Chapter 2

Tuesday 3rd May 1983

After a bank holiday weekend when there was no sign of the sun, but rain made its unwelcome presence felt on a regular basis, I didn’t feel particularly cheerful when I returned home on Tuesday evening after a tedious day’s work minutely checking and rechecking complex clauses and sub-clauses in a long, long contract. Indeed it was put together so confusingly that I became increasingly sure that someone was trying to put one over on our client. I had resigned myself to another day of the same on the morrow.

I went straight to the kitchen, put the kettle on for some desperately needed tea and sat at the kitchen table while it boiled (the kettle, not the table).

Imogen came in and looked surprised to see me.

“Did you pick up the envelope that Helen left for you? I put it in your pigeon hole.”

“No, it’s not been the most exciting day of my life today,” I said with a laugh. “I came straight here for tea to revive my drooping spirits. You say Helen came here?”

“Yeah. She said it was easier to deliver it by hand, so you’d be sure to get it.” She paused and grinned. “I’m pretty sure she looked disappointed you weren’t around.”

“Oh, the joys of student life!” I said with some feeling. “Unfortunately, student life is followed by ‘working all day everyday’ life.”

“Ooh, dear!” Imogen giggled, coming over and giving me a hug. “Someone is in a really bad way! Here, the kettle’s boiled. Let me make the tea for you.”

“You’re an angel.”

“I am, aren’t it?” she preened with a laugh as she bustled about making the drink and putting milk into the mugs. She was always so cheerful and optimistic.

“So you were here?” I queried. “I thought architects worked a full day like us lawyers.”

“Ouch! You know how to hurt a girl, David. Actually if you must know, I had to take some drawings to a company not too far from here. No point in going back: I would get to the office as everyone was leaving.

“Anyway, I know Helen was really disappointed to miss you because she left you a message that she’d be back here on Friday to talk with Murray and Elsa about the room, and hoped to see you then. Even gave a time: said it would be around five thirty or six.”

She brought me my tea and took hers off to her room, leaving me alone in the kitchen once more. I went to the post room and picked up the thick envelope, taking it back to the kitchen where I opened it and emptied the contents onto the table.

I sorted the papers out and found she had completed everything, and had even obtained from her parents the guarantor document duly witnessed, and a cheque for the deposit.

Wow! I thought, She’s really keen to make sure she gets the room!

She must have gone home over the weekend, and I noted with surprise from the guarantor document that her parents lived in York, seventy miles away. Did her boyfriend take her? Or did she go alone by train? It should only take about an hour and a half by train. Still the journey and the visit would take all day, as I couldn’t see her bobbing in and out of her parents’ place, especially if she had to cadge the deposit money out of them!

I put the empty envelope in the paper recycling box, and shuffled the papers together to take them to the office.

Once again Helen was on my mind. She was sorry to have missed me. She had made sure I knew she would be returning to the House, even to giving me a time!

came the thought that she would be cramming for her second year exams. I had had experience of that, indeed I had, and it was not the happiest of memories. Yet in the midst of that, she was making sure to come – and tell me she was coming.

Imogen returned a little later to find me still sitting there. “Got to get dinner ready, it’s a nut loaf roast, so it has to go in the oven early. You’re not on either eating list, d’you fancy a bit of nut roast?”

“Please,” I said with gratitude and some enthusiasm. Imogen was an inventive and skilful cook and a thoughtful friend.

“David,” she said gently with her back to me. “You really should ask her out you know.”

We both knew about whom she was speaking. I said nothing; she continued.

“Nuala was saying it’s over two years since you had a girlfriend, Dave. She said you broke up with the last one before your finals.”

“Yes. Actually she broke up with me. Basically I neglected her and she moved on to find someone who would give her more attention. She knew I needed to give all my attention to getting a First, especially if I wanted a training place with Jordan and Abrahams, and more important, the chance of a position with them after training. Can’t blame her really.”

“I remember you were really upset for months. You’ve been putting all your effort into your work. But you’re nearly at the end of your training now, and you have a lot more time than you did then. There’s more to life than your job and running this place, you know.”

