Dick Francis's Damage by Felix Francis Page A

Quentin should never be a judge.
    â€œLet’s have that cup of tea, shall we?” I said.
    â€”
    WE SAT at his small kitchen table, drinking tea, while he told me his sorry tale.
    He lived constantly in awe of his father, trying his best to please him and afraid that he couldn’t.
    Kenneth’s whole life had been mapped out almost from birth with the parental expectation that he would take his rightful place at the Bar and progress from there up the ladder of justice. His father even called him Kenneth in the sure belief that in due course Quentin Calderfield, Queen’s Counsel—QC,QC—would be followed logically by Kenneth Calderfield, King’s Counsel—KC,KC.
    â€œIt’s not that I don’t enjoy the law,” he said, “just that any question of me doing anything else for a career had been stifled and dismissed out of hand. I feel I’m living my life in a straitjacket.” He swallowed noisily. “I suppose I should be grateful that Dad has helped me so much, like with this flat and fixing my pupilage and such, and he’s always been interested in everything I do, but I feel trapped.”
    I knew a little of how he was feeling, yet I’d had no parent directing my route in life, only my big sister.
    We drank our tea in silence for a bit, with Kenneth keenly studying the tabletop.
    â€œ
Please
don’t tell my dad about me being gay,” Kenneth said finally.
    â€œI won’t,” I said. “I promise. But you must.”
    Ken looked horrified. “I can’t.”
    â€œYes you can, and you’ll have to. It’s much better that you tell him than he finds out in court, as he surely will. Even if the prosecution doesn’t know for sure, they are bound to ask you during cross-examination. What will you do then? Lie because your dad might hear? I think not. It would instantly destroy any credibility you might still have with the jury.”
    â€œOh God!” he said. “It’s all such a bloody disaster.”
    It certainly was.
    â€œThis Daniel Jubowski, was he your boyfriend?”
    â€œNo,” he said sharply. Rather too sharply.
    â€œWho was he, then?”
    â€œSomeone I met at a gym.”
    â€œWhich gym?”
    He hesitated, again looking down at the table.
    â€œCome on, Ken,” I said, “I need the full truth if I’m to help you.”
    â€œThe Fit Man gym in Soho. It has a huge sauna.”
    â€œDid you end up back here?” I asked.
    â€œNo,” he said. “Not that time. I went with him to his place.”
    â€œNear King’s Cross?”
    â€œYes. In Tiber Gardens.”
    â€œBut he came here on other occasions?”
    â€œYes,” Ken replied sheepishly. “He came a couple of times.”
    â€œSo he was your boyfriend.”
    â€œNo, not really. He was just someone I met. A short fling, that’s all. Nothing serious. In fact, I went off him.”
    â€œWas that before or after your party?” I asked.
    â€œBefore,” he said. “I’d met a couple of other guys at the gym. The three of us . . . Well, it was rather fun.” He smiled for the first time since I’d arrived.
    Quentin, I thought, was in for rather a shock.
    â€œBut Daniel was
at
your party?”
    â€œYes,” he said. “He helped to organize it.”
    â€œDo you think it was him who planted the drugs?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œHow did the police find them? Why did they come here in the first place?”
    â€œWe were raided.”
    He made it sound like something out of
CSI: Miami
.
    â€œBut the police don’t just raid people’s houses without any reason.”
    â€œThe party was rather noisy and it disturbed the neighbors. The police turned up to shut us down and found most of the guests were stoned. That’s when they searched the flat.”
    â€œWhen was this?” I asked.
    â€œJust before