The Waxwork Corpse by Simon Michael

Author:Simon Michael [Michael, Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sapere Books
Published: 2019-12-22T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 19

On the Monday before Steele’s trial is due to start, Charles rises early. Despite the fact that it’s still before seven, Harry is already up, pottering in the kitchen and humming to himself. Charles recognises a tune from his childhood: part of the liturgical service from the Day of Atonement. It reminds Charles that the Jewish High Holy Days are only a few weeks off. He’ll have no choice but to discuss arrangements with Harry, which is bound to involve mention of Millie. Deciding to leave that for a more appropriate moment, he declines breakfast and heads to Chambers.

The roads are still largely deserted and it’s a sparkling late summer’s morning. Charles enters the Temple by Mitre Court and on impulse decides to take a detour. He walks down the slope to the bottom of Kings Bench Row to look over the Embankment at the Thames. A black smudge of smoke from the funnel of a tug chugging into the distance, too far downwind for its engine to be heard, is the only sign of river traffic. The summer breeze blowing off the water ruffles Charles’s curly hair, and he tastes salt air on his lips. He gazes for a while at the sequin-flecked blue waves, feeling calm and at peace.

On his desk he finds a large cardboard box marked for his attention. He has just opened it and settled down to examine its contents when the door opens.

‘Hello, Charles,’ says a fair-haired man in his early thirties.

‘Hello, Peter,’ replies Charles, with a broad smile directed at his ex-pupil. ‘Not seen you in ages. Busy?’

This is a familiar greeting in the Temple. Everyone claims to be “busy”. The opposite, being “quiet” — not having enough work — is every barrister’s fear, but given the competitive nature of the Bar and the cauldron of rumour that is the Temple, few will admit to it. Confessing to being “quiet” risks word getting round that one’s practice has failed, that one is out of favour, or, worst of all, past it. On the other hand, being genuinely “busy” often means working until midnight six nights a week, sometimes preparing cases for the following day at the last minute and doing without sleep at all. Charles knows of half a dozen marriages that failed through “busyness”, including his own. It’s one of the handicaps of a system in which clerks run their guvnors’ diaries: there’s no way the barrister can turn off the tap, even when he’s drowning.

Bateman shuts the door behind him, dumps his robes bag on the floor despondently and sits at his desk. He looks weary.

‘Completely fucking overloaded,’ replies Peter in his perfect upper-crust English. ‘I was still here ’til almost three this morning. Managed an hour’s sleep, a shit and a shave, and here I am again.’ Peter yanks the ribbon off a set of Instructions. ‘I met this lovely girl a few weeks ago and I was — well, I am — quite smitten. I think she was, too.

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