“Imogen, I know you mean well, but next year Helen is going to be in the same position I was in two years ago. I don’t think it would work out. It didn’t for me.” Why was I being so negative?

“OK, I’m not going to nag you. Final word: you wouldn’t be in the position your girlfriend – Susan wasn’t it? – was in before. You would be a lot more understanding than Susan was, wouldn’t you? And you’d be in a perfect position to help and support her. It could bring you closer together rather than drive you apart.”

“Hmm,” was my reply. Imogen sighed obviously for my benefit, but said no more about it.

By the end of the evening, I knew I was being persecuted in the nicest possible way by well meaning House members of the female persuasion.

At dinner, Kim was eating with Imogen, Ibrahim and me. Nuala, Christian and Harry were eating one of Christian’s African chicken recipes later that evening. I felt like signing up for that as well!

“Imogen says that Helen was here this afternoon,” Kim said with a casual glance at me which nonetheless presaged more imminent comment.

“That so?” said Ibrahim with some curiosity. “What did she want? I thought we sorted her out on Friday.”

“I think she was bringing the forms back – for David.” She paused with a mischievous look. “Apparently she was so disappointed to miss him.”

Kim was known to be the most romantic soul in the House. The others ragged her that she wept readily during films if anything untoward happened to the characters, and would be dewey eyed and sighing at the love scenes. As a result the implication in her comment, along with her emphases, were obvious to all, even to me.

Kim,” I said abruptly. “Enough! Imogen has already given me the third degree. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Aww!” she pouted. “You’re no fun, David.”

“I’ve had a dreadful day doing the most exacting, boring and draining work with a hell of a lot hanging on it, with another day just like it in the offing tomorrow. I’m very tired and just want to relax without match-makers pushing me to expound on my love life or lack of it. OK?”

It was not often that I reacted so aggressively, and the others left the subject well alone for the rest of the meal, moving on to other safer topics.

Back in my room, of course, as a result of the conversations about her, I found I could not stop thinking about Helen. I wondered if Imogen had doctored the message Helen had given her, to push the two of us together.

I could not believe that Helen was so desperate to see me after only two meetings. More likely Helen mentioned in passing that she was meeting Murray and Elsa the following Friday about their moving date, and Imogen had interpreted that as Helen’s invitation to me.

I was out of the door on my way to see Imogen to get clarification, when I stopped dead. If I were to ask her for more information if would only fuel her match-making keenness. I returned to my chair and sat down heavily.

Yes, it was time to admit that I was strongly attracted to Helen. There was something about her, something about how instantly relaxed I felt with her. It could hardly be her looks (not that she was bad looking), she was just not my physical type. That was the puzzle I could not tie down. I remembered how there was some connection between us from the moment I first opened the door to her.

I was strongly attracted to her from that moment on. It couldn’t have been her intellect, at that time we’d hardly spoken, and I didn’t know what her subject was. So what was it?

Was it true what the girls said? That she felt the same attraction? Were there clear signs she did feel something for me that I had missed? It would be easy to manufacture such signs in my mind. She did impulsively kiss me, and on the lips for rather longer than a grateful ‘friend’ might, but she was hardly even a friend – yet.

It would be so easy to accept Imogen’s statements as the factual truth. As far as I was concerned, thinking as a lawyer, Imogen’s was hearsay evidence and inadmissible! I laughed out loud at that: life is not a courtroom!

Eventually I decided I would wait and see how she behaved to me on Friday. I would make sure I was there. This time I would search her face and her mannerisms much more carefully – the tells in her behaviour: pushing her hair over her ear in that way women had; touching my arm, shoulder, as she spoke; gazing into my eyes, blinking more rapidly. Yes, I would find out for myself on Friday. At least get more of a clue. I immediately felt so much better.

For the rest of the week, though, she was there in my mind whenever I had a moment’s rest from concentrating on my work. I would wonder how she felt about me, and I had to admit to myself that I was longing for Friday to see her again. I knew I wanted her and was no longer rejecting the feelings I had for her. In one way that certainty lessened the tension, but in another it heightened it.

