The buffet lunch went off without a hitch and I even found I enjoyed it.
It was a revelation to me to discover that not all the Queen’s Counsel in Quentin Calderfield’s chambers were as stuffy, bigoted and boring as he. In fact, some of them turned out to be fun, and they were far more proficient at taking the mickey out of their host than I had ever dared to be.
‘Come on, Quentin, give us a song, show us your yang side,’ one of them said, laughing loudly. ‘All we ever see is your yin.’
From the look on his face, I’m not sure that Quentin had ever heard of yin and yang, which was somewhat of a surprise considering he always saw things distinctly as right or wrong, white or black, dark or light, just like Paul Maldini.
Needless to say, Quentin didn’t break into song.
‘Do you think it’s going all right?’ Faye asked when I went to the kitchen to fetch yet another bottle of red wine.
‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘I never realized lawyers could drink so much and still speak so eloquently.’
‘Practice,’ she said. ‘All those liquid lunches they have, then back into court to argue for a man’s freedom, or his life. Most lawyers’ livers were given a welcome rest when the old Wig and Pen Club closed down. Q used to have lunch there almost every day. He was distraught when it shut.’
It was totally dark by the time the last of their lunch guests departed.
Faye collapsed into a deep armchair in the sitting room. ‘I’m pooped,’ she said.
‘What a great lunch,’ said Quentin, slumping down onto the sofa and putting his feet up.
‘Thank God it’s not our turn every year,’ Faye said with her eyes closed.
‘Right then,’ I said, ‘I’ll leave you two and get back home.’
‘You’re very welcome to stay,’ said Faye. ‘We’re only going to veg out in front of the telly with some cheese and biscuits. That’s if you’d like the company.’
‘Thanks for the offer but I should be getting back. I have things I must do before tomorrow morning.’
Did I have things to do? Not really. It was just my silly subconscious telling me that, for some reason, I would be better off on my own — like a leper.
‘Suit yourself,’ Faye said, and she started to get up.
‘Don’t move,’ I said. ‘I can find my own way out. Thank you for a great lunch.’
‘Thank you for your help.’
I leaned down and gave her a kiss. ‘Look after yourself, Sis. Getting this tired is not good for you.’
‘Tell me about it.’
I waved at Quentin who was already half asleep. He briefly lifted a hand in response.
I let myself out into the cold night and walked to Richmond town centre across the green. Only when I started down Brewers Lane did I remember about not walking down dark alleyways on my own.
I spun round. No one was following me. Why should there be?
I turned up my coat collar and dug my hands deep into the pockets against the icy northerly wind and made it safely to the station to catch the train to Willesden Junction. Once there, I decided against taking the shortcut home along the gloomy trackside path, rather keeping to the longer but well-lit streets. I did it not out of any worry that it would be me in particular that might be targeted, but because there had been reports of several recent muggings on the path during the dark winter evenings and I had no real wish to be added to those statistics.
I checked the deep shadows around the bushes outside my front door for lurking rogues and villains and, of course, there were none, so I let myself in.
The rogues and villains were already inside.
There were two of them and they were not making a social call.
It was their haste that saved me.
They were waiting for me just inside the front door. One of the men grabbed my arm as soon as I stepped through and slammed me up against the wall, sending my mobile phone spinning out of my hand, while the other one tried to make mincemeat of my insides with a thin, sharp carving knife, stabbing repeatedly at my abdomen and chest.
If they had just waited until I’d removed my overcoat, I would have been far more vulnerable. As it was, the thick woollen folds and the twin rows of large bone buttons of my double-breasted, military-style greatcoat, together with my tweed jacket underneath, dampened or deflected the lethal thrusts to the extent that the blade seemed to barely make it through to my skin.
And I fought back with all the strength of the condemned and terrified.
I kicked out at the knifeman, catching him hard in the crotch. Then I flung his accomplice off my arm across the hallway, where he tripped over one of the still-packed cardboard boxes, falling halfway through my bedroom door.
I don’t think they had expected such resistance. They must have hoped to catch me by surprise and deliver a mortal wound before I had a chance to respond.
I may not be that big in either height or bulk, but I was once a serving officer in Her Majesty’s Armed Forces and I had enjoyed, more than most, the gruelling physical regime of my year at Sandhurst. I had tried to sustain a fairly high level of basic fitness ever since. Even during the recent dark months of my life I had still managed to maintain a daily routine of fifty press-ups and a hundred crunches before bed every night.
So I was strong and agile. And I was angry — bloody angry.
Who did they think they were, breaking into my home and attacking me?
However, in the face of superior numbers, I decided that retreat was probably the best policy, so I ran for my still-open front door. But my two would-be murderers were not giving up that easily and I could both hear and feel them right behind me as I ran out into the street.
I ran down the centre of the road, shouting for assistance.
‘Help! Help!’ I screamed at the top of my voice. ‘Murder! Murder! Somebody help me.’
Not one of my neighbours came to my aid. Not even a curtain twitched. Perhaps I would have had more response if I’d shouted, ‘Money! Money! Get some free money.’
A car turned into the road at the far end and came towards me, its lights shining brightly. I ran straight down the middle of the road towards it, waving my arms wildly above my head until it slowed and finally stopped with my legs up against the bonnet.
The assassins wavered in their pursuit and then took off in the other direction, disappearing into the shadows.
‘Call the police,’ I called breathlessly to the driver of the car.
‘Call them yourself,’ he replied bad-temperedly through his open window. ‘And get out of the bleeding way, will you? I could have knocked you down, easy. Running down the middle of the road in a dark coat is asking for trouble.’
‘Someone is trying to kill me,’ I said.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said in obvious disbelief, ‘and I’m the Queen of Sheba.’
I stepped back a pace then unbuttoned and opened the front of both my coat and jacket. The white shirt beneath was blood red and glistening wet in the light from the car’s headlights.
‘Fuck me,’ he said.
‘Now will you call the police?’
15
A police car and an ambulance turned up together, both with multiple bright blue flashing lights that lit up the street and hurt my eyes.
It became clear that a stabbing in a London street was not sufficiently unusual for either the police officers or the ambulance crew to get too excited. In fact, I found the perceived indifference to apprehending my assailants to be frustrating.
‘Can’t you get the helicopter up?’ I urged the police as soon as they arrived.
‘Helicopters cost money,’ one of them replied, shaking his head. ‘Especially on Sunday evenings.’