Bold Counsel (The Trials of Sarah Newby) (13 page)

That went quite well, she thought, settling back into her seat and waving as Emily and the platform moved backwards. The train was full; even in first class most seats were taken. She unzipped her boots and was about to put her feet up on the seat opposite when a man came through the sliding doors. He surveyed the carriage for a moment, swaying slightly with the motion of the train. Then he glanced apologetically at Sarah.

‘Is this seat taken?’

‘No, it’s free.’ Regretfully, she pulled her feet back under the table, and watched as he slung his bag on the rack and sat down. He was tall, about her own age, clean shaven, with a pleasant lined face and dark hair greying at the temples. He wore a red and yellow anorak which he unzipped as he settled in his seat.

‘Not many seats,’ he said. ‘Parents going home after the weekend, I suppose.’

‘Probably.’ She gazed out of the window at the darkening fields, then picked up a folder from her briefcase. But she’d read most of it already this morning; she only needed to check a few points. She was aware of the man’s eyes watching her. ‘Is that what you’re doing then, too?’

‘Me?’ He seemed surprised and pleased that she’d asked him. ‘No - well, yes, in a way. I’m sorry, that sounds like a politician. I mean, I don’t have a child at the university, if that’s what you meant. I’ve been visiting my daughter - she’s at school here, in Cambridge.’

‘I see.’ It was a safe enough subject, Sarah thought. ‘At boarding school, then?’

‘No, she’s at the Perse - a day girl. She lives with her mother.’ The man hesitated, looking embarrassed. ‘We’re, um, you know, not together any more, you see. Hence my weekend visit.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ It’s happening everywhere, Sarah thought. ‘How old is your daughter?’

‘Thirteen. It’s a difficult age. She’s grown a foot in the past six months, cares passionately about her appearance, and her emotions are as stable as a mine field.’

‘I remember,’ Sarah smiled. ‘That was a difficult age with my daughter too. They grow out of it, as the hormones settle down.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Sometimes I wonder if it’s all because of me leaving home. But what can you do?’ He chewed on his lower lip, as though at some memory which haunted him. ‘What about your daughter? How old is she?’

‘Nineteen. An undergraduate at the university. Just as you guessed.’

‘Settling in well?’

‘Well enough.’ For the next few minutes Sarah talked about Emily - just the easy bits for public consumption - how well she’d done in the sixth form, the anxieties of the Cambridge interview, the trauma of leaving your daughter in a strange city for the first time, the relief at seeing her make new friends. The man listened courteously, relaxed in his seat, giving her his full attention.

‘This is the first time you’ve visited her then? Since the start of term?’

‘Yes. Which shows how well she’s managing without us, I suppose.’

Us
, she reflected sadly. So little relevance that word had to her now. And how well would Emily manage now, really - now that there was no
us
any more? She studied the man opposite. Were those lines around his mouth caused by the pain of divorce, or some other battering life had given him? Perhaps she could milk him for advice.

‘How about your daughter?’ she asked. ‘Do you always come to her, or does she visit you sometimes?’

‘In York, you mean? That’s where I live. No. She came once, and didn’t like it. I’d made her a nice room - got her a music centre, you know, toys and wallpaper I thought she’d like, but it wasn’t any good. She has her social life in Cambridge, and that’s what matters to them at that age, isn’t it? So it’s easier if I just fit in.’

‘I see.’ Sarah probed gently. ‘You’re divorced, then?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’ He smiled - a rather winning smile, Sarah thought, doing interesting things to the lines around his eyes and mouth. ‘But there are compensations, I’m glad to say. Freedom, especially.’

‘Freedom?’ That scarey word again. All her life, Sarah had been part of a family. It was within that family - her own, since she was sixteen - that she had created her own space, the only freedom she knew. Now she was alone.

‘Yes, you know - at my time of life, to be free to come and go as you choose, do what you like, whenever you like. With whoever you choose.’ He smiled again. He had green eyes, she noticed - an unusual colour in a man. ‘It takes a bit of getting used to, but it’s worth having when you do. Believe me.’

‘Isn’t it very lonely?’ It was a bald, intimate question to ask a stranger, but Sarah really wanted to know.

‘Lonely? Well, sometimes, yes. But then there are so many people in the same boat these days that - well, you get to recognize each other. And seek mutual comfort.’

