Blood Lines by Grace Monroe Page B

Square at 7.30 a.m. It was all ready for me to open. Rutland Square is an internal postal service that means lawyers and ancillary bodies don’t have to rely upon the vagaries of the Royal Mail. It is very handy, especially at Christmas time; it’s a bit like scout post with attitude.
    The opening of the mail isn’t a menial task in a legal office. It’s normally carried out by partners because it’s supposed to indicate that you have your finger on the pulse of the firm. In theory this means that if you have a rogue employee, be they a secretary or a lawyer, you should find out about it. Theory is all very well, but what if that rascal is you?
    ‘Another red letter, Brodie. What do you intend to do about it? I have files of complaint letters from the Law Society of Scotland, all red tabbed.’
    Lavender was looking over my shoulder, to make sure I didn’t dodge any necessary action.
    ‘And in your file of complaint letters are there any from clients?’
    ‘No, you know there aren’t, but …’
    ‘But nothing. All the letters are from lawyers complaining that I’m touting, taking their clients. As I told the President of the Society – punters have the freedom to choose the best legal representation they can have.’
    ‘Which happens to be you? Always?’
    ‘Of course. Our team is the best.’
    ‘And how did all of that go down with the President of the Law Society?’
    ‘Like a lead balloon. Which is why we keep getting these ridiculous red letters.’
    ‘Do you mean to tell me, Brodie, that red isn’t their corporate colour?’
    I shook my head in disbelief. Had we never had a letter from the Law Society about normal stuff? It didn’t matter. Lavender had a point. I had to come clean.
    ‘Lavender, I haven’t exactly replied to those letters, and if I don’t read them then they can strike me off. It’s just …’ I didn’t have to finish my pathetic almost- apology. Lavender was off like a rabbit from a trap.
    ‘I’ll have a set of draft replies on your desk by the end of business today. That,’ she pointed at the file, ‘is a bigger and more immediate threat to us than Duncan Bancho.’
    It was unorthodox, but Lavender knew as much about all of this as I did. Who was I kidding? In a lot of cases she knew more about the running of the office than me. The letters were all complaints from members of the Bar claiming I had exerted undue influence on their punters. In a way I should have been flattered. Some days it was just nice to think I had any influence at all.
    By the time Lavender came back with the coffee I was ready to look at the diary.
    ‘When I heard you were lifted yesterday, I got extra cover in, Brodie. I wasn’t sure if you would … well, you know.’
    ‘You didn’t know if you’d need someone to represent me?’
    ‘Well, even if I had, I can tell you they wouldn’t be queuing up. The bright side is that you can stay in the office today and get things organised.’
    The desk jumped as she laid the court files down on it. On top of the pile was a photocopy of the day’s work. She had even marked the name of the lawyer against the court case.
    ‘Lavender, you make me feel redundant.’
    ‘Is that your way of saying thank you?’
    ‘I see Eddie’s instructed …’
    Lavender was easily distracted where Eddie was concerned. A slow, satisfied smile stole across her face as I turned round to see why.
    Eddie Gibb had broken all records. This was the earliest I had ever seen him in the office and surely the only time he had been the first one into the court meeting.
    He even looked clean.
    Lavender got up and straightened his tie, an unnecessarily intimate action.
    ‘Eddie was the one to phone me and tell me the rumour on Monday night. Which, I might add, I didn’t believe because I was sure that if any such calamity had occurred you would have phoned me,’ she said pointedly.
    ‘Yeah, well …’
    ‘It was running riot round the bars. I was in the Tilted Wig when Bridget