Fortunately, those House members who had an interest in my emotional well-being had been sufficiently scared off the topic of Helen by my aggressive reaction that they steered clear of the topic, so I was left in peace, though obtusely I rather wanted to share my feelings with anyone who would bring the subject up. They didn’t. Damn!

Friday dawned and I woke up breathless with excitement that I would see her in the evening. It was at that moment that Sod’s Law came into force. ‘Sod’ had awoken and decided to enact his law on me, unfortunate lawyer that I was. It was not be the first time, and it would certainly not be the last.

I decided to go into work very early so that I could leave in good time for Helen’s visit, but this proved to be a bad move, for on my arrival, there was already a message for me to see one of the senior partners in the practice without delay. Was I in trouble?

He was already there!

“You wished to see me Mr Seddon?” I asked after knocking and entering.

“Yes, David. Mr Jarred Abrahams was very impressed by the work you did on Gregson’s contract. You’ve saved them from making a very unfortunate and expensive mistake.

“It’s no fun checking sub-clauses for days on end, we know that: we’ve all had to do it – it’s one of the reasons we give it to deserving trainees!” He laughed heartily, and I felt obliged to smile, but wondered where this was leading.

“You’ve performed so well we are going to give you a little reward; a treat! It will make your name more widely known. You will take the amended contract to London in person today. You will explain the corrections and improvements you’ve made.

“Ask Marian, she’s booked your train tickets and there’s cash for taxis at this end and in London. Buy yourself a decent lunch or dinner as well. No skimping! You can go over the contract again on the train. You’re expected at Gregson’s at midday. Off you go, lad!”

I was dazed by this development. While I knew it was a mark of approbation, I also knew the reason one of the partners was not going was that it was Friday and Shabbas began in the evening!

I wondered with a sinking feeling when I would get home. I knew there was no chance I could refuse this honour, and that it was a further step to obtaining a permanent position in the practice, as well as becoming known by name among our clients.

“Here you are!” said Marian, handing me a plastic wallet. “Everything you’ll need. We’ve even got you a company briefcase. You’ve got first class train tickets, and you’ll go by taxi in London. If you don’t want to shit yourself, don’t look at the meter; just remember to get a receipt.” She laughed. “Taxi’s waiting. Off you go!”

So with that sinking feeling that I’d not be back until late that evening, I went. I have to say I loved the day out! I’d never travelled first class before. The meeting began on time at midday, broke for lunch at one, when I was wined and dined by one of the directors no less. We resumed at two thirty, and finished with their thanks ringing in my ears at four.

The train Marian had booked left at five, and should have arrived in Manchester two and a half hours later, but Sod had been waiting eagerly with an evil grin all day to ambush me with his law, and intervened at the cost of a human life. Some unfortunate soul committed suicide by jumping in front of the previous train.

I arrived home exhausted, shortly after eleven to a quiet House, and went straight to bed with a generous whisky without seeing anyone. I had long since stopped feeling frustrated at missing Helen, and simply felt depressed about it, instead of being elated at a highly successful trip and a future for me with the practice that looked increasingly secure, even rosy.

Oh blessed Saturdays! This was a sentiment I fervently espoused as I came to consciousness after a good night’s sleep.

As I lay in my warm bed, I idly thought that for the practice, which was Jewish in origin, Saturday was indeed a blessed day: Shabbas, a day of rest, a day to appreciate life and its gifts.

Our practice still did no business on Saturdays, and while non-Jewish employees might work late on Fridays and often did, the Jewish members left well before sunset when Shabbas would begin.

I felt warmly satisfied: I had done the practice proud yesterday, and the client was delighted with me and my work on their behalf. They had confided that I had saved them millions. Mr Jordan would be very happy with me, and that boded well for my continued stay with the practice. Life was good, and even the sun had come out, albeit briefly!

