Chapter 2 Leila #2
It became a running joke that young female pupils could get away with anything when they were in HHJ Smythe’s court, while their male counterparts would be pulled up for making the same mistake.
There have been all kinds of rumors about him over the years—taking young female members of the Bar out to lunch, sitting on sofas in intimate pubs with young women.
I remind myself I shouldn’t be listening to speculation, so I make my way over to the drinks table to get a glass of Coke. I don’t want to be drunk tonight.
Standing beside the table, looking very out of place, is Demi, Chester’s wife. There’s a significant age gap between them; at thirty, Demi looks young enough to be his daughter.
“Hi, Demi, how have you been? It’s been a while!”
“Leila!” she exclaims, looking like I’ve scared her half to death. She raises a hand to her chest in an animated way, communicating that I appeared out of nowhere. “Congratulations! I hear you’re defending the case everyone’s talking about.”
Her beautifully highlighted, swishy hair hangs delicately down her back, stopping inches above her minuscule waist. As always, she’s immaculately dressed.
In her chic not-casual-but-not-too-dressed-up ensemble—camel wide-leg trousers and cream silk shirt—she could have stepped straight out of Vogue.
“I’m not sure it’s a congratulatory matter, but thank you.” I attempt a half-arsed smile. “Did you know him? Anton? I’m aware he was friends with Chester.”
“No, I didn’t,” she says, shaking her head and attempting to walk away.
“Didn’t you holiday with them a few years ago in France?”
“Oh, that,” she says, nodding, before taking a sip of wine. “Yes. I didn’t spend much time with him, though. How awful for his family. Will the defendant be pleading guilty? Not guilty? Might the trial ‘crack’? Sorry, I don’t know all this legal jargon!”
She frowns and narrows her eyes when she says all this, as if she doesn’t understand, but it feels insincere. Like she’s trying too hard to come across as dumb. Her voice is singsong in that way posh debutantes are. I don’t think she’s ever had a job in her life.
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss that.” I smile at her.
“Oh, of course!” she gushes, nodding quickly and flicking her hair over her shoulder.
“Absolutely. Well, good luck! It’s hard enough being a ‘trial widow’ at the best of times, let alone when you’re doing one with your own husband.
When Chester is doing a murder trial, I barely see him, and he’s so grouchy… ”
“I’m not worried.” I laugh. “In fact, we’re going away this weekend for Julian’s birthday. Barkenfield Lodge. Supposed to be beautiful.”
“What did you get him for his birthday? These barristers are so bloody hard to buy for. What do you get the man who has everything? I bought Chester an Omega watch last year and he said, ‘What the hell do I need another watch for?’ ” she says, barely pausing for breath.
“I love his fiery temper. It makes me laugh so much!”
“I’ve bought Julian an antique chess set. I’ve been teaching him how to play recently,” I tell her.
“Never had you down as a chess player, Leila,” she says, attempting to hide her shock. “You’re a woman of many talents!”
“Well, don’t tell him I said this, but I just like to beat him at something.” I laugh again. “That man does not like losing.”
“I can imagine! Anyway, lovely speaking to you!” She flashes her perfectly aligned teeth in a smile. “I must find Chester.”
People in the tightly packed room move out of the way when they see Demi coming. She’s like Moses parting the Red Sea. Men fall over themselves to accommodate the goddess she is. Women are fascinated by her energy, and it’s not hard to see why—there’s something captivating about her.
I remember the first time I met Demi; it must have been five years ago at a chambers function.
Nobody could believe it when Chester waltzed in with this breathtakingly beautiful blonde by his side.
None of us thought it would last. He enjoyed the divorced single life too much.
Two years later we all attended their wedding.
They’re still together, much to our surprise.
I’ve always found her elusive. She’s one of those people who doesn’t talk about herself, always switching the conversation back to you. You could be chatting to her all night and by the end of it still know nothing more about her.
She’s an enigma. But men love that, don’t they? Some women do it deliberately.
I watch her as she glides through the room, holding a glass of wine in her right hand, smiling, greeting everyone like the obedient, perfect wife of the host she is.
But the longer I watch, the more I notice it.
She speaks to everyone except my husband, the prosecutor in the case she just asked me about. I like watching people. It’s part of the job, I suppose. You become very attuned to the behavior of others. Being a barrister turns you into an amateur psychologist.
Often, it’s the tiniest details that reveal the greatest secrets.