Leo sank into his chair and sat inertly for some moments, staring at the walls. God, he was tired. Tired of enormous cases, increasingly resentful of the time they consumed, the amount of paperwork and preparation involved. He had another big one coming up next month, and the mere thought of it made his heart sink. It could even stretch into the early part of next year. His practice was flourishing as never before, he was earning fantastic sums of money, but at what cost? His mind drifted back to Alison Lightfoot. That particular brush-off was another wake-up call. On every front, he needed to face up to the fact that he was no longer young. He pondered it gloomily. Fifty would take him beyond middle age and inexorably towards sixty. Sixty! He didn’t want to think about that. He sighed and glanced at his watch, and saw he still had an hour in hand before he met Jamie. There was plenty of work to be getting on with, including reading the papers which Felicity had given him, but that Friday feeling was upon him. He needed to be convivial, to relax and shake off his gloom.
He left his room and went upstairs to Anthony’s room. Anthony Cross, one of his closest colleagues, would surely be up for a chat and some chambers gossip. Unless, of course, he was heading off to meet one of his innumerable young women. Doubtless Alison wouldn’t have said no to Anthony – but then, Anthony was only twenty-eight.
When he rapped on Anthony’s door, there was no answer. Leo was about to head downstairs again, when he heard voices and laughter coming from Marcus’s room at the end of the corridor – a few of the junior barristers winding down at the end of a busy week, maybe about to go out and hit the pub or the wine bar. He hesitated, wondering if he should go in for a chat, then thought better of it. They could do without him.
He headed back to his room, switched on his desk lamp, and began to work.
When he arrived at Balls Brothers, the wine bar was heaving with young City types in high Friday-night spirits. Leo shouldered his way through the crowd, and found Jamie ensconced at a corner table with a bottle of Château Belgrave and a copy of the Evening Standard.
Jamie waved Leo over and folded up his paper. ‘Come and have a glass of this very passable Pomerol.’ He poured Leo a glass and refilled his own.
‘You did well to bag a table,’ said Leo, glancing around. ‘So much for the credit crunch.’
‘I got in here half an hour ago. My slippery Cypriot had to catch an early flight. I fancy he didn’t want to hang round in the UK and risk getting his collar felt for various other financial transgressions. Cheers.’
‘Cheers.’ Leo continued to eye the other drinkers. ‘Is it my imagination, or are people in the City getting younger by the day?’
‘Like politicians and policemen, you mean? No, I reckon it’s just that most people our age are scurrying home to Surbiton or Woking to worry about their mortgages and pensions, and whether or not they can afford the school fees.’ He waved a hand. ‘This lot – look at them. All under thirty, no responsibilities. What’s a bonus here or there?’
‘Bonuses are one thing, but jobs are another.’ Leo tapped the front page of Jamie’s evening paper. ‘Look at all the poor sods at Lehmans, wandering around with their cardboard boxes and black bin liners, not knowing what’s hit them.’
‘True. The world of investment banking is not a happy one right now. Friend of mine at HBOS is sweating every night, not knowing whether his job’s going to be there in the morning.’
‘Good news for lawyers, though. Nothing like a financial downturn to get clients litigating, chasing every penny, fighting every claim. I’ve never been busier.’
‘Well, hurrah for the commercial Bar.’ Jamie refilled both their glasses. ‘What about us sorry criminal hacks? I could do with a few more big earners, like that case today. By the time Margo’s finished with me, I’m going to need every penny.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Margo and I are splitting up.’ He uttered the words abruptly.
Leo set down his glass, truly startled by the news. ‘My God, Jamie – I had no idea. When did this happen?’ Leo had known Margo for twenty years, and had spent many weekends with her and Jamie and their two children at their house in Henley. The news was a shock.
‘A couple of months ago. I assumed the Temple’s rumour mill would have been grinding away,’ said Jamie. ‘Sorry to spring it on you.’
‘What happened? I thought you two were pretty solid.’
‘So did I.’ Jamie let out a deep groan, his big frame hunched over his glass. ‘She says she’s just got tired of the whole thing, doesn’t love me any more, is stifled by the idea of us staying together now the kids are grown up, wants to make a new life. Brutal stuff, Leo baby. Brutal stuff. Maybe it’s the modern woman’s version of the empty-nest syndrome – my job here is done, the old bloke is boring, sex is boring, let’s see what else is out there. They say fifty is the new forty. Margo seems to believe it.’ Jamie drained his third glass. ‘So she’ll walk off with half the proceeds. Not the best time to be carving everything up, but needs must. I’m selling the house, the yacht – I’m going to keep the cottage in Scotland, though. The worst of it is’ – Jamie looked grim – ‘she has the idea that because Alice and Nick are over twenty-one that our splitting up won’t bother them. I think she’s so wrong.’