Mel kept plugging away. The bank accounts, the share certificates, the sports car. Mr Patel never faltered.
Searching for her next question Mel noticed, to one side of the lectern, resting on the polished wooden ledge, a small piece of folded paper. It had not been there earlier.
‘Mr Patel, may I ask you to turn to page 169 of Bundle B?’
He flipped through the pages of the Lever Arch file.
‘Thank you. Now if we look down the page you will see regular credits of £1,450 per month into your bank account. Could you explain that, please?’
‘Certainly, that’s my salary from the shop. It’s set up as a company. I pay myself a small wage, as you can see.’
After a few more ineffectual questions Mel sat down. Her unfocused gaze lingered on the piece of paper, presumably a question from Natasha, still resting on the ledge. She put down her pen and reached for it, pressing out the fold and reading the pencilled note. ‘Bundle B, page 267.’ Reaching for Bundle B, she turned to page 267 and there they were: a further string of unaccounted credits.
‘Mr Diggory-Brown?’ The judge was speaking. ‘Do you have any re-examination?’
‘No, madam.’
She could at least thank God for that.
‘You may return to your seat, Mr Patel,’ he said.
Mel jumped up. ‘Sir?’
‘Yes, Miss Goddard?’
‘I wonder if I could put a couple of further questions to Mr Patel?’
‘This is most unorthodox.’
‘I apologise, sir. Two points were omitted in my cross-examination.’
The points were put. Mr Patel had an answer for each one. Mel reminded herself it wasn’t the fault of her questioning. It wasn’t always possible to destroy a lying witness. But the reminder was little comfort. Her cross-examination had been weak. Having it witnessed by Natasha on her first day as a pupil was an additional humiliation.
Her closing speech was as fluent and persuasive as she could make it. There was nothing more she could do. Mr Patel walked off with an order for a substantial lump sum payment from his unhappy wife. Her brief conference with Mrs Patel after the hearing was an unpleasant experience. Mel tried to explain that there were no grounds for appeal. Then she handed Mrs Patel the paper she should have given her at the outset, explaining the terms of instruction and methods for making a complaint.
Chapter Four
Mel
They crossed High Holborn and reached chambers with moments to spare before the next client conference. Natasha had been charming on the walk back, but there was an edge to her that Mel found discomforting. In her experience pupils were usually eager, ignorant and immature. Most were easy to read and a little too desperate to please. This one was a few years older than average with an unusual degree of self-possession. These were egalitarian times and Mel did not expect servility. But she was taken aback by Natasha’s walking into chambers in front of her. A pupil would be expected to allow her pupil supervisor to enter first.
The conference made up for the appalling performance in court. Mel was careful, reassuring, measured, and Vicky – formerly Victor – Brightman spilled out everything her barrister needed to know. Private Children Act cases had almost dried up since the last round of Legal Aid cuts, but thanks to a whip round in the trans community Vicky had obtained funding to challenge arrangements for her three children, and the case looked as if it would run to a contested hearing.
Natasha was silent throughout, taking notes on her laptop. The notes were emailed to Mel immediately afterwards, together with a full transcript of the morning’s proceedings in court. Her self-assurance might grate, but her efficiency and attention to detail would be useful. Mel could see how she must have impressed her previous supervisor. There was a glowing report from him in her pigeonhole. She decided to wait before mentioning the report to Natasha.
‘So, Natasha, how did you find your first day?’ she asked after Vicky Brightman and her solicitor had left.
‘Brilliant. Like, totally brilliant.’
‘I’m afraid I didn’t put up much of a show at Uxbridge.’
‘What could you do? The case was a loser.’
Mel realised she had expected a compliment, flattery. Pupils didn’t usually have such firm opinions.
‘Well, I’m heading to the tube. Which way do you go?’
Mel was relieved to learn it was the other side of the city. They were about to depart when Andy put his head round the door.
‘Hi, Mel. Got a return from Paula. She’s stuck in a long care case. I know it’s late, but we didn’t want to interrupt you earlier. Can you do Barnet Family Court tomorrow at 2:30 p.m.?’
‘What is it?’
‘Domestic violence.’
‘You know I don’t do injunctions.’
‘Yeah but… Marcus doesn’t want it to go out of chambers. The solicitor’s new. We’re hoping for more work from them. If we return it, some other chambers will pick up their work. They’re a good firm. We can’t afford to ignore this kind of thing.’ Marcus was the senior clerk. In effect, the boss. Andy had a point. Solicitors were like GPs, barristers more like specialist consultants. At least that’s how they saw themselves. The trouble was solicitors were doing more and more of the work usually confined to barristers. Sometimes it felt as if barristers were a dying breed. But somehow they staggered on. Mel knew that Bridge Court couldn’t afford to let work go elsewhere. Even if she didn’t want the brief herself, she owed it to her chambers. ‘You’ve got nothing in the diary,’ Andy added. That was true, though she had a pile of paperwork to catch up with and a new care case to prepare for Monday. She was torn. She needed a day off court if she was to have any time for Jacob at the weekend. And she longed to see Paul.
‘Not much of a fee of course but the solicitor says it’s complex. Could lead to more work. Sorry, Mel, but it’s worth keeping them sweet.’
Natasha was packing her shoulder bag. ‘I could do it,’ she said.
Andy sized up the new pupil with veiled scorn. He caught Mel’s eye. In theory, Natasha could indeed do it.
‘Have you organised your Practising Certificate?’ asked Mel.
‘Of course.’
‘Insurance?’
‘Marcus told me chambers did that.’
‘That’s right, Mel,’ said Andy.
It was clear from the irritating note this morning that Natasha was smart. Her notes were meticulous, and she appeared to have boundless confidence. Chances were she would do a good job, possibly even an excellent job. And it would be so good to see Paul. He had said he would be free tomorrow. For a few brief, uncomfortable moments it was as if her pupil and her clerk were reading her mind. Andy tapped his foot lightly on the polished floor. It was six thirty. He was keen to get away.
‘OK, if you feel confident, Natasha. Why not? You’ve got to start somewhere.’
And when Andy looked doubtful, she added, ‘Don’t worry, Andy. Natasha will be fine.’ She looked at Natasha who flashed an unsettling smile.
‘OK if I stay on here to work? I may need to use the library.’
‘Sure,’ said Andy. ‘Make sure you shut the door properly when you leave.’
Mel remembered the excitement of her own first brief. There was every reason to encourage her. The more work Natasha landed the less she, Mel, would have to bother with her.