A Greater Evil by Natasha Cooper

size and complexity of this one, they’ve allocated it to her boss, Dennis Flack. His secretary says you’ve met him.’
    ‘Once, right at the beginning. I didn’t take to him. And he had all the short-man’s Napoleonic arrogance, so I’m surprised he’s prepared to have the meeting here.’
    ‘I insisted on it,’ Steve said, ‘knowing you had this other private business to sort out. You’ve got just under an hour to review the papers. I hope that’ll be enough. The tigers are getting hungry, you know.’
    Faced with his habit of quoting Churchill’s speeches whenever he thought she was slacking, Trish wanted to get back to the comfortable solitude of her own room as fast as possible. Steve had no need to worry: the London Arrow and its perplexing movement was in the back of her mind all the time. Now Cecilia was dead, it seemed even more important to win the case for her.
    In Trish’s room, her desk was piled high with papers. The sight made her think more kindly of her pupil’s return. It was often a nuisance to have a scared or arrogant baby barrister with you all the time, wanting to know what you were doing, needing to be taught and given tasks to occupy her day after day until she knew enough to be let loose on a small but real case. The brighter, tougher sort could be useful, but there had been times when the current one, Bettina Mole, had made Trish think of the toddlers she’d seen clinging to their mothers’ clothes so tightly the poor women couldn’t even go to the lavatory alone.
    Still, Bettina wasn’t bad at filing and she was clever enough. No one had ever been offered pupillage in 2 Plough Court without exceptional brains. Once she’d gathered a little confidence she’d probably be useful in more ways than tidying papers. The trick would be to give her the confidence without muffling her necessary self-doubt or the urge to watch and learn. Trish had so far had her for two weeks, which meant there were twenty-two to go before she could hand her on to the next pupil master. Maybe she could ask for a break then. Presumed to be a soft touch, she was nearly always given the wobbly pupils.
    She switched on her laptop and carefully reacquainted herself with all the arguments the other parties had used to explain their refusal to agree a settlement. There had been representatives of QPXQ (the Arrow’s new owners), the main contractors who had actually built it, and the three separate professional-negligence insurers covering the construction company, the consulting engineers and the architects, as well as someone from each of their partnerships, and of course the crowd of lawyers.
    She had all the unhelpful facts marshalled in her brain by the time Steve phoned to say that Dennis Flack was already in the library with an assistant and Giles Somers, the solicitor.
    Trish arrived just as Dennis unilaterally declined the offer of tea for all four of them. She shook hands with him, holding on to his a little longer than usual as she said how sorry she was about Cecilia’s death.
    Dennis nodded abruptly, pulling his hand away and stepping back, as though he didn’t like being reminded he was shorter than Trish. His square jowly face seemed full of rage until she looked more carefully and saw signs of misery. The pouches around his dark eyes were swollen, and his broad shoulders were slumped so that they seemed to have shrunk. ‘I have to try not to think about her; otherwise I lose it completely. Can we keep this strictly business?’
    ‘Sure,’ Trish said, surprised by his unexpected sensitivity. She turned to Giles, a pleasant-looking grey-haired man in his early fifties, who’d been helpful and efficient throughout the progress of the case. ‘I’m so glad Leviathan aren’t worried about the conflict of interest.’
    ‘This is the first I’ve heard of any conflict,’ Dennis said in a voice like a barking guard dog. Trish made hers as soothing as possible and explained.
    ‘How