Page 37 of Behind Frenemy Lines

But all the reporting I personally had seen had been in blog and Facebook posts, and Malaysian online news outlets.

All of these sources could well be dismissed as unreliable.

In a country like Malaysia, where the mainstream media was subject to political control, it wasn’t easy to get reporting on the allegations in sources that a Westerner would consider to be authoritative.

That was part of the reason why everyone was so excited about the Guardian series.

“Zuri said she knows the boyfriend of the guy who was Helen Daley’s source,” I said.

“Maybe she could put me in touch with him. He might be able to share proof.” A better idea came to me.

“Or he could put me in touch with Helen Daley. If she blogged about being under threat of litigation, that might put them off actually suing. And it might make the case less attractive to the firm.”

The silence that followed made me realise that was not an idea I should have spoken out loud, at least to this audience. Charles was so shocked, it took him a moment to recover enough to speak.

“You can’t disclose client confidential information,” said Charles. “You’d be breaching privilege.”

It was as though I’d suggested we go out and find some baby seals to club for sport.

I said, “Charles, Jamaludin has had people murdered. Shaw Boey was probably in on it too.”

Charles’s eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean by that? They’ve been convicted?”

“If you knew anything about how things work in Malaysia,” I said, “you wouldn’t be asking.”

“Even if he was a convicted murderer, he’d still be entitled to privilege,” said Charles. “It’s a fundamental right. The system only works if we, as lawyers, protect the process.”

“Does the system work?” I said. “If it means people like Shaw Boey and his masters can suppress reporting of their crimes, because they’ve got the money to throw around, that doesn’t say much for the system, does it? Everyone says English libel laws are a problem for free speech.”

“All right, but the answer isn’t to subvert the rule of law—”

“Oh, come on. Let’s not pretend this is about the rule of law. It’s about the fact Blackmount is going to pay full rates, no discount.”

Charles’s lips flattened into a thin line. “Whatever your feelings about the client, you have a duty of confidentiality. You could be struck off. And you’d be implicating the firm.”

And me, he didn’t say. But he didn’t have to. I knew it was true. And I knew Charles was right, according to the rules we’d both been trained to follow.

But the rules, the whole system, had been designed to benefit and protect people like Shaw Boey and Jamaludin. The wealthy, the powerful, the unscrupulous. There had to be times when the rules didn’t apply.

“We’re not acting for them yet,” I said. “This is the window of time when I could make a difference. Anyway, the fact they approached us for advice isn’t in itself privileged.”

Charles ignored this as the sophistry that, to be fair, it was.

“I should be clear,” he said. “If you are serious about this, I would need to report you.” He looked miserable. “I don’t need to remind you that you’re in a vulnerable position.”

“Trust me,” I said. “I know.”

There was no reason to feel disappointed. Why should Charles back me up on this? It was unreasonable of me to expect that of him. Just because he could cook and made me laugh and we were, as it turned out, incredibly sexually compatible, it didn’t mean we had anything meaningful in common.

“I know this is… difficult,” Charles said carefully. “But don’t rush into doing anything you might regret. You’ve had a lot to take in. It’s worth sitting on it.”

I looked at him, the worried crease in his forehead, and felt a pang. I could see he wanted to do the right thing. So did I. If only we could have agreed on what that was.

“You should talk to someone,” added Charles. “You could talk to Farah.”

“I guess,” I said. “Yeah.”

I did feel in need of advice, from someone I could trust with my concerns—someone senior, with a lifetime’s worth of experience navigating thorny cases. Someone who understood me. I didn’t know Farah well enough, and she didn’t know me. But there was someone I could ask.

I didn’t tell Charles I was going to speak to Arthur. He would have thought it was a bad idea.

I could see his point of view. Arthur had hit on me on a business trip. He’d pressured me to give up my office. He’d tried to take my biggest client off me. And he’d been weird about it the whole time.

But Charles hadn’t seen the years when Arthur had been kind and reliable: all the opportunities he’d sent my way, all the times he’d stepped in to help disentangle legal dilemmas and client dramas.

I’d trained under him. I’d relied on his professional judgment for the best part of a decade.

