t going to risk showing himself up in front of her, let alone his boss. It was safer to follow Tom’s lead. ‘Whatever you’re having.’

‘Glenlivet on the rocks. Two,’ Tom said, giving her his credit card. Dean looked at it. Black. Of course. ‘You can run a tab.’

Dean’s heart sank. At least he knew what Glenlivet was, although he couldn’t afford to drink single malt and wasn’t a massive whisky fan anyway. But Tom wanted to run a tab. How long would they be here?

When the drinks came, Dean took a sip of his first. He still didn’t like whisky but he supposed it must be good if Tom ordered it. Tom, however, swirled the ice around in his glass as if deep in thought. He had hardly said anything since they’d left the Great Hall. Dean desperately wanted to know what had led to the row with Hal Marlowe, but decided the wisest course of action was to remain silent. Until, when he could stand it no longer, he spoke.

‘Mr Prentice was good. Even though I mostly clerk him and his team, I’ve never heard him speak like that.’

‘Yes, he was,’ Tom conceded. He had started drinking now and from the way he was leaning back in his chair it appeared as if the tension of the evening had finally drifted away. He looked at his Junior Clerk. ‘We should go out drinking more often, Dean.’

Dean couldn’t help himself; he laughed out loud at the absurdity of that notion. Tom glared at him.

Dean held up his hand. ‘No – I mean – you wouldn’t like the kind of places I go to.’ He looked around again. ‘They’re not like this.’

‘You think I’ve never been to a ’Spoons in my life? I haven’t always been Senior Clerk, you know.’

‘No, I bet it’s been a loooong time, though.’

‘True enough.’ Suddenly Tom downed the rest of his drink and raised his hand. The waitress came over. ‘Same again,’ he said, indicating two glasses.

‘No thanks.’ Dean looked at the girl, raising his glass. ‘I’m still on this one.’

‘You’re halfway through that. You’re not going to make me drink alone, are you?’ Tom turned back to the girl. ‘Two.’

Tom looked at Dean as the younger man watched the attractive waitress walk off. He jerked his head towards her retreating back. ‘You like that?’

Dean gulped and felt his face flush. He couldn’t bring himself to deny it. ‘I’ve got a girlfriend,’ he said, finally.

‘She wouldn’t look at you anyway, son. Not at the moment. You’ve got to be twice her age and ten times as rich. I’m in here often. Trust me, I know.’

Dean didn’t really want to think precisely how Tom knew this. He sipped his drink silently. But Tom now seemed to be in the mood to talk.

‘Don’t worry, Dean. You’ve got the makings of a good Senior Clerk when the time is right. Then you can get as many of those as you can handle. Of course, by then she’ll be past her sell-by date and you’ll be looking for the younger version.’

‘If I’m not engaged by then. Me and Kellie – we’ve been together since school.’

‘If I’m not engaged? ’ Tom’s tone was derisory, mocking. ‘Even if you’re married, Dean. Come to a place like this and as long as you’ve got money you can get any woman you want.’ He took another sip of his whisky, the ice clinking in the heavy crystal glass. ‘Of course, there might be some who are worth it, though I’ve never come across one who was. You see how that Marlowe was about to punch me out for his piece? Did you get a look at her? He was probably “denying his privilege” coming to her rescue, like some sort of White Knight. Which in fact he is. Or will be when his dad croaks.’ He laughed, mirthlessly.

Dean didn’t like the way this conversation was going. Besides, if Tom said anything more he might insult his girlfriend, and as mildmannered as he was, he couldn’t have that. He didn’t want to end up fighting with his boss in this posh bar. He changed the subject.

‘So, you think I’d make a good Senior Clerk?’ Dean didn’t share his boss’s views on women but he definitely admired him professionally.

Tom drank again, taking a bigger swig this time. He seemed to be steadily working his way to a third. Dean really didn’t want this to turn into a long drinking session. Besides, they’d both had champagne at the event. He knew his limits, while clearly Tom did not, or didn’t care. But Tom wasn’t so drunk yet that he couldn’t give him professional advice.

‘You’re good with people,’ Tom said. ‘They seem to like you in Chambers. Others round the Temple too, from what I hear. Most of all, people trust you. But there’s two things you don’t have. One, a killer instinct. Me? I’m a realist. I know most people don’t like me at Maple Court. Some are neutral. Some fear me. They all know I

can make money for them. Can make some of them rich, even. The brighter ones like Lee Mitchell, that is. Even the not-so-bright ones like Giles Townsend. He should be shitting himself now a new Silk is starting. They’ll wipe the floor with him.’

‘And the other thing?’

Tom patted his jacket pocket. ‘Insurance.’ He laughed at his junior’s puzzled look. He took out a small, nondescript- looking, spiral-bound notebook with dog-eared pages. It said ‘Diary’ on the front.

‘Your diary?’ Surely not. Tom could afford way better than that. And who used paper nowadays when you had a mobile phone?

‘If I lost it in Chambers – which would be never – no one would look inside it. They wouldn’t want to “invade my privacy”. It’s not a diary, though.’

He flicked through the pages in front of Dean. He didn’t let him touch it but Dean could see small scribbled handwriting and things stapled to some of the pages. From the look of it, Tom had been keeping this for years. He put it back into his inside breast pocket.

‘Everyone’s got secrets, Dean. I’ve been at Maple Court a long time. After a while, you get to know all of them if you pay enough attention. And then,’ he made a grasping motion with his hand, ‘you’ve got them by the balls. Even the women.’

‘But why would you need to do that? You make them a lot of money.’

‘Because nothing’s guaranteed. If things change I’m not going to end up like my old man.’ He raised his glass. ‘Rest In Piss.’

Looking at his boss slowly getting inebriated, it hit Dean like a thunderbolt. He was lonely. Of course! This was why the great Tom Mannion, consummate wheeler-dealer and Chambers fixer, instead of going home to be with his family, was sitting with someone young