Pacing the floor of his rooms behind the Four Courts, Henry Murphy SC mulls over the somewhat contradictory position he finds himself in on the publication of his second book of fiction based on barrister life.
"The traditional school of law is opposed to self-promotion," he says, choosing his words in that careful way experienced legal folk do. "I am very conscious of that - barristers are like surgeons: They should be private people, you don't expect your surgeon to be all over the newspapers." He pauses for the umpteenth time before wondering out loud: "Hmm - am I being a complete hypocrite?"
Giving this interview, he eventually reasons, is different because it has been prompted by his latest book, Brief Cases. It does not, he believes, put him into the company of barristers who pose happily for photographs on the successful conclusion of a case and make themselves available to the media at the drop of a wig. The self-publicising activities of those barristers - and Murphy won't name names - makes for an un-level legal playing pitch. "And people fall for it, they probably shouldn't but they do - on the whole, the feeling is that kind of activity is frowned upon," he says.
The dilemma involved in touting for business is just one of the issues Dermot McNamara, the junior counsel star of Brief Cases, gets to grips with. While he is keen to point out that the book is not autobiographical, (although Murphy, like McNamara, specialises in personal injury cases) Murphy says that many barristers would identify with the character as he struggles through his early years. "The empty pigeonhole which means you still don't have any cases, the thrill of getting your first brief," he says. Dermot McNamara's father is a golfing pal of solicitor Arnold O'Reilly, and O'Reilly gives the young barrister work occasionally. Such contacts, whether through sport, business or family, are an obvious advantage in the Law Library. "What is wrong is when these contacts become what it is all about," Murphy says.
Murphy's own father, Russell Murphy, an accountant to the stars, was useful in passing on contacts. Then, when he died, it was discovered that over the years he had been spending the earnings of clients such as Gay Byrne and Hugh Leonard without their knowledge. Murphy has never spoken about the events publicly and says he never will. "As a family, you don't get over something like that."
The profession has changed considerably since Murphy, now 50, entered it as a young man in the early 1970s. Most of the people of a certain generation in the Law Library would not get the Leaving Cert points required for law school these days. "It has all got much more professional," he says.
There is a huge amount of gossip in the library, where stories are exchanged and advice on cases requested from the more mature legal brains. "There is lots of gossip - the latest row in the tribunal, who said what to which judge, who will be the next judge, who is taking silk."
One of the most widely discussed issues this year was the Sheedy affair, which led to the resignation of a supreme court judge, a high court judge and a court registrar. It caused a lot of upset, Murphy says.
"Justice has not only to be done, but has to be seen to be done and the tragedy of that is any fall from grace has catastrophic consequences," he says. In the case of the three legal resignations, he says the "punishment was terribly severe. It was very upsetting, there was a lot of pressure coming from the media and in the end there was no alternative".
While there is a professional and prurient interest in the twists and turns of various careers, Murphy says "to be honest we are not terribly interested in the cases we are not involved in. I am interested in the case that will pay me my fees."
Ah, the fees. Big, fat wads of money changing hands, lawyers cleaning up and chortling all the way to the bank. "The fees, generally, are justified," he says. "A lot of court work can be really well paid, but at junior-counsel level there is a lot of work that is underpaid.
"There are high fees earned, but the perception that every barrister is earning huge fees every day of the year, that's rubbish," he adds. And while there is a lot of money to be made at the tribunals, Murphy says he knows of at least one barrister who would pay a fortune to get out. As the tribunals drag on for months on end, he says some even wonder whether they will have a practice to go back to when it is all over.
Other perceptions of the barrister life contain a certain amount of truth, Murphy concedes. Some do own expensive houses in the barrister belt of Dublin 4 to Dublin 6. Most of the more than 1,000 junior and senior counsel live on the southside of Dublin and many are members of the Bar golfing or rugby societies. Murphy used to live in Sandymount but currently lives in Greystones with his wife, Mary. There are lunches at the Lord Edward, drinks at the Shelbourne Bar and weekends spent sailing. Some have exotic holidays, and a few own property overseas. Tuscany in Italy is a favourite spot.
"But I think my writing the book highlights that there are interests in the library other than the ones people most commonly associate with barristers," he says.
Warming to this theme, he lists a number of barristers with diverse hobbies: There is published poet John O'Donnell; the singer and composer Adrian Mannering; the country and western musician Chris Meehan and the opera singer Michael Hanna. The late Rex Mackey, who wrote a legal memoir, was also an actor and when a group of barristers and solicitors put on a production of Trial by Jury a few years ago it was, says Murphy, a colossal success.
Murphy agrees that a thespian tendency is useful at the Bar. "You need it to keep up the poker face," he says. The performances of some barristers are more worthy of an Oscar than others, he says, providing a list of court-room styles, some of which he writes about in the book.
Number one on his list is Theatrical Barrister, for whom all the courtrooms are a stage and whose performance will depend on whether he is playing to judge or jury. "The juries are usually more impressed by him because the judge has heard it all before," he says. Then there is Aggressive Barrister, who can be tough, almost cruel, but "the judge doesn't mind as long as he doesn't go over the top". The most successful style in Murphy's mind is Minimalist Barrister. "These are people who don't use two words when one will do, they are often more effective because of this," he says.
Dermot McNamara in Brief Cases is ambitious and able but often just doesn't get the breaks required to catapult him into the big time. Murphy began writing about him in 1993 with his first book, An Eye on the Whiplash. He even wrote to writer/lawyer John Mortimer of Rumpole of the Bailey fame to ask him whether he should keep his name or use a pseudonym. "He said that using his own name had never done him any harm," Murphy says. He has yet to hear what Mortimer thought of his own efforts. "I sent him the book but I haven't had a reply," he says.
He is anxious to drive home the point that writing is only a sideline. He would love to have more time for writing, he says, but he has a career to look after, briefs to secure, cases to argue. By the look on his face, it seems he has still not decided whether this interview is a perfectly valid book-publicising ploy or whether he may, in fact be guilty (yer honour) of blatant self-promotion. Even as he drives off home to Greystones, he gives the impression that the jury is still out, on this thorny question at least.
Brief Cases is published by Ashfield Press, an imprint of Blackhall Publications, price £17.95