At that moment the phone rang. Rachel picked it up. ‘Hello?’
‘Rachel, it’s Sophie. How are you? I’ve been meaning to call and see how you got on with the online dating thing.’
‘Well, strange coincidence,’ said Rachel, ‘I’m just looking at some replies as we speak. They’re awful. Actually, I only logged on to delete my registration. I’ve decided this really isn’t my kind of thing.’
‘Don’t be daft – you haven’t even given it a chance. Listen, I’ve just put the kids to bed. I’ll come over and have a look with you.’
‘You don’t really—’ But Sophie had already hung up.
She arrived a few minutes later, and followed Rachel through to her study and sat down next to her at the computer.
‘God, I see what you mean,’ she said, peering at James and Andy. ‘Let’s see the third one.’
Rachel opened the email. ‘Hi, my name is Andrew,’ read out Sophie. ‘I liked what you say about yourself, and think we have possibilities, blah blah. Works as a commodities broker, likes films, books and art.’ She put her head on one side. ‘His picture’s nice.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I told you – I’m not up for this.’
‘Rachel, you know the rule. Give it a chance. Give him a chance. He looks OK, he ticks all the boxes – what have you got to lose by going for just one drink? He may be awful, and he may be really nice. You won’t know till you try.’
Rachel sighed. ‘I only logged on to delete myself.’ She stared at Andrew’s picture. He was fair-haired, broad-faced, smiling, quite attractive. ‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to meet him.’
‘Well, let’s take a look and see what replies you’ve got on the other—’
‘No! I’ll do one, and that’s all. Then I’m deregistering and never doing this again.’
Sophie nodded, still gazing at the screen. ‘You’ve got a good compatibility rating. Look.’
‘All right,’ sighed Rachel. ‘If it’ll keep you happy, I’ll email him and suggest meeting for a drink. He works in the City. But that’s it. After this, no more.’
‘Fine. Whatever you say. Let’s do it now. D’you think a glass of wine would help?’
Rachel laughed. ‘There’s an open half-bottle in the fridge. Get pouring.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thursday morning, and life in the clerks’ room at 5 Caper Court was trundling along at its usual sedate pace. Robert was talking on the phone, receiver cradled between shoulder and ear, swivelling in his chair and idly stringing paper clips on a length of pink legal tape. Henry, taking a break from sorting through the morning mailbag, was sipping coffee and delivering pearls of clerkly wisdom to young Liam.
‘Barristers need training, see – like puppies. When they first come into chambers, with their degrees and that, they think it’s all about the law. But a successful practice is built on good PR.’ Felicity burst into the room at that moment, bearing a large cardboard box and a sheaf of papers between her teeth. She dumped the box on a table and dropped the papers on top. ‘It’s all about the three “A”s,’ continued Henry. A look of enquiry crossed Liam’s thin, pimpled face.
‘Availability,’ Henry ticked them off on his fingers, ‘Affability, and Ability. Three prerequisites of a good barrister. They have to be good at their work, but they need to present an acceptable face to the world as well, and that’s where we come in. It’s our job to make decent human beings out of them. No good being a brilliant lawyer if you’re an arrogant sod that no one likes.’
‘When you’ve finished your masterclass, Henry,’ said Felicity, ‘I’d like to borrow Liam.’
Henry waved Liam away and returned to the mailbag. Liam went over to the table, where Felicity was producing bundles of ring-bound documents, sheets of paper and a pile of laminated labels from the box. ‘I need these name cards slotted into these labels,’ she told Liam. ‘Mr Bishop’s got a seminar this afternoon, so I need them all done before lunch. OK?’ Liam nodded and settled to work.
Felicity sat down at her desk. Henry glanced across at her. She was looking exceptionally pretty that day, dressed in a plum-coloured angora sweater and a tight skirt, wearing her hair in a way that he liked, caught up at one side.
‘How’s Felicity today?’ asked Henry.
‘Fine,’ said Felicity. Their eyes met, and Henry could tell from her expression that something wasn’t right, that she was debating whether or not to tell him. In the end she said, ‘I got a call from Vince’s mum.’