East of the City (30 page)

‘Absolutely standard.’

‘Do you notice,’ he said, ‘that the figure seven, done in ink by Justine Mortlake, is a crossed seven?’

I shrugged. ‘That’s how she writes them?’

‘Look, if you will, at the seven above it. The pencilled seven that’s been partially rubbed out. It isn’t crossed, is it?’

I looked. ‘No,’ I said.

‘Can you explain that?’

‘Maybe she didn’t pencil it in,’ I said. He really seemed to be making a mountain out of a molehill. I shrugged again. ‘Maybe I did.’

‘Maybe you did?’

Turning up to the judge, I said, ‘It was months ago.’

‘You’ve already told us,’ the barrister broke in, ‘that Justine discussed it with you. You were the colleague she turned to for advice. Angela Mortlake was off sick, as you’ve mentioned. Who else could have pencilled in that seven?’

‘I’m not trying to deny it,’ I told him firmly. ‘I’m just saying I don’t actually remember pencilling it in. If you ask me does that look like my number, that I wrote it? Yeah, it does. Justine probably put it in front of me, told me what she wanted to do, and I pencilled in the seven. Then she got the clarifications, stuck her own number down, and signed.' Looking up to the judge, then back to the barrister, I said, ‘I don’t see the issue here.’

‘I must confess,’ the judge remarked dryly, ‘that you are not alone, Mr Collier.’

‘My lord—’ the Ottoman barrister came and took the Ottoman slip from me — ‘the line of questioning might seem digressive at present, but in the course of the morning I’m certain its importance will become clear. If my lord will only bear with me.’

The judge glanced at the clock on the wall. Sighing, he told the barrister to get on with it. While the barrister shuffled his papers, bending to hear a suggestion from his colleague, I took a swig from the glass of water. On our side of the room no-one seemed much troubled. Batri and his offsider were whispering together, and when Clive caught my eye he gave me a discreet thumbs-up. That might have meant more to me if I hadn’t seen his private and public reactions to Bill Tyler’s session in court. But on the Ottoman side — maybe I was imagining it — they seemed more alert somehow, the solicitors looking like they I expected something to happen. That photo?

And Fielding. He’d kicked back in his chair, he had his arms folded and his chin resting on his chest. Relaxed. Waiting for me to screw up. Three empty seats along from Fielding, Max Ward was consulting his electronic diary.

‘Mr Collier.’ The barrister gripped his robe’s lapels and rocked forward on the balls of his feet. ‘Did you hear the WardSure broker, Nigel Chambers, testify, or have you read the transcript of his testimony?'

‘Both.’

‘You’re aware, then, that although it was Chambers who dealt with Justine Mortlake face-to-face in the Lloyd’s Room, Sebastian Ward was in fact instrumental in broking the Ottoman side?’

Sebastian. Now we were getting down to it. He was going to set Justine up on one side, Sebastian on the other, then produce that bloody photo like a rabbit from a hat. And I still didn’t have a clue what I could say to that.

I said, ‘I don’t remember Mr Chambers saying that Sebastian was instrumental in it.’

'That’s just splitting hairs now, isn’t it, Mr Collier?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Sebastian Ward,’ he said, swaying back, ‘held a controlling shareholding in WardSure. He was the founder of the company. He was joint chairman and managing director, and here he was involved in broking the Ottoman policy, and you’re asserting that his role in that, as compared with a junior member of his staff, wasn’t important?'

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘So his role was important?'

‘Nigel Chambers wasn’t junior staff.’

‘Not compared with Sebastian Ward?’

‘Compared with Sebastian,' I said, ‘everyone in WardSure was junior.’

There was a sound at the back of the courtroom, a grunt of agreement. I glanced up and saw the judge frowning directly at Max. Just along from Max, Fielding was sitting up straight, roused now by the mention of Sebastian.

‘Let’s not get bogged down in this,’ the barrister said. ‘Perhaps you could describe in your own words what you took to be Sebastian Ward’s role in broking the Ottoman slip.’

I shook my head, saying that I couldn’t even guess. ‘Nigel didn’t broke the policy to me. Even if he had, what went on between him and Sebastian wasn’t something we’d know about.’

The barrister foxed around some more, playing up the kind of forceful personality Sebastian was, making it seem like Nigel Chambers was more of a messenger boy than a broker in the Ottoman deal. After what Nigel had told me himself, it was pretty hard to raise much objection to that. Then changing tack suddenly, the barrister asked, ‘Do you know Mr Mehmet?’

