Aubrey Smith-Gurney finished his tea and checked his watch: 4.30, time to leave for an appointment he was dreading.
Aubrey had a wide acquaintanceship at the Bar, but while he knew Stephen Phillips as an opponent in one or two cases, he did not know any of the three members of Phillips’ chambers from whom Conrad Rainer had stolen so blatantly. Now he had to meet them on their home ground, and he had to ask a lot of them. What made it worse was that, in their position, he knew, he wouldn’t agree to what he was going to propose. If he had not given Conrad Rainer his word he would have called it off, but it was too late for that now. Reluctantly, he picked up his briefcase, left his room, and made his way down the building’s main staircase and out of chambers. Slowly, with the air of a man carrying a huge burden, he walked up Middle Temple Lane and turned right into the Inner Temple towards Crown Office Row.
The senior clerk greeted him when he arrived and took him to Stephen Phillips’ room, where Frank Reilly, Jonathan Weatherall and Martin Cohn were already waiting with Phillips. He declined the offer of tea, and the clerk left discreetly. Phillips waved him into an armchair. Aubrey sat down and put his briefcase on the floor beside him.
‘Do you know these fellows, Aubrey?’ Phillips asked. ‘Left to right, Martin, Jonathan and Frank.’
‘No, I don’t think so. I’m sure we’ve seen each other around the Temple, but not in court as far as I remember. Aubrey Smith-Gurney. I’m in Two Wessex Buildings, Gareth Morgan-Davies’ set.’
‘Bernard Wesley’s set before he went on the bench?’ Martin Cohn asked.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘I thought so. I’ve had a long-running saga in the Family Division against Kenneth Gaskell. He’s in your set, isn’t he?’
‘He is, indeed.’
‘Johnson v Lambeth Borough Council, wasn’t it, Aubrey?’ Phillips asked. ‘That was the last time we saw each other in court, I think. I thought the Court of Appeal had rather an off day myself, but I’m sure you were pleased with the result.’
‘Pleased and rather surprised,’ Aubrey smiled, ‘an all-too rare experience for me, I’m afraid.’
‘You always were too modest, Aubrey,’ Phillips replied. ‘Anyway, down to business: what can we do for you?’
Aubrey swallowed hard and took a deep breath.
‘I’m here to ask for your help,’ he replied, ‘and I know it’s not going to be easy. I have to tell you about something that has happened, and ask you to try to understand it. It involves Conrad Rainer, who is a very old and dear friend of mine.’
The mention of Rainer’s name produced smiles.
‘How is Conrad?’ Jonathan Weatherall asked. ‘We haven’t seen him in chambers since he was appointed. Is he still the life and soul of every party in town?’
‘Not every party in town, surely,’ Frank Reilly insisted, ‘only the fashionable ones – at Annabel’s and the like.’
‘He’s well enough, physically,’ Aubrey replied, ‘but I’m afraid his lifestyle has rather caught up with him.’
There was some laughter.
‘Well, that was only a matter of time,’ Reilly said. ‘There are only so many hangovers the body can take before it starts to fall apart.’
‘It’s not a matter of drink,’ Aubrey said, ‘or perhaps I should say, that’s not the main problem. To be perfectly candid, he’s got himself into a lot of trouble. Conrad has a gambling habit.’
Glances were exchanged around the room, but this time there was no laughter.
‘We all know that,’ Reilly said.
‘I’m sure you do. What you probably don’t know is that over the last year or two it’s got worse; in fact, it’s safe to say that it’s become an addiction, and it’s got out of control.’
‘Are you saying he’s lost money?’ Phillips asked, after a silence.
‘A great deal of money, I’m afraid,’ Aubrey replied.
Weatherall shrugged.
‘And this is our problem because…?’
Aubrey paused.
‘That’s quite a long story, Jonathan. I’ll try to keep it as short as I can.’
‘Take your time,’ Phillips said.
Aubrey nodded.
‘Conrad, shall we say, fell into bad company and started gambling on a regular basis at an establishment called the Clermont Club.’
Weatherall nodded. ‘John Aspinall’s place, upstairs from Annabel’s.’
‘Yes. He played a card game called chemin de fer. I won’t go into detail about the game unless you want me to. Suffice it to say that it’s a game of chance with not much skill involved, and you can lose a fair bit of money in an evening if your luck isn’t good. Over the course of time, no one’s luck is all that good, and Conrad was no exception. He lost money – a lot of money. To be perfectly frank, I’m not even sure of the exact amount. He didn’t add it all up for me, and I didn’t press him. But from what he has told me, I’m sure it must be at least £30,000, and it may be significantly more than that.’
‘I’m still not seeing what that has to do with us,’ Weatherall said.
‘I’m coming to that,’ Aubrey replied.
He made a massive effort to put the mortgage and Deborah’s trust fund out of his mind.
‘When you’re addicted to gambling and your luck has deserted you, you look around for sources of funding to chase your losses. It’s not a sensible thing to do, obviously. The sensible thing is to cut your losses and give it up, but when you’re an addict, you don’t think sensibly.
‘So Conrad was looking around for a supply of money and he was introduced to a man who offered to provide it. This man told Conrad that he was part of a syndicate that made loans to people in his position.’
‘You’re joking,’ Reilly said.
‘I’m afraid not. I need hardly add that this man has connections to organised crime, and in fact, I happen to know that he has a record for violence.’
There was a silence.
‘What was he thinking?’ Cohn asked.
‘He wasn’t thinking,’ Aubrey replied, ‘at least, not rationally. That’s the point I’m trying to make. He was thinking like an addict. Obviously, someone with Conrad’s experience of the law wouldn’t touch a loan like that if he was in his right mind. The syndicate charges a massive amount of interest and, if you don’t pay, they don’t take you to court. They have more direct methods of debt collection.’
‘How much did he borrow?’ Phillips asked.
‘He tells me £20,000.’
There were gasps around the room.
‘In addition to what he had already lost?’
‘Yes. Needless to say, although that kept him afloat for some time, his luck didn’t get any better.’
‘Has he lost it all?’
‘No. I don’t think so. He came to me for help earlier this week, and he still had some of that money left, though probably not very much. Of course, I told him that everything depended on his staying away from the Clermont Club, and away from the bad company he was in. That was a condition of my support. I think he understood and he promised me that he would stop immediately.’
‘Do you believe him?’ Reilly asked.
‘Yes. I think he has finally come to terms with the position he’s in. He realises that it’s gambling that has brought him to that position, and I think he wants to do something about it. Well, he has to. He has no choice. It’s destroying him.’
‘This is terrible,’ Phillips said.
Aubrey closed his eyes.