SERIAL Legal Eagles by Rebecca Holmes

Helen’s new life was about to begin – just as conflict broke out in the Falkland Islands . . .

HELEN MARTIN could have sworn she’d slept only a matter of minutes before her alarm clock jolted her out of a sequence of uneasy dreams.

She had spent most of the night tossing and turning, apprehension battling with excitement about the day ahead, practically giving up on the idea of getting any sleep before she’d finally nodded off.

It took all her willpower not to burrow further under the bedclothes, but instead step out into her bedroom, cold without the gas fire lit, and head for the bathroom, crossing her fingers that a shower would help her wake up properly.

Twenty minutes later, dressed, hair combed and with a dab of make-up applied in record time, Helen was in the kitchen, drinking coffee as hot as she could stand it and thinking that, like its cousin the pot, a watched toaster never toasted.

The sound of another bedroom door opening in the draughty old house was followed by the pad of slippered feet coming down the stairs before Jackie, her housemate, appeared.

She barely seemed to have her eyes open as she pulled her dressing-gown more tightly round herself and knotted the cord.

“Morning.” A yawn all but drowned out her greeting. “I was on a late shift.”

Since moving into the house a couple of days before, Helen had met Jackie twice. On both occasions, there had only been time for the briefest of chats, with Jackie either being on her way out to work or just in from a long shift and ready to collapse into bed.

They’d managed to exchange basic details about jobs and where they were from, and agree how cold it was.

As a result Helen knew Jackie was a nurse at the local infirmary, but little else apart from the fact that she supported the local football team.

That had been enough to create a mutual sense that they would get along as housemates. Only time would tell whether a deeper friendship grew from there.

Overall, Helen was aware she had a lot to be grateful for. The house might not be luxurious, but compared to some of the places she had stayed in as a student it was a palace, situated in a leafy suburb with a little garden at the front and back.

The swirly carpets and orange curtains, throwbacks to the 1970s, were not to everyone’s taste, but the woodchip wallpaper looked as if it had been painted recently and the new electric kettle meant they didn’t have to wait ages for the old tin one on the gas cooker to come to the boil.

If only the same could be said for the toaster. It was tempting not to bother, but Helen’s mother had always impressed upon her the importance of having some form of breakfast.

“You off?” Jackie, more awake now, brought her back to the moment.

Helen nodded and took a last gulp of the coffee, gasping as the heat of the liquid caught her unaware. “Nervous?” Jackie asked. “Just a bit.”

“You’ll be fine. I wanted to be up in time to wish you luck. There was something else, as well.” Jackie put one hand to her forehead,

remembering. “You know that empty bedroom? Apparently it won’t be empty for much longer.

“I was going to tell you when I got in last night, but wasn’t sure whether your light was still on.”

“It probably wasn’t,” Helen called as she rushed into the hall and shrugged on her coat. “I was getting an early night. Not that that was much use.”

Coming back into the kitchen, she retrieved the toast and spread some margarine on it before glancing at her watch.

“I’d love to hear more but I have four minutes to get to the bus stop. See you later.”

She grabbed her bag, keys and toast and ran into the cold morning.

Despite being hampered by her office clothes and smart shoes, she made it to the bus stop with half a minute to spare, and just finished eating her toast as the bus lumbered into view.

The three other people at the stop stepped towards the kerb. Helen followed while trying to organise her bag, fumbling with the zip-up compartment at the back for her keys.

At the same time, she got out her purse ready to count out change, not sure how much the fare was and not wanting to annoy an impatient driver with a note.

The zip was stuck. Trying to hook the keyring over her finger while not letting money tip out of her purse, she felt it slide before she could do anything about it, followed by the clink of metal hitting tarmac.

The first two passengers had already stepped on to the bus, but the third, a middle-aged lady, was still at ground level.

She and Helen narrowly avoided bumping heads as they bent down at the same time. The lady handed the keys over with a smile.

“Thank you. I’m such a butterfingers this morning. It’s my first day in a new job,” Helen explained.

“Judging by your clothes, I take it you’re going to be working in an office?”

“That’s right.” They both stepped on to the bus as the passenger in front handed over his fare and moved on. “At Barnes and Son, near the town centre.”

“The solicitors? They’re an old firm. Well respected, too. You’ll polish up your typing skills there, all right. Forty-two, please,” the lady told the driver.

“Good luck,” she added to Helen. “You’ll be fine once you’ve got your first day out of the way.”

“Thank you.” Helen concentrated on checking the fare with the driver and finding a seat, only just keeping her balance as the bus lurched as she made her way down the aisle.

