The Pupil by Caro Fraser Read Free Book Online

however, the curious impression of keeping himself slightly in check, so that when his natural good humour began to shine through with too much warmth, his cold demeanour would return to close upon it like a steel trap, as though at some reminder. He glanced at Anthony from time to time with his appraising blue gaze, as though to invite him into the conversation, but Anthony felt that there was nothing he could contribute. He was a very new boy indeed.
    By the time he found the fresh air of Fleet Street, three glasses of wine and an hour later, Anthony felt elated, uplifted. Although he had contributed scarcely more than ten words to the conversation, the company, to say nothing of the wine, had filled him with a sense of glorious purpose. As he stood at the bus stop, gazing unseeingly at the traffic, he imagined a future when he, too, would talk with the brilliance and ease of Leo Davies.

    At exactly the same moment, in a taverna in Naxos, Edward Choke was attempting, for a bet, to drink three more glasses of ouzo. The clamour from the table where he was dining with three college friends rose and filled the soft Greek night air.
    ‘And I,’ Edward was saying, as he slopped a little water into his ouzo, watching it turn milky, ‘am going to be an absolutely brilliant barrister. Ab-so-lute-ly bloody brilliant.’ He leant forward solemnly, his blonde hair falling over his flushed, tanned face. ‘And then I’m going to be a High Court judge.’ He took a swig of his ouzo, then tipped his head back and finished it. One of his friends banged on the table with his fist and someone filled Edward’s glass again. ‘And
then
,’ he continued, ‘I’m going to be a Court of Appeal judge.’ He swallowed the second glass and contemplated his friends sternly. His glass was filled again. ‘And then – I’ll become a Law Lord.’ He drank the third glass off. ‘Lord Choke of Chiswick.’ He belched unexpectedly, and his companions laughed long and loud at this provocative wit.

    The rest of Anthony’s first week was a sobering experience. It was spent sitting in the arbitration rooms of the Baltic Exchange in the company of Michael, two other lawyers, and the appeal tribunal of the Livestock and Animal Feeds Trade Association. This body consisted of nine elderly, irascible men, two of whom appeared, to Anthony, to be certifiable, none of whom was possessed of one iota of legal understanding, and all of whom were convened to decide upon issues of blinding legal complexity. All in all, Michael explained to Anthony, it was probably just as well that it happened this way; they would come to a decision based upon common sense, how bored they were getting, and what time they wanted to get away for the weekend.
    The most enlivening interludes occurred when the tea lady came round. It seemed to Anthony that teatime in a geriatric ward must be like this. By the time the clinking cups had been passed around, and everyone had settled back down with the right amounts of milk and sugar and Rich Tea fingers, the entire tribunal would have forgotten what had been discussed in the previous fifteen minutes, and counsel would have to begin all over again. No one ever had the right number of pages in their bundle, documents constantly had to be re-photocopied (one of Anthony’s tasks), and squabbles would break out over charts and diagrams.
    Anthony was dismayed. Was this to be his brilliant career: sitting in dusty arbitration rooms, mulling through endless documents relating to guano shipments of a decade ago? Over an early-evening drink, Michael assured him that a barrister’s time was not always spent thus, and indeed, once the arbitration was finished, life brightened considerably. Michael gave him one or two straightforward briefs to work on, and as he toiled away in Middle Temple library, flanked by the rows of silent, ever-present Far Eastern students, Anthony felt that he was getting somewhere.
    On the Tuesday morning of that second