Free The Devil in Disguise by Martin Edwards Page A

back row, treading on a few toes and causing a bit of tutting as he did so. Geoffrey Willatt, sitting on the dais, caught his eye and frowned. Harry winked at him in the hope of provoking a scowl. The tease worked, as it always did. Then, as he craned his neck to see over the balding heads in front of him, he saw Kim deep in conversation with Quentin Pike, a partner in a firm called Windaybanks.
    Odd, but comforting. As the proceedings began, he reflected that at least there was no chance of Quentin becoming a rival for her affections. Quentin’s chubby exterior concealed - as callow police officers often discovered to their cost - an incisive defence lawyer’s mind as well as a sly wit. But he was a devout Catholic with a charming wife and an ever-increasing number of children. Harry could not imagine him embarking on an affair with a professional rival noted for her earnestness and campaigning zeal.
    Come to think of it, many people would have regarded Harry as an equally improbable partner for Kim. Although they shared an unswerving loyalty to the underdog as well as a passion for justice that even bitter experience of the real legal world could not dim, the ways in which they expressed their beliefs could scarcely have been more different. Kim favoured lobbying Parliament and candle-lit vigils. Harry preferred to search on his own for the truth in cases which fired his imagination. In contrast to her fierce sense of purpose, he had only a dogged unwillingness to leave any conundrum unresolved.
    He was, despite himself, impressed that the meeting was so well attended. The economic climate was troubling and lawyers were feeling the pinch. The Group was trying to retrieve lost ground. They knew they could never expect public sympathy. They lived in an age when Roy Milburn’s lawyer jokes always raised a laugh, a world in which audiences guffawed at the scene in Jurassic Park where a dinosaur eats a lawyer as he sits on the toilet. So to make up, they comforted each other. Litigators expressed dismay about the slump in income from conveyancing work. Property lawyers condemned the latest cuts in legal aid. Everyone united against those soulless accountants who were snatching so much of the work that should properly be handled by solicitors and barristers in private practice.
    â€˜All we ask,’ one speaker insisted, ‘is to be paid properly for what we do.’
    This eminently reasonable sentiment received loud applause, but Harry kept his hands upon his knees. The man who was complaining possessed a Jaguar, a house on the Wirral and a mistress with a taste for designer clothes. Harry did not doubt that the fellow was strapped for cash, but reckoned that neither the Lord Chancellor nor the clients were likely to shed any tears for him.
    The plastic chair was hard, the discussion short of intentional humour and Harry was relieved when Geoffrey Willatt concluded the formalities. As people began to rise and move in the direction of the bar, Kim turned and looked over her shoulder. Harry caught her eye and she waved. Yet she then turned back to talk to Quentin Pike. What were they debating - surely not the scope for charging more for a house sale and purchase?
    Only one way to find out. He ambled over and perched on a chair in the row immediately behind them. Quentin was in the middle of a sentence when he glanced round and saw they had company. The words died on his lips and he gave Harry a nod of welcome whilst scanning his face, as if trying to discover something.
    â€˜Evening, Quentin. Kim. So what’s your verdict - is there a future for the high street solicitor?’
    Quentin beamed, as he often did in court when trying to glide over a serious flaw in his case. ‘It’s very worrying. For once I agree with dear old Geoffrey. We shall all have to tighten our belts.’
    â€˜I’m sure you’re right.’ Harry couldn’t resist glancing at the other man’s ample girth.