Belatedly, Sarah saw that the conversation was leading her down an alley where she didn’t feel safe. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, retracing her steps. ‘It’s none of my business. What do you do, anyway, in York?’

‘Property developer.’

Emily wouldn’t like that, Sarah thought. But then the man who sold her the Afghan coat is a capitalist too, of a sort. ‘What, you mean you build shopping malls, things like that?’

‘I wish. No, strictly small-time, I’m afraid. Most of the time I buy derelict houses and do them up for a profit. I did one housing estate, but it nearly drove me into an early grave. Property rental, as well. That brings in steady cash.’

‘Renting to students, you mean?’

‘Students, single people, families caught in a chain - anyone who needs it, really.’ He studied her for a minute. ‘What about you?’

‘Me? I’m a barrister.’ Sarah smiled faintly, wondering which of the many familiar responses this announcement would elicit. Most people, if they first met her away from court, were surprised; the stereotype of a barrister still seemed to be a middle aged man in a pinstriped suit. Some were intimidated, and backed away; others were embarrassed, as though it were not a nice job to mention in polite society. Others became aggressive, haranguing her with tales of their bad experiences with the law, and the excessive fees they had been charged. A few - the ones she liked - were intrigued or simply curious.

‘Really? How interesting! What sort of cases do you do?’

‘Criminal, mostly. I’ve just come from the Court of Appeal.’ It was a boast, but so what? She enjoyed saying it, and this man wouldn’t realise how much it meant.

‘Did you win?’

‘Yes.’ And before she knew it, she was describing the case, which had appeared in the Sunday papers this morning. He was a good listener, this stranger, and reasonably good looking too. As she talked, she remembered with sly amusement the advice Emily had offered the other night. ‘Make the most of yourself, Mum, tell people what you do, and how you got there. It’s interesting, and people like that. Bright men will, at least, unless they’re intimidated by an intelligent woman, and you don’t want that type anyway. You know, your eyes light up when you talk about your work - because you love it, I suppose. And you really look quite pretty at times.’

A compliment of sorts, from a critical daughter. She wondered what she looked like now. The man seemed interested, certainly, those green eyes watching as she talked. But there was something wary, too in his expression - something he disliked about the story. Or was it her? She cut the tale short with a shrug.

‘And so that’s it. He’s free. To begin life again after 18 years, if he can.’

The man looked out of the window -
that’s not in Emily’s plan, surely?
- and frowned

‘But was he really innocent, do you think?’

Sarah sighed. So that was it. He must be one of those people who trust the police implicitly, so anyone who challenges them must be wrong. ‘That’s not my job to determine. The judges rejected his conviction as unsafe, which is what matters. So he’s a free man at last. Great triumph for me. And him. Not so good for the police, of course.’

‘Congratulations.’ He continued to gaze out of the window, as if the conversation was over. Thanks for the advice, Emily, Sarah thought wryly. But it doesn’t seem to work. Better stick to the day job.

With an effort, the man turned back. ‘So, where did you stay, in Cambridge?’

Oh well, perhaps he wanted to talk to her in spite of her job, rather than because of it. ‘At the Garden Court Hotel. What about you?’

‘Oh, at my old college, St John’s. I got a grotty room, but it’s cheap, and less anonymous than a hotel. Helps me remember my youth.’ He smiled again, briefly.

‘So you were a student there too?’

‘Yes, many years ago. It’s where I met my wife. Happy memories, you see. And sad ones too, of course.’

Sarah felt sorry for him. Perhaps that was what he’d been thinking about while she was boasting about her triumph in court. If he’d suffered anything like the pain she’d suffered over the past few nights, he might well still be scarred by it. It occurred to her suddenly that this was the first divorced person she had actually met since that traumatic night with Bob.

‘How long have you been divorced?’ she asked.

‘Three years,’ he said sadly. ‘In some ways it seems like yesterday. Then when I look at Sandra - that’s my daughter - and compare her to the photos of when we were together I see how much I’ve missed.’

Maybe I’m probing too much, Sarah thought. Especially in a chance encounter with a stranger. She gazed out of the window, remembering her own photo albums at home, and for a while they didn’t speak.

‘So what about your husband?’ he resumed, breaking the silence. ‘Does he come to Cambridge sometimes?’