Surely, I thought, he’d come through for me now.

More fool me. When I got to Arthur’s office, there was someone in there with him—a blonde woman, sitting with her back to me.

According to Outlook, his diary was free for the next half an hour, but after that, he was booked up for the rest of the day.

I hesitated, wondering whether to knock on the door and find out how much longer this meeting was going to run, and if I’d have a chance to have a word before his next meeting.

Then Arthur reached out and took the woman’s hand.

She moved, her profile coming into view, and I saw it was Emily, the junior associate I’d run into on the way out of Arthur’s office the other day.

She flinched away from him, her body language screaming discomfort, but she stopped short of pulling her hand away.

Or maybe she was trying, and he wasn’t letting her.

I opened the door without knocking.

“Sorry, Arthur. Emily, have you got a moment? It’s urgent.”

Emily’s head whipped around. She looked like a rabbit caught in headlights, her eyes huge.

Arthur rose to his feet, flustered. “Oh, I—we were talking about Sanson. I was telling Emily I’d like her to pick up more of the work. As we discussed.”

“Great. Yeah. I can brief you about Sanson some other time,” I said to Emily. I jerked my head towards the corridor. “Come on. I’ll tell you about the case.”

I marched her along the corridor until we were out of sight of Arthur’s office, then ducked into one of the refreshment areas—the coffee machine was broken, so we’d be safe from interruption.

“Are you OK?” I said.

Emily came to life. “I—yes. I’m fine.” Her eyes darted nervously to the entrance to the refreshment area. “What—um—did you say you were going to tell me about the case?”

“There is no case,” I said. “It was an excuse. Did Arthur do anything? Or say anything to you?”

“No, I—he was just, kind of, stroking my hand.” Emily shuddered. “And talking about his ex-wife.”

“Oh my God,” I said, with feeling. I got the sense the encounter was only just starting to sink in for Emily: she was rubbing her own hand, absently. I wasn’t sure if she knew she was doing it. She looked very young to me in that moment—and Arthur was eighteen years older than me.

“You might want to take a moment,” I said. “Go for a walk or something, get out of the building for a bit. I’m going to talk to Arthur.”

The door to Arthur’s office was ajar. He was at his desk, though it didn’t look like he was working. He was gazing off into the distance, his shoulders slumped. I went in and shut the door behind me.

“What was that with Emily?” I said.

Arthur started. He looked relieved when he saw me. That was going to change very shortly.

“With Emily? I was telling her about Sanson, like I said. Sorry, I should have asked you to join us. I happened to have a gap in my diary, so—”

“Arthur, I should not have to tell you that you cannot stroke the hands of junior associates,” I said. “I don’t know what you think you were doing, but you made Emily very uncomfortable.”

Arthur’s face was a picture. I’d never spoken to him like this before. Probably no one ever had.

“Did Emily say she was uncomfortable?” he said.

“Anyone with eyes could see it,” I said. “You need to get ahold of yourself. You’re going to get in trouble if you keep behaving like this.”

I expected Arthur to take offence, to snap that it was none of my business.

I was almost looking forward to it, I was so angry.

At Arthur, for every insane thing he’d done since I’d agreed to follow him to Swithin Watkins.

But also at myself, for putting up with him for all these years—because I had to admit the insanity had started long before the move.

I was braced for a fight. Part of me wanted it.

But instead, Arthur’s expression went from taken aback to tolerant, even fond.

“All right. I see what’s happening here,” he said.

“I appreciate the concern, but my relationship with other fee earners is none of your business.” He was being firm but kind, like a teacher.

“Look, I know we’ve had some challenges lately.

Change isn’t easy. The move has been destabilising, I’ve felt it too.

Clients haven’t moved as quickly as we’d like.

You’re probably not as busy as you want to be.

But I want you to know, you don’t need to worry about being replaced. ”

I stared at him, baffled. Did Arthur think I was jealous because he’d started pawing up other associates?

“I’m not worried about being replaced,” I said. “I’m worried about you being inappropriate with junior members of staff. Having been put in that position, I know how difficult it can be. I thought how you behaved in Hong Kong was a one-off, that’s the only reason I haven’t said anything. But—”

“You haven’t said anything?” said Arthur. “That’s not strictly true, is it? Charles, for example, he hasn’t heard anything about what you say happened in Hong Kong?”