As she sat down, she wondered whether she should have corrected the lady’s assumption that she was going to work as a secretary, but decided against it.

It was a common enough mistake to make. Besides, dropping one’s keys at a bus stop could hardly be regarded as promising behaviour for a solicitor.

Margaret Hall lifted the cover from her typewriter. This part of the morning was her favourite time. Even with the extra organisation involved, it was worth making the effort to get to work early.

Mind you, she thought, “extra organisation” was probably a bit of an understatement.

Although she just had one teenager left at home to deal with nowadays, and a slightly bumbling but well-meaning husband, breakfast times still had plenty of potential for chaos.

It helped that, as longstanding secretary to the senior partner, she had her own office, complete with filing cabinets and a large desk with drawers to keep everything in order.

The room was spacious, yet not too big. The window looked out on to a quiet street of Edwardian brick buildings occupied by similar businesses. All in all, it was perfect for a few minutes’ calm to gain focus before the switchboard at reception opened and the day began in earnest.

The shrill ring of the internal phone, followed by the authoritative tone of Clarence Barnes, brought her to attention.

“Margaret. Would you pop down to my office?”

“I’ll be right there, Mr Clarence.”

She picked up a notepad and sharpened pencil, in case he should decide to kill two birds with one stone and dictate a few letters while she was there.

He often joked that he was the one who struggled to keep up with her shorthand, rather than the other way round.

After knocking and entering the ground floor office, tucked away behind reception so that Mr Clarence could be aware of all the goings-on, she saw a young girl with light brown hair and a pale complexion perched on a chair in front of the huge mahogany desk.

The senior partner leaned back in a leather swivel chair on the other side.

“Good morning, Margaret. I’d like you to meet Miss Helen Martin, our new solicitor. She’s been qualified for about six months and gained invaluable experience at her previous firm, where she served her two years as an articled clerk before qualifying, so I’m sure she will be a very useful member of the team.”

“Hello.” The newcomer gave a small smile in her direction.

Maybe her complexion wasn’t usually so pale, Margaret surmised.

Anyone would think she and Mr Clarence were ogres, the way some people reacted when they first came here.

Young Karen, for instance, had been timid as a mouse for her first few weeks. Heaven only knew how they’d have reacted to old Mr Barnes. Even Margaret had been scared of him.

It was difficult to believe that a slip of a girl like this could be up to coping in a male-dominated profession.

Margaret smiled politely and nodded her acknowledgement.

“I’ve been telling Helen that you’re worth your weight in gold, and that if she has any questions regarding how this office is run, you’re the one with all the answers.” Mr Clarence paused as there was a knock at the door. “That will be Karen, our junior secretary. I’ve asked her to show you around.”

Once Clarence and Margaret had the room to themselves, her boss slumped back in his chair.

“More changes, though I suppose it’s for the best. I can’t help wondering what my father would have made of it.

“I like to imagine he’d have been forward-thinking enough to have agreed. I’d almost forgotten that Miss Martin was starting today. These past two weeks have been a blur.”

Margaret cleared her throat.

“How was your mother’s funeral? Several clients phoned on Friday to pass on their respects.”

They had debated whether to close the office for the day of the funeral, but concluded that business should continue as normally as possible. Margaret, though invited, had sensed she was needed to hold the fort.

Mr Clarence smiled sadly. “It was a good service, if that’s the right description. I read out her favourite Robert Frost poem and the minister gave a worthy eulogy. The chapel was full.

“Friends and relatives came from all over the world – including James, who travelled from Australia. Well, he could hardly not for his own mother’s funeral.” He hesitated. “My son was there, too.”

Margaret placed her notebook and pencil

Anyone would think Margaret and Mr Clarence were ogres

on the desk and leaned forward slightly. “How is he? Is he coming home?”

Clarence put the ends of his fingers together to form a steeple.

“I only saw him across the room at the wake afterwards. Eleanor and Samantha went to talk to him. They seemed pleased to see each other.

“He can never do anything wrong in Eleanor’s eyes, and Samantha’s always adored her big brother.”

He sat up straight and opened a file.

“He’s not coming home, or at least not to my knowledge, and certainly not until he sees sense. If things had gone to plan, he would be here in this office, following in mine and my father’s footsteps, instead of dropping out of his law degree then going off the way he did.

“It’s all very well saying it wasn’t for him, but he let the family down,” he continued. “We can’t all afford that sort of luxury. At some stage he’s going to need to earn a decent living.”

He sighed impatiently. “He’s turning out to be just like his uncle James. Remember how much upset that caused?”

