Wednesday 28 April 1971, late afternoon
Harriet Fisk knocked on Aubrey Smith-Gurney’s door and poked her head inside his room without waiting for an invitation. She had just returned from the Reading County Court after a gruelling day. Merlin, the senior clerk to chambers, had told her that Aubrey was in his room reading a morass of papers in preparation for a banking case in the High Court, and was not to be disturbed. Harriet had smiled to herself and made her way to Aubrey’s room anyway.
‘May I exercise my right to pick my former pupil-master’s brains?’
Aubrey looked up from the huge stack of papers before him on his desk. He was a genial, portly man, and was second in seniority in the chambers headed by Gareth Morgan-Davies QC at Two Wessex Buildings in the Middle Temple. When Harriet had been his pupil, some nine years earlier, he had had a mixed range of work doing family and civil cases, often in the County Courts. But his career had since taken off in the wake of two major successes. He had recently taken Silk, and now enjoyed a high-powered High Court commercial practice which kept him frantically busy. But he always had time for Harriet.
As her pupil-master, he had mentored her and paved the way for her to be taken on as the first female member of chambers. At the time, it had been a contentious decision, which had divided chambers. Bernard Wesley had been head of chambers then. Harriet had good credentials. She was bright; she already had some of her own clients; and her father was the Master of the Cambridge College both Aubrey and Bernard Wesley had attended. Even so, it had been a hard battle and, to this day, Aubrey was convinced he did not know the full extent of the political manoeuvres Bernard had resorted to in order to ensure that Harriet became a member of chambers. But whatever they were, they had succeeded, and he and Harriet had been close ever since. To her, his door would always be open.
‘Of course, Harriet. Come in. You look as though you’ve had a hard day.’
She smiled and took a seat in one of the two armchairs in front of Aubrey’s desk.
‘Does it show? I’m not surprised. I’ve spent all day in Reading, trying to teach His Honour Judge Filby the basics of the law of nuisance, while pretending not to notice how rude he was being to me just for being a woman.’
Aubrey nodded.
‘That man is a disgrace to the bench. I don’t know how he gets away with it. Reading is not exactly the other end of the earth, is it? You would think it would be close enough for the Lord Chancellor to take some interest in what goes on there, wouldn’t you? You could report him.’
She shook her head.
‘I could, but my instructing solicitors are a local firm and they have to get on with him. I did tell him to bugger off in a very indirect way he probably didn’t even understand.’
Aubrey laughed.
‘Oh, he understood, I promise you. John Filby has many faults, but he’s a bright man. He hides it well, but he will have understood, and in fairness, he will respect you for it. It’s not personal. He’s rude to everyone. He was rude to everyone when he was at the Bar, and that’s something that doesn’t change just because they make you a judge.’
There was a knock on the door. Alan, the junior clerk, entered bearing a tray with two cups of tea.
‘Merlin thought you could both use a cup, sir,’ he grinned, setting the tray down carefully on a rare empty space on Aubrey’s desk.
‘He was absolutely right, Alan. Thank you.’
Aubrey waited for Alan to leave.
Harriet sipped her tea gratefully.
‘Are you sure you have time? That looks like quite a pile of paper on your desk.’
He shook his head. ‘It can wait. Actually, I’m not staying late this evening. I’m going to a party.’
She laughed.
‘That’s pushing the boat out for you, Aubrey, isn’t it? I have never thought of you as a party-goer.’
‘It’s true; I’m not usually. But this is not just any party. It’s just been announced that a great chum of mine is going up to the High Court bench, and they are giving him a bit of a shindig in chambers this evening.’
‘Really? Who’s that?’
‘Conrad Rainer, commercial Silk. Do you know him?’
‘By reputation, of course. I’ve never met him personally. I’m impressed that he should be a chum of yours, Aubrey. The word is, he’s something of a playboy when he’s not working.’
He laughed. ‘He does have that reputation, and it’s fully merited. I’ve known Conrad all my life. We were at school together, and then at Cambridge; though he wasn’t at your father’s college: he’s a St John’s man. Anyway, how can I help? Is it about your case at Reading?’