Having slept nude as I always did, I donned a tee shirt and shorts, over which went a dressing gown, and thus equipped I made my way down to the kitchen to make some tea.

It was nine o’clock, and it seemed I was first up. I made enough tea for a few housemates as well as myself and spooned muesli into a bowl, over which I poured some milk and sat down at the table to eat while the tea brewed.

I was busy with my simple breakfast, when into the kitchen burst Imogen and Kim, panting with exertion, rosy faced and sweating. Both were dressed in tee shirts and very brief and tight shorts. I noticed! They were laughing as they entered, but that died as soon as they saw me.

“Tea’s in the pot,” I offered, trying to work out whether they were upset or angry from their panting expressions. “Been out for a run?”

“Where the hell were you last night?” growled Imogen with considerable aggression, ignoring my question and my offer, which irritated me and prompted a most unhelpful response.

“Since when did any of us have to account for our behaviour to other people in this house?” I returned curtly. “Where I was, where I’ve been is none of your concern Imogen.”

It took her aback, and she said nothing more, but went to the teapot and poured tea for the three of us.

Kim therefore seemed to feel it fell to her to explain Imogen’s outburst.

“David, you were supposed to be meeting Helen yesterday evening, remember?” This was said with quiet and gentle reproof. However, I still felt besieged and on the defensive.

“I don’t think I was supposed to meet anyone last night, Kim,” I reposted. “If I remember, all business between Helen Metcalfe and me was completed the Friday before last. Someone said she was coming to see Murray and Elsa. I don’t remember her making an appointment to see me.”

Now though my outward responses were negative and dismissive, internally I felt the renewed disappointment that I had missed her all over again. The day before, I could do nothing about it, and from her point of view, meeting me could not have been all that important, but I had missed her. However, in this confrontation I was not going to admit any of that.

Imogen sat down opposite me, “Here’s your tea,” she said much more calmly.

I glanced her way: “Thanks,” I said. Then I kept my head down and pretended concentration on decreasing the muesli in my bowl as I spooned it into my mouth.

There was a silence as Kim also sat down with her tea. The silence grew. Eventually I looked up, saw their expectant expressions and sighed with resignation. I would not get away without an explanation.

“All right, go on!” I muttered.

Both women smiled with satisfaction and began to speak together, then hesitated. Imogen tried again.

“David, you know perfectly well she left a message for you that she would be coming yesterday evening. She would not have said anything like that if she didn’t want to see you. She’d already made a date with Murray and Elsa.

“She came and she was clearly disappointed you weren’t there. She really was, it was obvious, David. She was upset. We think she now believes you are trying to avoid her.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” I replied. “If I’d thought it was a matter of life and death for her, which, by the way, I very much doubt, I’d have left a message. As it happens the Senior Partners sent me to London with a contract I’ve been tweaking, to explain to the directors in person my success in saving them a load of money by averting a near disaster, and show them the improvements I’d made.

“I got the five o’clock from Euston and should have been here at the flat by eight at the very latest, but some thoughtless individual dived in front of the previous express and we were delayed for two hours. I got into Manchester at about ten, and since I’d not had any dinner, grabbed a chinese meal in town before coming home.”

Both women looked disappointed and even distressed, which prompted a further response from me.

“What’s the matter now?”

“Harry, that’s what’s the matter,” said Kim. “He took her out for a meal. He’s not come back, and if previous experience is anything to go by, he won’t be back until tomorrow night.” The implication for Helen was obvious.

Harry Benson-Smythe was a third year politics and economics student, who could have gone to Oxford or Cambridge if he had not been so lazy and such a philanderer. The offspring of very wealthy parents, he was a handsome man, with a big impressive car, and plenty of money to entertain impressionable girls, usually horizontally in a posh hotel bedroom.

“So?” I said, affecting lack of interest in Helen’s choice of a weekend companion, though in actual fact my spirits plummeted, and I felt despair.

I knew now she had shown interest in me and I was disappointed that she would be so mercenary as to give herself to Harry instead, especially as she was supposedly so committed to her degree course.