Errors of Judgment(23)

‘So, what are you up to these days?’ asked Anthony. ‘Still at the Ministry for Arts and Cultural Development?’

‘Good God, no. Jacked that in ages ago. Terminally boring, the civil service. Almost as bad as the law.’

‘Or merchant banking?’

‘Fuck me, that was the worst of the lot,’ observed Edward of his brief and ignominious stint at Morgan Grenfell. ‘Ghastly people, bankers. Never trusted a single one of them. Rightly, as it turns out. City screen-jockeys who’ve made a complete balls-up of everything. Not a day goes by without another bank biting the dust, shares crashing, chaps getting fired.’ He took a long pull at his pint, then added with engaging frankness, ‘Actually, I came into my money three years ago, so there’s not much need to work, to be honest.’

‘Lucky you.’

‘Well, yes and no. I mean, loafing around is all very well – nice not to have to get up and go to an office every day, but a chap needs to keep busy. I’m supposed to be doing a bit of work managing my father’s estate down in Surrey, but frankly the countryside bores me to death. I spend most of my time in town. I’ve been helping Piers Hunt-Thompson organise a couple of balls. Charity events, debs, that kind of stuff. He’s a kind of society events fixer now, runs that club Pooks in Frith Street.’

‘I remember Piers.’

‘Of course – you went out with Julia before she and Piers got together, didn’t you? They got married a couple of years ago. I went to the wedding. Massive bash in Gloucestershire. Completely brilliant. I got utterly wasted.’

‘I didn’t know they were married,’ said Anthony. Julia had been one of his first loves, a leggy blonde barrister whom he had met during his pupillage. He had thought she loved him as much as he loved her, but she had betrayed his affection with casual indifference. To think she’d actually married that complete wanker, Piers Hunt-Thompson.

‘So anyway, apart from throwing the odd bit of dosh at Piers’ various ventures, and helping the old man out, there’s not much to do except go out and have a good time, I’m ashamed to say.’

Anthony could tell from Edward’s grin that shame didn’t come into it. He’d always envied the way Edward managed to squeeze the maximum enjoyment out of life without feeling any of the guilt which plagued Anthony, that sense that he should be achieving, working for life’s rewards, whatever they might be.

‘A good time being …?’

‘Oh, you know – parties, clubs, hitting the odd casino now and then.’

‘I was just coming from Astleigh’s when I met you.’

‘Bit early in the day for the tables, old man.’

‘Not what you think. It was in the name of work. I’m acting for them in a case, and I needed to see how they operate.’

‘Everything’s about work with you, isn’t it? That’s always been your trouble, Tony. You take life too seriously. Listen, what are you doing for the rest of the evening? I’m meeting some friends at the Ritz for cocktails. Fancy coming along?’

Anthony could think of no reason why not. He had nothing better to do, and an evening with Edward was invariably good fun. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘I’m up for it.’

‘Excellent. Look, let’s have another here, then head off. What d’you say?’

‘I’m in your hands, Ed.’

After cocktails at the Ritz with an assortment of Edward’s friends, they headed to the Wolseley for supper. Anthony knew most of the others from parties and clubs, rich twenty-somethings from wealthy families. They weren’t necessarily people he much liked, but it gave him satisfaction to know that nowadays he could keep up with them, that he no longer felt out of place in their company in the way he once would have. He could still recall the social agonies of being unable to afford taxis, having to do frantic mental calculations about whether, if he got his round in, he would be able to afford lunch the next day, of having to bow out of evenings halfway through because people had begun to order champagne and outrageously expensive bar snacks, and he simply couldn’t pay his way. His early years as a barrister had been marked by many such humiliations, and it was important to him now that he had enough money in the bank to spend as freely, if not quite as carelessly, as those around him.

After supper Edward was still in a boisterous mood and wanted to go on somewhere. Someone suggested Chinawhite, someone else the Ministry of Sound.

‘Not a club,’ said Edward, ‘I’m bored with clubs. How about a casino?’

The idea met with general approval. ‘Right,’ said Edward, ‘let’s go to Blunt’s. We can walk it from here.’ He turned to Anthony. ‘You’ll like this place. Much less stuffy than Astleigh’s. The chap who runs it is the father of a chum of mine, Darius Egan. He’s a top man. I’ll introduce you.’