‘I’ve met him. I wouldn’t say I know him.’

‘Did you meet him before or during the time the Ottoman policy was under consideration by your syndicate?'

‘I didn’t meet him till just the other day. The only contact he had with us before that was through WardSure.’

‘Through WardSure,’ he repeated to himself, glancing at his notes. ‘Yes. That’s much as you’d expect the arrangement to be, isn’t it, considering Mr Mehmet looked upon WardSure as an independent agent?’

If I hadn’t known about the photo, the question would have sounded like an oifhand remark. Instead of that it set alarm bells ringing. Independent agent?

‘All our clients come to us through the brokers,’ I said. ‘That’s how it works.’

The barrister shot me a look from under his brow and for a second he wasn’t play-acting, he really seemed to be figuring out just how much I knew. ‘Mr Collier,’ he said, and I thought, Here it comes. I braced myself for the rabbit from the hat. It didn’t come. Instead he asked me another general question. Then another. It felt like I’d been let off, we were gradually easing back from the cliff. Then for half an hour he circled around the idea that the Mortlake Group had a good business relationship with WardSure; but it was all very general, nothing that pinpointed the relationship between Justine and Sebastian.

At the back of the room, Max was still paying attention, but Fielding had his hands locked behind his head again. He seemed to be dozing. Clive appeared to be going through his morning mail.

‘So would it be fair to say that a disproportionate share of WardSure’s clients had their business placed with the Mortlake syndicates?’ the barrister asked, summing up.

‘I don’t know about disproportionate,' I told him. ‘But we got our fair share of their business, sure.’

‘Not disproportionate?'

‘I don’t have the figures.’

He held up a sheet of paper. ‘The numbers come from Chatset, my lord.’ Chatset, the major independent Lloyd’s analyst. They usually have a firmer grasp than even the Lloyd’s Council on what’s happening number-wise in the market. A photocopy of Chatset's figures now went up to the judge, another to Batri, and one was passed to me. ‘Do you see, Mr Collier, the average figure, across all syndicates, for the WardSure business?'

‘Yes.’

‘And the figure for the Mortlake Group?’

‘Yes.’

‘From these figures, it would appear WardSure is twice as likely to direct its client’s policies to Mortlake Group syndicates than to any other. Do you agree?’

‘The numbers are a bit misleading. WardSure had a lot of bloodstock and aviation clients. We cover both those areas. A lot of the other syndicates don’t touch that business.’

‘My lord,’ the barrister interrupted. ‘The column "Other Syndicates” excludes the non-aviation syndicates. You’ll see at the bottom of the page where Chatset’s specialist verifies that after taking all such factors into consideration, the Mortlake Group writes a well above average share of WardSure’s business.’

The judge glanced at the clock; we were closing in on lunchtime. Then he started to read the Chatset sheet. Remembering how tetchy I’d seen him get when a witness argued an unarguable point, I said, ‘That’s probably right. We got more WardSure business than most.’

Relieved, the judge put Chatset’s numbers aside.

The barrister asked me, ‘Was there any reason for that?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘Between the Mortlake Group and WardSure there were no—’ he paused for effect - ‘special relations?'

If I denied it outright he’d flip me over and put the boot in. The whole market knew Sebastian was a Mortlake family friend. But if I gave him the opening, and he took the opportunity to start in on Justine, I could be perjuring myself before I knew what was happening. Finally I said, ‘Allen and Angela Mortlake were quite friendly with Sebastian Ward.’

‘Quite friendly?’

‘I think they owned a racehorse with him.’ I gestured vaguely, reaching for the almost empty glass of water. ‘That kind of thing.’ Sipping from the glass, I looked over to Batri. He was watching the Ottoman barrister carefully. It must have been as obvious to Batri as it was to me that the ‘special relations’ had nothing to do with Allen or Angela.

The Ottoman barrister waited for me to put down the glass, then he said, ‘Is that all?’

‘They socialized together,’ I told him. ‘They were friends.'

He tilted his head back, looking at me down his nose. ‘I meant is that the only particular connection you know of? The only special relationship between Sebastian Ward and anyone in the Mortlake Group?’