Margaret did, and she’d heard the story many times. Every family had its problems. Every action had its ramifications.

“He’ll find his own path in life,” she said. “It takes some people a little longer, that’s all. Do you remember how Arthur and I were worried about Adam?

“He was always falling out with his dad, too. Then he joined the Army and that seemed to straighten him out. Thankfully, Alison seems to be easier to cope with.”

Family matters over with, they both seemed equally glad to get on to the safer topic of work.

Margaret took some dictation before carrying an armful of files to her office to deal with.

As she slotted carbon paper between two sheets and fed them into her typewriter, she wondered what it was about men that made it so difficult for some of them to get along. Pride? Some primaeval need to show who was in charge?

It reminded her of those Argentinian scrap metal merchants who had been on the news the other day, planting a flag on an island in the middle of the ocean. What was the point of that, other than idle posturing?

Mind, Mr Clarence had seemed to think there was more to it than met the eye when they discussed it during their usual few minutes’ morning chat.

His instinct was often right, certainly when it came to his clients, but in Margaret’s view they might as well be peacocks, strutting around showing off their feathers.

“Don’t be put off by Mrs Hall,” Karen told Helen once the door to the senior partner’s office was closed and they were in reception. “She’s not bad once you get used to her.”

Pam, the receptionist, nodded in agreement.

“She likes things done her way and expects the place to run like clockwork. She worships Mr Clarence. They’ve been working together for over twentyfive years.”

Pam turned back to the switchboard as a call came in.

“Why do people call him Mr Clarence?” Helen asked Karen.

Karen giggled.

“It’s a habit from the past, so people didn’t get him mixed up with his father and brother, Mr Barnes and Mr James.

“Mr James didn’t stay very long. It was before my time, but apparently he was a bit of a black sheep and emigrated to Australia.

“Mrs Hall remembers him but doesn’t say much, though she did let it slip once that he used to make everyone laugh. It’s hard to imagine Mr Clarence doing that.

“Mr Barnes senior retired a few years ago and died of a heart attack shortly afterwards. Apparently he ruled with an iron rod and everyone was terrified of him.”

By now they were in Karen’s office, which doubled as a store room, judging by the cardboard boxes of stationery stacked up against one wall.

A manual typewriter took pride of place on a wooden table, with a more modest swivel chair than the one in Mr Clarence’s room. Two wire baskets of files with small dictation tapes on top stood to one side.

Karen nodded towards them.

“I mainly work for one of the other solicitors, Paul, but I’ll also be doing your typing until your workload builds up. At that stage Mrs Hall will decide what to do for you, secretary-wise.”

They walked back through reception and along a short corridor into the largest room yet, with a musty yet comforting odour of old books on floor to ceiling shelves.

“This is the library, where the various law journals and reference books are kept if you need to look something up. Old files are kept in the cellar. You use the door under the stairs to get there.” Karen looked thoughtful.

“I suppose this must seem very different for you compared to the last place you worked. Weren’t you in a big city centre firm?”

“That’s right,” Helen replied, finally able to get a word in edgeways. Apart from Mrs Hall, people around here seemed very chatty.

“It was slap bang in the centre and had twelve partners, all leading their own specialist departments. The phones never stopped ringing, and all the partners were known by their first name.”

She didn’t add that clients were dealt with quickly and at arm’s length, nor that there was a high staff turnover as individuals moved on to their next goal.

They would probably regard somewhere like this with horror, seeing it as a backwater where everyone seemed happy to stagnate in one place.

“That sounds exciting, not to mention handy for the shops, but I’m not sure I’d like it. You’ve moved a long way, as well, haven’t you? I’d hate to move so far. My boyfriend wouldn’t be keen. Are you seeing anyone?” Karen asked.

“No,” Helen replied shortly.

She looked intently at a shelf containing bound volumes of “The All England Law Reports”. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about her private life.

“Well, maybe that’s for the best. Long-distance relationships can be a pain, and Mr Clarence wouldn’t appreciate you being distracted from your job by problems like that.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone soon. There are plenty of nice men around.”

“Are you talking about me again?”

They both looked round as a tall man of about thirty, with sandy hair and a friendly grin, strode into the room. He held his hand out to her.

“You must be Helen. I’m Paul, one of the other solicitors here, mainly specialising in wills. There are four of us in all, now that you’ve joined. Welcome to the firm.

“You’ll find we’re a friendly bunch, if a bit odd at times,” he teased. “And don’t worry – I’m taken. As for you . . .” he turned to Karen and adopted a mock stern expression “. . . you can stop your matchmaking and get those fingers flying. I’ve left another tape for you.”