I paused, disconcerted. “That’s not—”

“You made it clear you don’t want my advice on your personal life,” said Arthur. “So I backed off. I’d appreciate it if you would give me the same respect. As for Hong Kong, I apolo gised. I haven’t raised it again. We’re both grown-ups. Surely we can move on.”

“Arthur,” I said, “you were pressuring me for sex as my boss . I only accepted your apology because I thought you understood that was wrong, and you weren’t going to do anything like it again. That’s clearly not the case, so—”

Arthur shook his head.

“Look, I’ll discuss this with you when you’re ready to talk sensibly,” he said, with maddening calm. “But not when you’re this emotional. We need to draw a line under this, until you’re able to have a productive conversation.”

He rose to his feet, making to shepherd me to the door.

“I am not emotional!” I said.

I was, of course, seething with emotion. But so was bloody Arthur. He was one of the most high-strung people I knew, emotions coming out of his fucking ears.

No white man in a position of power was ever over-emotional, though. His feelings, like his laundry, his social calendar, and the care of his children, were always someone else’s problem.

I said, “I haven’t wanted to make trouble. I moved here so I could keep building my career, working with you. But if you can’t even acknowledge your behaviour for what it is, you won’t be able to commit to not repeating it. And if that’s the case, I’m going to have to take action.”

Arthur went still. “What are you trying to say?”

His voice had dropped a register. It was the sort of tone in which intimacies are whispered—or threats.

I stepped back. Arthur followed me.

“I don’t know what you’re planning,” he said. “But you should know I’m not going to be blackmailed, or lied about. I’ve taken enough shit these past few years.”

His voice was rising, his face flushed. And—I noticed for the first time—he’d put himself between me and the door.

“Arthur…”

“I think you’re forgetting the terms of our relationship,” he said. A fleck of saliva landed on my cheek. “You moved here to build your career? You wouldn’t have a career without me. If you want to keep it, I’d suggest you remember that.”

I wiped his spit off my cheek, meeting his eyes. “Maybe I don’t.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

It was the condescension that did it, even more than that stray drop of saliva.

“I’m resigning,” I said. “You can take this as my week’s notice. I’ll put it in writing to HR.”

Arthur looked like he’d stepped on a worm only to have it turn around and swear at him. I could have laughed, furious and scared as I was.

“You can’t—” He pulled himself together. “You’re going to regret this.”

“I don’t think I will.”

I knew I’d said enough, that I should keep my mouth shut. But it felt like I might as well get out everything I had to say to Arthur while I was here. It wasn’t like we were going to be staying in touch in future.

“But you might,” I said.

I was realising, for the first time, that Arthur needed me more than I needed him. That was all I meant.

But Arthur took two strides towards me and grabbed my arm, shaking me like a misbehaving child.

He ground out, “You are not going to threaten me.”

I tried to jerk my arm out of his grip, but his hold didn’t slacken.

“Arthur,” I said, trying for a warning tone. My voice only wobbled a little.

If he didn’t let me go, I was going to stamp on his foot. I was wearing Ferragamo dupes from Next, with a low block heel, but if I stamped hard enough I was pretty sure I could make him feel it.

Before I could do it, the door swung open, slamming into Arthur’s shoulder. He yelped and staggered, releasing me.

“Oh. Sorry,” said Charles, in the doorway. “I was looking for Kriya. Is everything all right?” He looked Arthur up and down, with an air of faint distaste.

I was familiar with that expression on Charles—the expression of someone who’s stepped in something nasty and is annoyed about his upcoming trip to the dry cleaners. But I’d never seen him wield it on purpose before.

It was, in fact, the first time I had seen Charles menace someone. It was incredibly attractive.

“Er—” said Arthur. He collected himself, throwing back his shoulders and pushing out his chest. “Kriya and I were just talking.”

“Yes,” I said. “And now we are done talking.” I held Arthur’s gaze until he dropped his eyes.

“Great,” said Charles. He looked at me and his eyes went soft. “Shall we go?”