The courtroom had gone very quiet. I’d reached the point of no return, I had to make my choice. And the Ottoman team knew their man was about to drop a grenade in my lap. The stenographer’s fingers flashed over the keyboard, typing in the questions, then the hands paused, waiting. She glanced at me from the corner of her eye. Even the judge leant forward, sensing the change.

In the recess, Clive would report my answer back to Allen. The wrong answer, and I knew what would happen. My promotion to syndicate underwriter — the pay and the bonus and the penthouse, and - God help me - my deposit — the whole thing, what I’d worked for since leaving my old man and the tracks, it would all go straight up the spout. The only safe answer, I realized, was the one Clive had dreamt up back at the office.

‘I was aware,’ I said finally, ‘that Sebastian was quite friendly with Justine.'

The barrister cocked his head. ‘Justine Mortlake?'

‘Yes.’

His brow wrinkled like the answer wasn’t quite the one he’d expected. His assisting barrister handed him a slip of paper, and while he glanced at that my eyes wandered to Clive. He stretched, smiling as if he was pleased I’d stepped down the road he’d mapped out. He thought things were going to be okay.

‘Mr Collier,’ the Ottoman barrister said, ‘I’m now going to ask you three questions, and I would like you to take your time, and think carefully before answering?'

I nodded, on my guard now. When the photo was waved at me I didn’t want to over- or under-react.

‘This is the first question.’ The barrister gripped the lectern and stared at the space midway between me and the judge. ‘Did Sebastian Ward make a personal recommendation on your behalf, that secured you your initial employment with the Mortlake Group?’

Taken by surprise, I frowned.

‘My lord,’ Batri said, getting up. ‘My learned friend has already led us very far from our purpose here, but I really do believe that casting an aspersion on the character of the witness, if that is what is intended, is a step too far.’

Unmoved, the judge looked to the Ottoman barrister.

‘If my lord would hear just these few questions, and the witness’s answers, my lord could then decide if the cross-examination of the witness should continue.’

The judge rested a cheek on his hand, swivelling left and right in his chair, mulling it over. If there had been a jury I don’t think he would have let it go through. But I there was no jury, only him. And now he was curious. ‘Go on then,’ he said at last.

The barrister repeated his question to me word-for-word. ‘Did Sebastian Ward make a personal recommendation on your behalf, that secured you your initial employment with the Mortlake Group?’

Looking him straight in the eye, I said, ‘Yes. He did.’

There was a grunt at the back of the courtroom, Max again. The judge looked that way sternly.

‘Question two.’ The barrister went up on tip-toe. ‘By whose authority on Syndicate 486 was the Ottoman Air policy written?’

I opened my mouth to say ‘Justine’, but then I thought again and hesitated. By whose authority? Was that Justine, because she’d signed it, or me, because I’d been the acting underwriter? Finally I said, ‘Justine signed.'

‘Yes, but that wasn’t my question, Mr Collier.'

‘Well, what do you mean by "authority"?’

‘Clear enough, isn’t it?’

Batri jumped up. ‘My lord. Really. My learned friend told us three questions, and now he’s badgering the witness.’

‘My lord—’ the Ottoman barrister spun quickly to face the judge — ‘this is a mere clarification of the witness’s answer.’

Unfortunately the judge agreed. He told Batri to sit down.

When the barrister asked me if I wanted him to repeat the question, I turned to the judge. ‘When you talk about authority on the syndicate, I guess that was me. But the way it works is each underwriter’s responsible for the slips his signature goes down on.’

‘Or hers,’ he murmured.

‘Or hers,’ I agreed. ‘I guess the authority’s kind of split.’

‘Which is how your pencilled seven per cent appeared on the Ottoman slip?’ the barrister broke in.

‘I explained that.’

The barrister waved it off. ‘So your answer to my second question, By whose authority on Syndicate 486 was the Ottoman Air policy written? That would be what? Your authority, supplemented by Justine Mortlake’s?’

‘It was a joint authority if you like. Me and Justine both.’

‘But you were her senior?’

‘Yes.’

There was a movement at the back of the room; Max was whispering to Fielding. Clive had his head bowed, I couldn’t see his face. I had a feeling he didn’t want me to.

‘Question three,’ said the barrister.

Batri didn’t even pretend to be consulting his notes now. He watched the barrister with an expression I didn’t understand at first. But then his head dropped to one side, and I got it, what was going through his mind. He was curious, just like the judge. The Ottoman barrister seemed to be setting me up instead of Justine, and Batri was wondering why.