‘Bob?’ A dry laugh, like a sob, escaped her. ‘No, I’m afraid not. He, er ...’ She drew a deep breath. ‘He came down that first time, to settle Emily in, but ... I’m sorry, you weren’t to know, but I ... I came to Cambridge partly to tell my daughter her father’s asking for a divorce. So you see I’m joining the club.’

She fumbled for some tissues in her handbag. This is becoming a habit, she told herself grimly. But it’s my own fault, for starting to talk about it.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ She blew her nose and smiled brightly. ‘I’ll have to get used to this, I suppose.’

‘How did she take it, your daughter?’

‘Badly, at first. She thinks we’ll have to sell the house and she’ll lose her home. But you must remember what it’s like. It’s new to me, you see.’

‘Yes, well, Kate didn’t sell the house. I just left, and started again. Your daughter’s how old?’

‘Nineteen.’

‘She’ll get over it. Young people do, you know. Youth has terrible resilience. Think back to when you were her age. Did you care, really, about what your parents got up to? I’ll bet you were more bound up in your own emotional traumas.’

Sarah laughed. ‘You can say that again. But then my life was pretty traumatic.’ She looked up as the drinks trolley arrived. He ordered beer, she a small cocktail. Sarah smiled. This was a good way to travel; drinks, pleasant conversation with a good looking man. She leaned back in her seat and relaxed, watching some horses galloping in a field outside the window.

‘Go on then,’ he said. ‘Tell me. What were you like at nineteen? Committed to social justice, I’ll bet. Smashed out of your mind on dope and arguing with your parents about capitalist oppression.’

‘Hardly.’ Sarah smiled reflectively. ‘I was wheeling a buggy round a slum in Leeds and going to evening classes.’ For the next hour, as the light outside the window gradually faded to dusk, she told him the tale of her catastrophic teenage years. It was therapy for her, in a way. ‘So Bob was my white knight, you see. He rescued me from failure. Only now I’m such a success he’s lost interest, it seems. So he’s found another young mother to save.’

The man listened with sympathy and interest. ‘It’s a great story,’ he said at last. ‘I’d no idea. I mean, I often make quick judgements about people but I’d never have guessed any of this.’

‘No? What would you have guessed?’

‘Oh, you know, working class girl makes good, goes to redbrick university, takes up the law to do what? Make money?’

‘That’s part of it,’ Sarah conceded. ‘But I’m lucky to have any work at all. Do you have any idea how many people get to the Bar and no further? About fifty per cent.’

‘Good Lord! So what do they do?’

‘Go into the City, become teachers, lecturers, backpackers, whatever. What about you? How did you get into property developing?’

‘Well, I got my degree, did a postgrad year in business management in York, and then joined a training scheme at Jolyons, a big construction company in East Anglia. As a sort of management trainee. I didn’t know anything about construction but I learnt on the job. Then, after five years, I began to see how to make money - you know, how to spot an opportunity, how to put a deal together, how to squeeze out your rivals. So I thought, I’m learning things here, maybe I can put them to my own advantage. There were a couple of ruined cottages in a village where we lived. I bought them for a song and did them up as commuter homes, and it worked. Then I bought a barn and converted that as well. I was on my way.’

‘You make it sound easy.’

‘It’s not, it’s a lot of hard work. But working for myself, there was more satisfaction. I paid off our mortgage, got in at the start of the property boom - it went well for a while. Until I lost a wife on the way. And the family home, which cost more.’ He grimaced, sipping his beer.

‘That was generous,’ said Sarah, thinking of Bob and her home by the river. ‘Couldn’t you have sold up and divided the equity?’

‘I could have insisted on that, yes. But Kate, she’s a teacher, she doesn’t have much money. And I had a couple of deals to keep me going. So I thought what the hell? Bite the bullet, move to York, and start again. Which I did.’

Let’s hope Bob does the same, Sarah thought. Fat chance. I should have married a man like this instead. They talked quietly for the rest of the journey. The man showed her plans of his latest projects - a farmhouse and two barns near Scarborough, and a windmill near Pocklington which he was converting into a house. He gave her his card, with the name
Town and Country Properties
on it
-
and she gave him hers. And as they passed Doncaster and headed towards York, she described one or two of the more interesting cases she’d been involved in.