Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
THE CALL
Jules
Staying alive and living aren’t the same thing, and I’ve only ever been able to do one at a time. Mostly staying alive. But today, that changes. I pull the worn scrap of paper from the pocket of my robe and unfold it.
“I am the mistress of my fate.”
It was only a wish when I wrote it down on the night of my 18th birthday.
Since then, I’ve become an expert at reaching into the yawning maw of ruin and yanking my future out of its jaws.
Every step I’ve taken has brought me closer to making the fanciful words my truth.
Over the last year, I’ve walked across the ancient flagstones that meander between the cloisters and the glorious rose gardens that inspired Shakespeare and played host to some of the most important moments in human history dozens of times.
Today, as I navigate these time-locked lanes, the comforting weight of history’s cloak settles on my shoulders. And I’m reminded that what’s built to last, lasts .
The ceremony that brought us all into the Chapel of the Temple Church on the day of the Winter Solstice starts with the melodic gurgle of an organ calling us to attention.
Not that my attention is anywhere but here, anchored in this moment that I’ve been working my fanny off for. Eight years of intense focus, sacrifice, and fear.
Tonight, I turn the corner and move toward the light. The winding serpentine-like tunnel this portion of my life has been is almost over.
In just a few minutes, I’ll be granted entry to the profession I’ve chosen to make my life’s work. My eyes are drawn to the vaulted dome of the Temple Church, the earliest Gothic building in London. Built by the Order of The Knights Templar in 1160, it was designed to imitate the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem—the site of Christ’s death, burial, and rising.
This building was the reason I chose The Inner Temple Inn where I’d complete my training to become a barrister.
This building’s history feels like an echo of my own. It was nearly destroyed in the great fire of London in 1666, but it was restored to a glory far greater than its original.
I don’t have delusions of grandeur, nor do I believe that this place could resurrect the part of me that’s dead. The fire that took away everything I love also gave me the chance to live a life of wondering what else I might have been.
I wasn’t born for a life spent in the sheer magnificence of the Inns of Court. Nor was I reared to dine with men and women whose quick and ready wit was as nourishing as the decadent meals we shared.
The sharp jab of a hard elbow into my side draws my unfocused gaze from the master of ceremonies to my friend, Reena. The sparkle in her eye that’s been there since she came back from her weekend jaunt to California is undimmed, even in the low light of the hall where we’ve gathered. The man at the podium cedes his place to a woman garbed in the black silks and gleaming white starched bibs worn by all the Masters of the Inn.
It’s time , Reena mouths just as the woman begins to speak. She mimes a scream of elation that I return with a grin that hides the turmoil I really feel. I grip her hand that rests on the seat of the wooden pew next to me and turn my attention back to the front of the room.
“Master Treasurer, the students here present are desirous of being called to the Bar of England and Wales. Student members of the Inner Temple, being called to the profession of barrister, you have declared that for as long as you remain a barrister, you will solemnly use your knowledge and skills in keeping with the principles of the profession’s ethics, uphold the rule of law, and in doing so, comply with the code of conduct and court duties of the Bar of England and Wales.”
The desire of which she speaks is a visceral, vibrating thrum on every nerve ending in my body.
“I confirm that the students here at this Michaelmas term Call Night 2021 have made the required declarations and have gained the qualifications necessary to be called to the Bar of England and Wales and therefore deserve to be called by the honorable society of the Inner Temple as follows.”
The master of ceremony begins to call the inductees, in alphabetical order, and my heart lodges in my throat. My gut crests and crashes in a tumult of excitement, anticipation, and panic that sets my pulse racing.
The row in front of us rises, and Reena squeezes my hand. The tiny stone set in the ring on the third finger of my left hand bites my skin. The pain does more than ground me in the moment, it’s a reminder of what I sacrificed to be here. And that every tear I have shed along the way has been proof that I survived what should have killed me.
“I wish she’d hurry. I’m ready for cake and champs.” Reena’s parents have come from Rome to witness their daughter fulfill her lifelong ambition. After the ceremony, I’ll join in the celebration with her friends and family. She let it slip that her mother bought two cakes—one for both of us—and begged me to act surprised when she brought it out.
