I’d spent yesterday getting to know the clerks and all the members of the admin team. I figured out that while the guys liked to tease and joke with each other, people took their jobs seriously and were hard workers. I’d asked each of them a billion questions about Knightley—his habits, his moods, his calendar, his computer. I’d extracted every last drop of information about him from the people in chambers, only to realize he asked nothing of them. I’d discovered that other barristers used the clerks and admin staff to arrange things like meeting rooms, hire couriers, and even copy and file paperwork with the court. But Knightley did everything himself. Most of the people I talked to mentioned Knightley’s father and how he was the greatest barrister of his generation. Other than that, no one mentioned his personal life. I wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t have one or because he was fiercely private.
From what I could figure out, the man was a driven, ambitious control freak.
Because Knightley had no boss, he could really do what he wanted, and clearly he was doing just that. I had no idea why he didn’t want any help, and I couldn’t imagine how I was supposed to change his mind. I needed a way in.
Now that I’d gathered all this information on him, I wanted to get into his office to see what else I could find that might give me a start. And then I could also begin his filing. He was the only barrister in chambers who didn’t share an office, so I only had to wait for him to leave to have the place to myself. I wanted to take a look at some of those piles of paper that I’d seen. What the hell was all that crap? I also wanted to see if he had any photographs on his desk or mementos on his wall; maybe if I got to understand him a little, I could figure out who he was aside from a man who looked like he’d just stepped out of a cologne ad in the pages of Vanity Fair. From what people had said, he had a brain the size of Jupiter, but none of that told me what made him tick. People described him as surly and gruff, but there was clearly more to him. The way he’d offered to replace my phone and walked me to chambers, saved me from an oncoming cyclist—he wasn’t a complete monster. Was he one person in chambers and another at home? Was he a loving husband and devoted father? And if so, why the fuck didn’t he care about getting paid? Nothing added up.
I left my desk and made my way along the narrow corridor to the door of Knightley’s office. It was closed. Opposite was a staircase with an ornate wooden banister leading up to more offices. I climbed the stairs and just as I reached the point where the steps curved and Knightley’s office door was partly obscured, I took a seat. I was staking this guy out. He must leave his office for lunch or something.
After about an hour, the brass handle of Knightley’s office rattled and his door opened. In confident, long strides, he strode along the corridor toward the back of the building. Even from a bird’s eye view, he looked handsome. He’d removed his jacket and his shirt fit tightly over his muscular shoulders. In a flash he was gone. I wasn’t even going to try to slip into his office now in case he was just going to the restroom, but my heart was still beating out of my chest. It wasn’t as if I was doing anything wrong—I was just waiting for him to leave his office—but watching someone who didn’t know they were being tracked felt odd. Especially when I was kinda ogling him.
This must be the strangest office job anyone had ever had.
I timed him, and exactly four minutes later he was back, shutting the door behind him. I didn’t know his first name, but I knew how long it took him to pee. It felt like a small victory.
As the hours passed, I alternated between standing up, sitting down, stretching my legs in front of me, sitting on one numb cheek and then the other. Then, as Knightley’s door handle rattled again, I froze. This was it, another bathroom break or something longer. I checked my watch. Or lunch. It was almost two. He appeared in the doorway, a frown fixed on his face, and this time turned right. My heartbeat pulsed in my ears. Was he leaving the building? As he disappeared out of sight, I crept down the stairs. I got to the bottom just in time to see him heading outside. This was my chance. I grabbed the brass handle and slid into his room and closed the door behind me.
I didn’t know why I was so nervous. Being in here was my job and it was the approach Jimmy had suggested. I just didn’t want to piss Knightley off so badly I got fired on my third day in the office. I moved between the piles of paper toward his desk. Careful not to touch anything, I tried to figure out what each stack was, but nothing made sense—just mentions of cases and respondents, court and proceedings. Thin, pink ribbons dangled from the towers of paper like ivy growing over stone. I sighed. How was I ever going to be able to go through this stuff? It was as if it were in Chinese.
I moved farther into the room. I needed to understand him better, find a way of building trust with him. I dragged my hand over the warm, dark mahogany desk, inlaid with green leather. More paper. Everywhere. And his laptop. I pressed down the spacebar. A password box popped up. Well, it couldn’t be that easy, could it?
There were no photographs on his desk. No inspirational quotes on a notepad by his phone. I glanced at his walls. Only a few certificates in the name A. Knightley. I suppose at least now I had an initial. Knightley, or whatever his name was, was all work. Looking closer, I saw he’d graduated eleven years ago from Cambridge University. That made him roughly thirty-two, three years older than me. We couldn’t have more different lives. Like him, I’d gone to a good college, but he’d spent the last decade building a career and a reputation that was unfathomable to me. All that time and commitment to one thing—what drove him to the levels of dedication he had? Did he ever have fun? Was he married? Have a girlfriend, boyfriend, pet hamster? In just a few days, I’d thought up more questions for him than there was time left on my three-month contract for him to answer.