Their last witness came to the box. All I had to do was to make him admit that he and Chapman and the defendant had often met together. It was obviously so he could not deny it; it left our main point unassailable, and the case was clear. But I made a silly mistake. I could not let well alone; I thought the witness was malicious and had another interest in attacking Chapman. I began asking him about it. I was right in my human judgement, but it was bad tactics in law. First, it was an unnecessary complication: second, as the witness answered, his malice emerged — but so also did his view that Chapman was lying and I was sweating beneath my wig. I perceived what he was longing for the chance to say. I pulled up sharp. It was better to leave that line untidy, and bolt to the safe one; sweating, flustered, discomfited, I found my tongue was not forsaking me, was inventing a bridge that took me smoothly back. It happened slickly. I was cool enough to wonder how many people had noticed the break.
With the jury out, I sat back, uneasy. I went over the case: surely it stood, surely to anyone it must have appeared sound? Foolishly I had done it harm, but surely it had affected nothing?
The jury were very quick. Before I heard the verdict, I knew all was well. I did not want to shout aloud: I just wanted to sink down in relief.
‘Very nice,’ said Henriques, who had, with his usual courtesy, made another personal appearance. ‘My best thanks. If I may say so, you had it in hand all the way. I apologize again for giving you such short notice. Next time we shan’t hurry you so much.’
Charles took my hand, and, as Henriques left, began to speak.
‘I’m glad,’ he said. ‘But whatever possessed you to draw that absurd red herring?’
Just then, I should have liked to be spared Charles’ tongue. No one expressed the unflattering truth more pointedly. I thought that I had recovered well, I should have liked some praise.
‘I’m very glad,’ said Charles. ‘But you realize that it might have been a serious mistake? You missed the point completely, don’t you agree?’
On the other hand, Getliffe assumed responsibility for my success. He came into my room in Chambers (I still had my table in Allen’s room) and spoke at large as though he had done it himself. He decided to organize a celebration. While I was writing to Sheila, Getliffe booked a table at the Savoy for dinner and telephoned round to make the party. They were gathered in Getliffe’s haphazard manner — some were friends of mine, some I scarcely knew, some, like Salisbury, were acquaintances none too well pleased that at last I should begin to compete. That did not worry Getliffe. Incidentally, though the members of the party were invited haphazard, there was nothing haphazard about the arrangements for payment: Getliffe made sure that each of the guests came ready to pay for himself.
Charles did not come. He was already booked for a dinner party, but Getliffe expressed strong disapproval. ‘He ought to have put anything else off on a night like this! Still,’ said Getliffe, ‘it’s his loss, not ours. We’re going to have a good time!’ Then Getliffe added, in his most heartfelt tone: ‘And while we’re talking, L S, I’ve always thought young March might have done a bit more for you. He might have pulled a rope or two to get you started. Instead of leaving everything to your own devices — plus, of course, the bits and pieces I’ve been able to do for you myself.’
I wondered if I had heard aright. It was colossal, Yet, as he spoke, Getliffe was believing every word. That was one of his gifts.
At the party I was seated next to a good-looking girl. Tired, attracted to her, half-drunk, triumphant, I spread myself in boasting, as I had not boasted since my teens.
‘I feel extremely jubilant,’ I said.
‘You look it,’ she replied.
‘I’ve often wished that I’d chosen a different line,’ I went on. ‘I mean, something where one got started quicker. But this is going to be worth waiting for when it comes.’
Provocatively she talked about friends at the Bar.
‘I could have done other things,’ I went on bragging. ‘I’d have backed myself to come off in several different jobs!’
The irony of the party made me laugh aloud. My first victory — and here I was being drunk to by Getliffe, his smile merry, wily, and open. My first victory — not an intimate friend there, but a good many rivals instead. My first victory — instead of having Sheila in my arms, I was boasting wildly to this cool and pretty girl. Yet I had won, and I laughed aloud.
Within three days I received something more than congratulations. Percy spoke to me one morning in the hall, in his usual manner, authoritative under the servility ‘I should like a word with you, Mr Eliot.’
I went into his cubby hole.
‘I’ve got something for you,’ he said.
As I thanked him, Percy’s smile was firm but gratified, the smile of power, the smile of a conferrer of benefits.
‘Well, sir,’ said Percy, ‘you’ve given me a bit to go on now. I can tell them that you won the Chapman case for Henriques. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing!
In fact, Percy had decided that it was safe to give me a minor recommendation. He had been watching me for two years, with interest, never letting his sympathy — though whether he had sympathy I was not sure — interfere with his judgement. He had eked out the driblets, the guineas and the two guineas, to keep me from despair, but he would go no further. Now someone else had taken the risk, Percy was ready to speak in my favour just as much as the facts justified.
This case came from solicitors who had no contact at all with my Jewish friends. It was a case which happened to be rather like Charles’ first. It would bring me thirty guineas.
Between July 1928 and July 1929, I had earned eighty-eight pounds. But of this sum, fifty-two pounds ten had arrived since June, on my first two cases. It was more promising than it looked. I dared not tell myself so, but the hope was there. I hoped I was coming through.
I began to see how luck attracts luck. Before the long vacation, I received my biggest case so far, from one of Charles March’s connexions, and, at the same time heard that another was coming from Henriques. In high spirits, I felt the trend ought to be encouraged, and so I set to work playing on Getliffe’s better nature. I was determined not to let him wriggle out of every promise; now the stream was running with me, I intended to make Getliffe help. We had several most moving and heartfelt conversations. I told him that I could not afford a holiday, unless I was certain of earning three hundred pounds next year.
Getliffe said: ‘You know, L S, it’s an uncertain life for all of us. How much do you think I’m certain of myself? Only a few hundred. That’s the meal ticket, you understand. I manage to rake in a bit more by way of extras. But as a steady income I can’t count on as much as the gentleman who reads my income tax return.’ He was grave with emotion at this thought. ‘Then I think of taking silk!’ he said. ‘It’d be just throwing the steady bread and butter out of the window. I expect I shall some day. One never counts one’s blessings. And I can tell you this,’ he added, ‘if and when I do take silk, there’ll be plenty of confetti coming into the Chambers for chaps like you.’
‘I’d like a bit more now,’ I said.
‘So should we all, L S,’ said Getliffe reprovingly.
But I was becoming more practised with him.
‘Look,’ I said. ‘I’m getting a few briefs now. Charles March has done more than his share. So has Henriques. I think you should do yours now. You’ve promised to find me some work. I think this would be a good time.’