But I’m also beset by self-pity that I know is pointless and usually beat back. I’ve gotten used to being the only one of my peers whose head doesn’t swivel about the room looking for friends and family. But tonight, I wish someone who knew me was here to see what I’ve made of myself.
An usher comes to stand by our row and places a hand on my shoulder.
My heart beats hard and slow as I stand and lead the queue to the aisle. I’ve dreamed of this for ten years. When I charted this course, the moment I would gain access to the tools I need to rewrite my history was a prize so far in the distance that I could barely fathom it. Yet I set my eyes on it and never looked away.
As the person in front of me steps forward, I take a deep centering breath and start counting. In our rehearsal, they said each presentation should only take twenty seconds.
One , two, three, four.
In accepting the call, I will gain access to the tools I need to rewrite my history. But I’ve decided that I’ll never use them.
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve.
I don’t want to look back to where I started and measure how far I’ve come.
The life I’d only meant to leave behind temporarily—the life I’d begun this journey to resurrect—is better off dead.
Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.
This night is where I begin.
“Juliana Quist. Bachelor of Law, The London School of Economics and Political Science, CPE City Law School, Princess Royal Scholar, proposed by Master Bone.” I move to stand before Master Hugo Bone. His shrewd eyes meet mine, and we exchange a smile.
“Master Treasurer, I move her call,” he says in his deep, authoritative voice. He sticks his hand out. “Congratulations, Ms. Quist.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bone.” I shake his hand, and he gives mine a warm squeeze at the end. “And see you on Monday.”
I smile, a million hopes fluttering inside me as I float back to my seat. He’s a Kingmaker. Only in his early fifties, he’s one of the youngest Masters of this Inn and the only Black one. A pupilage at his chambers, one of the best criminal practices in all the Inns of Court, is one of the most sought after. I’m one of the lucky four they’ve brought on. My hard-won future is here.
Instead of the triumph I anticipated as I return to my seat, I’m beset by disquiet and the distinct feeling that I’m being watched. I swivel my head to the left and right, but it’s too dark in the church to see beyond a few rows. I sit and try to ignore the hairs standing up on the back of my neck.
“Congratulations, Juliana,” a hushed voice whispers in my ear, sending wafts of beer and cigarette smoke into my nostrils.
“Conrad?” I turn my head to look over my shoulder, smiling at him for the benefit of everyone else at the table where we’re gathered to celebrate. But my palms grow so damp I don’t dare lift my glass to quench my suddenly dry mouth.
I stand to face him, suddenly grateful for the heels I’ve been cursing all night when they make us nearly the same height. He’s bulkier, grittier, harder than when I last saw him more than four years ago. The beard covering the lower half of his face is so full it obscures his mouth. But the mayhem in the eyes of this ghost from my past life is nothing new. I keep the smile in my voice and on my face, but my eyes are shooting daggers. “What are you doing here?”
He returns my smile with an excited and equally insincere one. “I was passing by and happened to look in the window and saw you and thought, that looks a lot like Juliana. I took a second look, and holy shit, it is you. After all these years, it felt like fate. I had to stop and say hello.”
My stomach plummets to my toes, and I have to focus to keep my breaths from coming faster. “Of course you did.”
He smiles at the table of people behind me, and I wish I could throw a cloak over them and make them disappear. “We’re in the middle of a celebration.” My voice is harsh, even to my own ears.
Beside me, Reena clears her throat. “Jules? Is everything okay?”
I glance at her and nod. “He’s just a friend from home. Give me a minute.”
I’m sure her parents will think me rude not to introduce them, but I don’t care. I’d rather that than give him any more information than he might already have.
I grab his arm and lead him out of the restaurant and into the icy cold evening. I wrap my arms around myself instinctively, but the frigid temperatures barely register as I face the barnacle I can’t seem to scrape loose.
“How did you find me?”
“Luck. Purely. Literally I was walking down from the Tube and saw you going into a gate, dressed in robes and all, so I followed.”
“What do you want?” I snap.
