The Brief: Crime and corruption in 1960s London (Charles Holborne Legal Thrillers) by Simon Michael

Author:Simon Michael [Michael, Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sapere Books
Published: 2019-06-10T07:00:00+00:00

By mid-morning in the Temple the early rush of barristers dashing off to court has slowed, and the ancient courtyards have resumed their sedate pace. 2 Chancery Court is silent with concentration as members of Chambers settle down to draft documents and research the law in Chambers’ library.

Charles tries to work for a while but throws down his pen, stands and paces about the room. He’s been trying to draft what should have been a very simple Advice on a personal injury matter, but has written and crossed through the first paragraph four times. He can’t concentrate and when he looks at the uncharacteristic chaos of papers and instructions lying on his desk, he realises that he’s achieved little in the last few days.

He reaches for the telephone. ‘Peter?’ he says as he dials.

Peter Bateman, Charles’s pupil, looks up from the papers on which he is working.

‘Yes?’

‘Make yourself scarce for a few minutes, eh?’

‘Sure,’ replies the young man, and he scurries off for a quick cigarette. Charles doesn’t permit smoking in the room, and the chance for a coffee and a smoke with the other pupils in Chambers is always gratefully received.

The call is picked up at the other end.

‘Henrietta?’

‘Yes?’ she says, recognising his voice, and truculent.

‘Do you agree that it would be sensible for us to have a discussion about the future?’

There’s a long pause at the end of the line but Henrietta’s voice when it comes is sadder and gentler than Charles expects. ‘What do you propose?’

‘I can come up tonight, if you’ve got no plans.’

Another pause. At first Charles can hear breathing but then the line falls silent. Just as he’s about to check that she’s still there, he hears a sob and realises she’s crying.

‘Etta, don’t cry. I’m sure we can sort it out, whatever the outcome. But we can’t carry on like this, can we? We’re just making one another completely miserable.’

‘Yes,’ she agrees, gathering herself somewhat. ‘I’ll make something for dinner. You’ll need to get a cab from the station.’

‘Have you booked the car in?’

‘Yes, but as it needs towing, they’re too busy to come for a couple of days.’

‘OK. I’ll be there around seven.’

Henrietta replaces the receiver and allows herself to cry. She thinks of calling her mother, but can’t stand another hour’s worth of “I told you so”s. So she dries her eyes and goes into the garden. Gardening normally calms her, but even that’s no good. After fifteen minutes she decides instead to cycle into the village and pick up something nice to cook. She puts her gardening gloves on the garden table and goes to the garage for her bike.

At first she doesn’t appreciate the significance of the emptiness of the garage. Then, with a shock, she remembers. She does all the foolish and illogical things one does when refusing to believe the obvious: she checks the drive and the road and even looks over the road to the stable yard. The Jag isn’t there. Eventually she acknowledges with surprise that someone really has stolen it.

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