He grinned again.

“I’ll catch up with you later. I’ve got a client coming in who wants to change their will. Again. I wonder who he’s fallen out with this time?” He chuckled.

“He seems like a nice bloke,” Helen commented once he was gone.

“He is,” Karen agreed. “He even teases Mrs Hall and makes her smile.” She sighed. “I’d better get on. Will you be OK?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve got some files I need to start reading in my office

upstairs, so that should keep me occupied for the rest of the morning.”

“Do you think you’ll like it here?” Karen asked. “It looks promising.” And it did, Helen reflected as she settled at her desk. She felt less apprehensive than she had earlier. So long as people didn’t ask too many questions, it looked as if making a fresh start had been a good plan.

At half past six, Clarence Barnes decided to call it a day. Although that was early for him, he was still the last person in the office.

Paul had left half an hour before, most of the other staff at five fifteen, and he’d heard the new girl let herself out just after five thirty.

It made a welcome change to be able to travel home in daylight, heading through the outskirts of the town he’d known all his life, and on towards the moors.

This was the country he loved, satisfyingly bleak and beautiful in its own way.

Of course, he knew that not everyone saw it like that, including his wife, Eleanor, hailing originally as she did from a gentler landscape further south.

But even Eleanor adored their old farmhouse. The views from its windows were a heart-lifting sight, even in the wildest weather, and the sense of space always helped him think.

Dusk was falling as he drove up the track. The house looked solid and reassuring, with lights glowing from the windows, like the final beacons before the darkening hills beyond.

No sooner had he opened the front door than he was greeted by his daughter, Samantha, and Pip, the family’s black Labrador. “Dad! You’re early.” Clarence was almost thrown off balance as Sam threw her arms around him.

She’d taken her grandmother’s death particularly hard and over the last few days that had translated into shows of physical affection.

He himself had never been demonstrative, but if this helped his daughter to cope, then he was happy to go along with it.

“How was school?” he asked once she’d released him.

She grimaced.

“OK. I’ve got tons of French homework.”

It was no secret that the select girls’ school Samantha attended in the next town put great store in intensive study, but that was the price one paid for a top-level education. Clarence had had to go through the same at that age.

“Vanessa phoned,” Sam added. “She says there’s a spare horse for the showjumping class on Saturday, and it’s mine if I want it. Mum said I should check with you. Can I go?”

Vanessa, the owner of the local riding stables, had had a lot of success in various equestrian competitions and was worshipped by his horse-mad daughter.

As the stables had such a high reputation, the lessons cost an arm and a leg, but Sam enjoyed them.

“Go on, then. Your mum will have to give you a lift, though. I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on.”

“Thanks, Dad. You’re the best.”

As she skipped back into the living-room, Clarence glanced after her. A row of sympathy cards lined the mantelpiece.

There were more on top of the piano, too, as if to remind him that he hadn’t imagined recent events.

The sound of footsteps on the hall’s oak flooring announced Eleanor emerging from the kitchen.

“Two more cards arrived today,” she told him after they kissed briefly in greeting. “One from a cousin of your mother’s in Canada. And one from Peter.”

“Nice of him,” Clarence said tightly. “If late.”

“He had a lot to do in the week before the funeral. He was on the move, remember. At least he came. That can’t have been easy for him.”

“He still kept his distance from me.”

“Can you blame him after the last conversation you two had? And then nothing for the five years since? It’s like your father and brother all over again.

“They never made up, even to your father’s dying day. Is that what you want with your own son?”

Clarence struggled to keep his voice low.

“As I’ve said before, you weren’t there at the time. James threw everything away and left us in the lurch. He left me carrying the can.”

“Maybe, but your mother told me how it almost tore her in two.” Eleanor put her hand on his arm. “Why are you doing this to yourself, Clarence? It’s all very well having a sense of duty, but you can take it too far.”

“Because these things are important. If Peter had an ounce of –”

He stopped as he noticed Eleanor glance behind him.

“There’s a delicious smell coming from the kitchen,” Samantha said brightly.

“That’ll be the casserole,” her mother replied. Clarence frowned. “It’s quarter past seven. Haven’t you normally eaten by now?”

“We’re running late. We went to the new out-oftown supermarket. You wouldn’t believe the range they’ve got there. We’ll need a bigger freezer.”

“I’ll take your word for it. By the way,” he added to Sam with a wink, “we had a young lady solicitor starting today. You’ll probably meet her at the summer barbecue. She might be able to give you a few tips for when it’s your turn.” “Oh. OK.” “Dinner’s nearly ready.” Eleanor interrupted.