He runs an assessing eye over me, pulls something from his pocket, and unfolds it. It’s the program from this evening. Cream, trifold. That explains the sensation I felt during the ceremony. I thought he was in a prison two hundred miles from here. Clearly, I was wrong. Dread and resignation settle at the same time.
“I thought you still had a year left on your sentence.”
“Good behavior pays off. Who knew?” He grins, flashing his teeth, the deeply pointed canines gleaming sinisterly under the harsh outdoor light.
“Juliana Quist, eh? Nice. I didn’t know they let offenders become lawyers. But I guess that’s why you changed your name? So you didn’t have to tell ‘em? Clever.”
He’s dressed impeccably in a pin stripe grey suit and black wool overcoat. His Chelsea boots gleam, and the gold signet ring on his pinky glints in the same harsh light.
I remember when he wore ragged, threadbare clothes. When his hair was stringy and disheveled, and dirt rimmed his fingernails. He’s come a long way from the boy he’d once been, when no one wanted him around. I’ve come a long way from the girl who thought my neighbors were unkind and selfish to turn their backs on him.
I don’t know how I didn’t see the malignancy of his intent. That I thought he was my friend and trusted him with precious things that he’s used against me ever since.
I thought I was finally free of him when he was arrested four years ago. But here he is, armed with everything he needs to destroy this fragile new beginning.
“How much will it cost me to get rid of you?”
He frowns and touches his chest. “Ouch. I thought we could catch up first. I’ll come back to yours. We’ll have tea?—”
“I’ll give you fifty thousand pounds right now. I will buy a plane ticket to anywhere you want to go, tonight, and you will never bother me again.”
“I was going to ask for ten, but fifty sounds much better.” He puts his hand out. “We have a deal.”
I ignore his hand. “Wait here.”
I go in and make my excuses. It’s a lot of money. But I have it. I haven’t touched the money my father left me since I graduated from uni.
I juggled two jobs along with my classes. I’d fall into bed every night, exhausted from a day of physical and mental labor, and unsure whether I could get up and do it all again.
But then I’d dream of my father. They were happy dreams of us in his shop, exploring a village in the countryside. And when we’d part ways, he’d hug me and whisper, “Hard work is never a waste of time.”
Those early mornings in my kitchen pouring candles, late nights studying, and weekends spent behind a bar. Every time I saved instead of splurging. All of it brought me one step closer to where I was trying to go.
After six years of graduation, successful application, and commendation, the prize I couldn’t fathom has become the hare and I the cheetah chasing it.
I don’t remember the moment this world, hidden behind doors I had to lie to get through, started to feel like home.
But it does, and I’ll do anything to stay here.
My father left me this money to secure my future. Fifty thousand is a lot, but only makes a dent in it. And with this career, I’ll make it back quickly. It feels like a small price to pay to get rid of him.
Conrad is waiting on a bench outside the restaurant and grins when I walk back out.
I keep my expression neutral and sit down beside him.
“What happened to you, Conrad? How can you do this? After everything I did for you.”
His chuckles, but his expression hardens. “You used me and then when you were all right, you didn’t need me.”
“We were friends,” I protest.
“I don’t have friends, Jules. I’ve only got myself. You’re not a bad person. You got the shit end of the stick. And for what it’s worth, I hope you’re never desperate enough to understand how I could do this. Now, Ms. Money Bags, how are we doing this? I have a passport with pages to fill.”
I wire the money to him right there outside the restaurant and then order us an Uber to Gatwick. On the way to the airport, he asks me to buy him a ticket to Ibiza. So I walk to the counter and buy him a one-way ticket. I stay with him as far as security will allow and then take a seat by the entrance to baggage claim where he’d have to pass to leave the airport.
I wait two hours after his flight time before I’m satisfied that he’s really gone. On my way out of the airport, I toss the scrap of paper with the fanciful words into the trash.
When I get home and finally crawl into bed, my mind is racing, and sleep is elusive. I have no doubt Conrad will blow through that money sooner than he should. And when he does, he’ll be back. He doesn’t know where I live or work. And no one at Inner Temple would tell him. He’ll have to get lucky to find me again. But I have no doubt that he’ll try.