Chapter 4 Leila #2
“What’s he like?” Julian asks, against the sound of the fire crackling. Sparks fly and I watch as they dance about against the night sky. I’ve always been mesmerized by fire.
“Who?”
“Millman. What’s he like? He obviously asked for you to represent him for a reason.”
“Besides my looks, you mean?”
His mouth curls up into a smile as he, too, gazes into the flames.
“We can’t talk about the case,” I say.
“We’re not talking about the case. I’m just asking you what he’s like as a person. Since you’ve represented him before.”
“Yes, but that was years ago.” I feel immediately defensive, and my body stiffens. “Sorry, Julian. I just don’t think we should be talking about this.”
“Do you seriously think I’d ever say or do anything that would compromise you professionally?”
“Of course not.”
“This is how big cases work. Do you think silks dance around each other saying, ‘Well, I simply can’t discuss this’? Of course we don’t. It’s give and take. We can talk about elements of the case, just not confidential information.”
“I don’t know, Julian. It feels a bit, you know…”
“Leila, this happens all the time. It’s better for clients. Everything would take ten times longer otherwise. Especially with us being under the same roof—it’ll be much easier. We can help each other out. There’s nothing illegal about it. Trust me, I’ve been doing this a long time.”
He says this softly, convincingly, as if he really is trying to guide me through this.
I’ve never done a murder before, but I have seen silks having intense “chats” in the robing room.
Even at this early stage, I know I’ll need all the help I can get with this case.
It’s looking grim already, and I haven’t even had sight of forensic evidence yet.
But, as Julian’s pupil, I’m also aware of the games he’s capable of playing. I’ve seen them firsthand. He taught me most of them. This is different, though. I may be Julian’s wife, but I am his pupil first and foremost. He would not screw over his own pupil.
Besides, what choice do I have? I don’t want to be the naive barrister who doesn’t seem to know what she’s doing. Julian is my pupilmaster. He’s got me this far. I’m as good as I am because of him.
I sigh. “Usual story. He was abandoned as a baby by his parents, who were drug users, brought up in care, and has been in and out of prison ever since. Doesn’t trust anyone, has a very cynical view of the world.
A lone wolf. Like most people who had a traumatic childhood, he’s a survivor, a fighter.
I wouldn’t have thought he’s the kind of person to kill someone. He’s not like that.”
“Did you not last defend him for a violent assault?” he asks cynically.
“Yes, but he was set up.”
Julian shoots me one of the looks he delivers in court when a witness gives an answer so unworthy of belief, it makes everyone in the courtroom want to die on the spot.
“Well, I look forward to seeing how he scrubs up at trial,” he says, and he means it. He’s curious. “He’s going up against it, isn’t he? Respectable judge, very well liked. Anton was known for being fair.”
I’m not entirely in agreement with Julian’s assessment of Judge Smythe, but that’s obviously how the prosecution is going to portray him.
“The jury didn’t know Anton, though,” I remind him. “But they will want to know why a judge was at a criminal’s flat on a Friday night. There’s a story there, and that’s your Achilles’ heel.”
Julian likes clear motives and obvious evidence. He hates having to think outside the box.
“How do you think he’ll perform under cross-examination?” he asks.
“I think that’s definitely crossing the line now.” I laugh, playfully patting his leg to let him know I’m done with this conversation. I’ll cooperate with Julian as much as I can, but my loyalty is ultimately to my client.
—
By 10 p.m. the fire is losing power and we go inside. The temperature has significantly dropped, and Julian is at the boozy stage where he’s starting to pull at my clothes.
The cabin is dimly lit by small lamps. I remember Imogen saying you can close the blinds on the glass wall, so as Julian is finding a way into my black Zara jumpsuit, I try working out how to close them to give us some privacy.
A knock at the door suddenly interrupts his seduction.
Wriggling out of his embrace, I open the door.
“Sorry to bother you. I’m from reception,” says a young man who must be in his early twenties. His floppy, blond hair and steely blue eyes pop against his black T-shirt and trousers. He’s holding a black gift box. “This is for you.”
“Who’s it from?”
“It was a request via our website,” he says, handing the box to me. “They didn’t leave a name.”
“A mystery gift!”
“Someone’s got an admirer,” the man says with a cheeky smile, turning around and walking back down the stone path.
“I should be so lucky!” I shout back to him.
I take the box over to Julian, who is standing at the window, looking outside.
“Who was that?” he asks, knitting his brows together.
“Just someone from reception. Brought a fancy gift.”
“Leila, he looked about twelve!”
I look at him, confused. “What?”
“Flirting with a child? Really?”
“He was not twelve. And I wasn’t flirting!” I tell him, defending myself. “Besides, you know from personal experience I can’t flirt to save my life. Don’t you remember our first date, when I got so nervous I delivered a twenty-minute speech about how underrated the Scream franchise is?”
“I don’t think I could ever forget that.” He laughs as I open the box in front of him.
Inside is another bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape.
“Someone obviously likes you,” I comment, opening the card and reminding myself how much each bottle costs. He picks it up and blinks at the vanilla-cream label on the bloodred bottle.
“What does this mean?” I ask, holding out a small, pristine, white card with black printed letters.
Hell is empty and all the devils are here. Happy Birthday, J.
“Shakespeare?” he guesses, screwing his face up. “Tempest, isn’t it? Very funny, Lei.”
“I didn’t send this,” I tell him.
He stares blankly at me for a few seconds.
“I…I don’t get it, then. I didn’t tell anyone where we were going specifically. Who did you tell?”
“Nobody, really.”
“What do you mean, ‘nobody, really’? I want to know who sent this,” he says, his voice laced with annoyance.
“I mentioned it to one or two people at Chester’s party.” I shrug. “Maybe Chester sent it as a joke.”
“Who exactly did you tell?” he demands again.
This time, there’s something in his voice I don’t like.
He stares at me with wide eyes, waiting for an answer.
His jaw flickers, a sign he’s clenching his teeth, which he only does when he’s angry.
Julian is the kind of person who would rather die than let anyone know something’s bothered him.
He used to tell me the best advocates were unshakable and never allowed anyone to see past the titanium exterior they presented to the world.
This has bothered him.
“I can’t remember exactly who I told. I’m sure it’s just meant to be a joke.”
He takes a small step back; it’s as if he catches himself in mid-frenzy and composes himself.
“I’m sorry,” he says, alongside a mild attempt at a laugh. “I just can’t stand cryptic things like this. We have to be so careful, with me prosecuting such dangerous criminals.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing like that. I can’t imagine many criminals go around quoting Shakespeare. You know what people at the Bar are like,” I tell him. “And obviously this is from someone who knows you well. Take it for what it is. A gift with a stupid note.”
“You’re right.” He nods, kissing me on my forehead. The lustful flames present minutes ago are now very much extinguished. “I’m knackered. All that fresh air, food, and wine have worn me out!”
“Let’s go to bed.” I smile as he picks up his mobile phone and heads to the bathroom with it, closing the door.
Turning to look out of the window, I place my hand on the enormous, chilled sheet of glass and stare out into the dark, black abyss. I’m acutely aware, in this moment, that anyone could be out there, looking in. Watching us.
In the darkness, miles from anywhere, and despite my reassurances to Julian, that note sounds nothing like a joke.