Clarence grunted as he lifted up his bulging briefcase.

“I’ll take mine to the study.” Samantha’s face fell. “Why don’t you eat with us?”

“Because I’ve got a lot to do, including sorting out your gran’s estate.”

To his surprise, both his wife and daughter blocked his path. Pip, sensing the prospect of a game, danced round his feet.

“It can wait for another evening,” Eleanor said. “You’re eating with us, and that’s final.”

The meal turned out to be thoroughly enjoyable. Eleanor opened a bottle of wine which the two of them finished afterwards as they all watched a film rented from the video library in the town centre.

When Clarence mentioned a documentary he wanted to record, it was Sam who set the timer.

“We should do this more often,” Eleanor told him. “Your life’s in danger of being all work and no play.”

But Clarence had dozed off, so wasn’t able to reply.

On Friday morning, reluctant to wake to her alarm after a long week, Helen clicked it over to the radio setting in the hope of some cheerful music to help her get moving.

When she heard an announcement that it was seven o’clock and here were the news headlines, her drowsy consciousness picked up that the reporter’s voice sounded grave. Why did they always concentrate on bad news?

She forced her eyes open and switched off the radio.

In the kitchen, the aroma of Jackie’s toast made the room feel warmer and welcoming by association, along with the background music of the radio on the small, melamine-topped table.

It was the first time Helen had seen her since Monday, due to a combination of her housemate’s work shifts and the fact that she seemed to go out quite a lot with friends.

She wondered how long it would be before she knew enough people to have a social life again.

Arguably, she only had herself to blame for that, but evenings were lonely at the moment and no-one at work seemed a likely candidate.

“How’s the new job?” Jackie asked.

“Tiring, but it’s getting there,” Helen replied. “It’s different from my last

place. I think I’ll like it once I’ve settled in.”

Helen retrieved her toast from the toaster and spread jam on it. Having got her morning routine more organised, she now had time for a quick breakfast in the house rather than on the way to the bus stop.

Over the weekend she would sort out a food shopping trip and find her feet in the area generally.

“I’m sorry I had to rush out on Monday. Any more on the new housemate?” she asked.

“No. I only know what the landlord told me when he called round to collect the rent. Hopefully they’ll be nice. Oh, is it seven-thirty already?”

Jackie stopped talking as more news headlines came on the radio, making Helen wonder if there was any escape from them.

As they listened, Helen could hardly believe her ears. Argentinian ships were approaching somewhere called the Falkland Islands, which apparently were British, and an invasion was expected within hours.

It seemed some kind of defence force was being mustered and islanders had been urged to stay indoors.

Jackie breathed in sharply.

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Neither do I. I’m ashamed to have to ask this, but where are the Falkland Islands?”

“I’m not sure.”

It was a relief when a Duran Duran record came on. They both hummed along with no idea of the reaction to the news in a house on the other side of town.

In that house, a couple of miles away, Margaret was struggling to start her day.

For reasons she couldn’t explain, she’d slept badly. Her grandmother used to say that she always had a feeling when something wrong was in the air, and that stopped her sleeping.

No sooner had the memory come to her than Margaret gave herself a shake and dismissed it. She was a firm believer in good old common sense.

Besides, what women with family and work responsibilities didn’t have a bad night’s sleep every now and then?

The radio presenter’s good-natured chatter in between the music provided a comforting background to the clatter of spoons against cereal bowls and the spreading of marmalade.

She was hoping they didn’t play anything too noisy this morning when Alison came into the kitchen, looking flustered.

“Mum, I need some socks for my PE kit. The others got wet at cross-country on Tuesday and there aren’t clean ones in my drawer.” Margaret rolled her eyes. “You’ll find some in the airing cupboard. Put the dirty ones in the laundry basket.”

“Thanks, Mum. I’ll –” “Shush!” The conversation was cut off by Arthur.

Margaret hadn’t realised it was time for the news headlines. She froze as a serious-sounding voice cut across the stillness of the room.

It was saying something about Royal Marines and local volunteers, and that an invasion was expected within hours.

“Where’s that?” Alison asked.

“The Falkland Islands.” Arthur replied.

“Are they near Britain?” “No, but they’re British territory, and it sounds as though they’re about to be invaded. The question is, what will we do about it?” Arthur’s face was grim.

He finished speaking, and Margaret’s stomach churned as she and her husband exchanged glances and the significance of the news for their family – especially their son – sank in.

To be continued.