reply.
‘Oh, we don’t have to get married right away,’ she said brightly. No, no, he thought – she must be more perceptive than this. Try again.
‘And you don’t want to marry me. Honestly.’ This was a poser for her. Any reply in the affirmative would sound a trifle desperate. He went on, seizing his chance. ‘It wouldbe awful. We’re just not right for each other. I mean, I love you as a friend … but I don’t think getting married is a very good idea. Really.’
There was a silence. Bridget looked at her Perrier water. ‘I thought the four years we’ve been together meant something to you,’ she said, faintly accusingly.
‘They do,’ Anthony reassured her. No they don’t, he thought.
‘No they don’t,’ said Bridget, beginning to look a little damp around the eyes. ‘I simply don’t see where it’s all meant to be going, Anthony.’ Any minute now, he thought, and there would be serious tears.
‘Look,’ he said brightly, ‘let’s go and get something to eat – no, on second thoughts, let’s not. Let’s just sit here and talk about something else. We don’t have to make any decisions right now.’ No, no, no. That was the wrong thing to say. Christ, what was the right thing?
‘But Claire’s moving out in two months,’ moaned Bridget.
‘Well,’ said Anthony, striving to find some words that would simply stop this conversation, knock the whole subject on the head. ‘Well – let’s think about it, shall we? There’s plenty of time. We’ll forget about it for the moment.’
‘You promise you’ll think about it?’ she asked in a small voice. Anthony promised, wretched with the knowledge that they were destined to have this awful conversation – no, in fact a much worse one – again in the near future. Mollified, Bridget dabbed her eyes and, to Anthony’s amazement, offered to buy them both a pizza.
The evening improved, and over supper Anthony confided in Bridget his fears about Edward Choke. Bridget, in her best womanly way, reassured her man, massaged his ego, and brought him round to the sincere belief that he probably didn’t have anything to worry about. The glow of her affection warmed him. At the end of the evening, Anthony kissed her quite kindly at the bus stop and went home thinking well of himself.
CHAPTER FOUR
In many ways, given the manner in which he regarded his pupillage, Edward was very lucky to have Jeremy Vane as his pupilmaster. In Vane’s world there was room for very little else besides Vane’s ego and Vane’s affairs. These affairs were of towering importance, naturally enough. He was a man in his mid forties, a formidable if somewhat bullying advocate, dark, heavy-faced, loud-voiced, a man who managed to convey the impression that he was under constant pressure. With the arrogance of the hard-working and meticulously thorough barrister, he believed that no one could attend properly to his affairs except Jeremy Vane himself. He detested holidays, and if obliged by his family to take one, would ring chambers daily to make sure that his practice was not collapsing, as he was convinced it must without his guiding hand.
As a result, he regarded Edward as little more than a mild physical inconvenience, taking up valuable space inhis room. He had long forgotten his own apprenticeship, his only perception of himself being that which he presently held – of an extremely important and highly regarded barrister, shortly, no doubt, to be made a Queen’s Counsel, with a flourishing practice and little time for those of weaker talents or fewer abilities. He found Edward useful for carrying books to and from court, or for running messages, but he took little time to set him work and oversee it, or to explain the dizzying machinations of the commercial court as he moved majestically from one important case to another, with Edward in tow.
Edward, although vaguely aware that he wasn’t picking up quite as much as he perhaps ought to, was not unduly
‘Oh, we don’t have to get married right away,’ she said brightly. No, no, he thought – she must be more perceptive than this. Try again.
‘And you don’t want to marry me. Honestly.’ This was a poser for her. Any reply in the affirmative would sound a trifle desperate. He went on, seizing his chance. ‘It wouldbe awful. We’re just not right for each other. I mean, I love you as a friend … but I don’t think getting married is a very good idea. Really.’
There was a silence. Bridget looked at her Perrier water. ‘I thought the four years we’ve been together meant something to you,’ she said, faintly accusingly.
‘They do,’ Anthony reassured her. No they don’t, he thought.
‘No they don’t,’ said Bridget, beginning to look a little damp around the eyes. ‘I simply don’t see where it’s all meant to be going, Anthony.’ Any minute now, he thought, and there would be serious tears.
‘Look,’ he said brightly, ‘let’s go and get something to eat – no, on second thoughts, let’s not. Let’s just sit here and talk about something else. We don’t have to make any decisions right now.’ No, no, no. That was the wrong thing to say. Christ, what was the right thing?
‘But Claire’s moving out in two months,’ moaned Bridget.
‘Well,’ said Anthony, striving to find some words that would simply stop this conversation, knock the whole subject on the head. ‘Well – let’s think about it, shall we? There’s plenty of time. We’ll forget about it for the moment.’
‘You promise you’ll think about it?’ she asked in a small voice. Anthony promised, wretched with the knowledge that they were destined to have this awful conversation – no, in fact a much worse one – again in the near future. Mollified, Bridget dabbed her eyes and, to Anthony’s amazement, offered to buy them both a pizza.
The evening improved, and over supper Anthony confided in Bridget his fears about Edward Choke. Bridget, in her best womanly way, reassured her man, massaged his ego, and brought him round to the sincere belief that he probably didn’t have anything to worry about. The glow of her affection warmed him. At the end of the evening, Anthony kissed her quite kindly at the bus stop and went home thinking well of himself.
CHAPTER FOUR
In many ways, given the manner in which he regarded his pupillage, Edward was very lucky to have Jeremy Vane as his pupilmaster. In Vane’s world there was room for very little else besides Vane’s ego and Vane’s affairs. These affairs were of towering importance, naturally enough. He was a man in his mid forties, a formidable if somewhat bullying advocate, dark, heavy-faced, loud-voiced, a man who managed to convey the impression that he was under constant pressure. With the arrogance of the hard-working and meticulously thorough barrister, he believed that no one could attend properly to his affairs except Jeremy Vane himself. He detested holidays, and if obliged by his family to take one, would ring chambers daily to make sure that his practice was not collapsing, as he was convinced it must without his guiding hand.
As a result, he regarded Edward as little more than a mild physical inconvenience, taking up valuable space inhis room. He had long forgotten his own apprenticeship, his only perception of himself being that which he presently held – of an extremely important and highly regarded barrister, shortly, no doubt, to be made a Queen’s Counsel, with a flourishing practice and little time for those of weaker talents or fewer abilities. He found Edward useful for carrying books to and from court, or for running messages, but he took little time to set him work and oversee it, or to explain the dizzying machinations of the commercial court as he moved majestically from one important case to another, with Edward in tow.
Edward, although vaguely aware that he wasn’t picking up quite as much as he perhaps ought to, was not unduly
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