by Jilly Cooper
After lunch it was the turn of the defence. As Pendle rose to his feet, straightening his gown and the papers in front of him, his hands shook, but he spoke calmly enough.
‘We intend to prove that my client has been the victim of a monstrous calumny. Not only has he been charged with a revolting offence, he has also lost his job, will no doubt have difficulty finding another one, been publicly humiliated, and privately diminished in the eyes of his family and friends — and all this on the testament of one girl. Her word against his. Her fiancé arrived too late and found a locked door. What we have to find out, ladies and gentlemen, was what went on beyond that door. Intercourse,’ he paused. ‘We have no doubt; the police medical report bears this out, but at whose instigation. Miss Graham looks like the innocent flower, but is she perhaps the serpent underneath?’ He paused again for effect and glared at Jimmy Batten who glared back, his lip curling with disdain.
I was hard put not to giggle.
Even as he took the oath, Canfield gave the impression of being a con man, a rep with his shiny shoe in the door. The Jury were looking at him with disgust.
Pendle stared at him thoughtfully.
‘Mr Canfield, was Miss Graham a good secretary?’
‘No,’ said Canfield.
‘Why did you keep her on then?’
Canfield smiled wryly. ‘I suppose I was attracted to her.’
There was a ripple of chattering round the court.
‘I told you so,’ muttered my fat neighbour, handing me a pack of Maltesers.
‘You wanted to sleep with her?’ said Pendle.
‘In a word, yes.’
‘But refrained from doing so?’
‘She was engaged to be married. I do have some principles. Besides, Ricky Wetherby is much bigger than me.’
It was a bad joke which did nothing to endear Canfield to the Jury.
‘And what happened on the day of the so-called assault?’
‘She said she’d lost her notebook; could I possibly dictate the letters I’d given her yesterday again. I said I had to go to a meeting. I came back at 5.30 and told her to come into my office.’
‘What was Miss Graham wearing?’
‘She’d changed into a new dress; it was very becoming.’
‘Can you describe it?’
‘Well it was very low cut, and made more so because she’d lost a button.’
‘What happened then?’
‘I said she looked smashing; was she going to meet her fiancé? She smiled and said not until much later. I said he was a lucky man, and we’d better get on with the letters or we’d both be in trouble. Suddenly she burst into tears, said she felt trapped, that her fiancé was a disaster in bed.’
There was a murmur of protest from the public gallery. The Judge told them to shut up. Fiona’s face was expressionless.
‘We heard a step outside. Fi — I mean Miss Graham said please lock the door, and then she went on crying. I told her she was crazy to marry him feeling like that. I put my arm round her to comfort her.’
‘Did she offer any resistance?’
‘God no, quite the reverse. She said she’d wanted me for weeks. The next minute we were on the floor.’
‘And intercourse occurred?’
‘It certainly did.’
The rustling and coughing always present in court had died away. People were leaning forward not to miss a word.
‘Thank you, Mr Canfield,’ said Pendle, and sat down. He seemed surprisingly elated, particularly since Batten took over next, and absolutely tore Canfield to pieces. Although Canfield stuck to his story, it looked pretty ragged by the end. White and shaken, he sat down.
Next Pendle called one of the pretty typists from the office. She came in giggling and patting her hair, and wearing far too much make-up. Pendle handled her with the utmost gentleness and soon her nerves disappeared.
‘We were both in the Ladies getting ready to go home. It was about 5.15. Fi — I mean Miss Graham was changing into this lovely dress, very low cut. She said she was going to meet her fiancé later. At that moment a button popped off, which made it almost, well, indecent.’
‘You’re sure of this?’
‘Course I’m sure. She said that was the trouble with buying cheap clothes. I offered to lend her a needle. I said once she was married to Ricky she wouldn’t have to buy cheap clothes any more. Besides, it looked more sexy without the button, and we had a giggle about that.’
The tension was beginning to mount in the court. The Jury were sitting up and taking notice.
The next witness was blond, handsome and brash, and said his name was Gerald Seaton. He described himself as a commercial traveller.
‘Have you seen Miss Graham before?’ said Pendle.
‘Yes, we met in the King’s Cross Hotel lounge exactly four months ago.’
‘How did you meet?’
‘She picked me up.’
Suddenly the court went very still.
‘I was working on some figures. She came and sat near me, and smiled at me. I smiled back. She was a very pretty girl; she said she was meeting her aunt off the Leeds train, but it had been delayed. We arranged to meet next evening.’
‘Did she tell you she was engaged?’
‘Oh yes, she made no secret of the fact. She was going to marry this rich bloke. Said he was no good in bed.’
I glanced at Ricky Wetherby. He looked as though he’d been turned to stone.
‘What happened next?’
‘I took her away to the Cotswolds for the weekend. We stayed in a hotel.’
‘How did you pass the time?’
‘We spent it in bed.’
‘Even though she was engaged to be married?’
‘Didn’t worry her; why should it worry me?’
Jimmy Batten, looking rather grim, got up to protest.
‘Surely, My Lord, this is utterly irrelevant. These events happened long before my client met the defendant.’
‘I can assure you it has the utmost relevance on the case,’ said Pendle quickly.
‘Proceed Mr Mulholland,’ said the Judge.
‘What happened after this weekend?’
‘We met once; then she suddenly refused to see me, pretending she’d decided not to cheat on her fiancé any more. Well that didn’t wash with me after her performance in the Cotswolds. So I waited for her outside her office one evening.’
‘Her new office?’ said Pendle.
‘Yes. She must have been working there about a fortnight. We went and had a drink; she got a bit bombed, and then it all came out. She’d got a thing about this bloke at work, said she was mad about him, but he refused to do anything about her.’
‘Do you remember what his name was?’
‘I can. It was the same village near my home. He was called Canfield, Bobby Canfield.’
There was not much Batten could do with Mr Seaton, nor did he have much joy with the hotel manageress in the Cotswolds, who remembered Fiona and Gerry Seaton staying there.
‘They signed in as Mr and Mrs Seaton. I remembered her because she was so pretty. We didn’t think they were married. I mean they stayed in their room all weekend. We just took their meals up.’
The Wetherby Camp looked thunderstruck. Next moment Fiona was on her feet.
‘They’re lying, they’re all lying. It’s a frame-up.’
Jimmy Batten put out a hand to hush her and, rising to retrieve the situation, said smoothly,
‘M’Lord, I should like my client to go back into the witness box to refute these charges.’
The Jury looked shaken and undecided.
Fiona went back into the box. She had regained her sangfroid now. She denied that she had ever been away for the weekend, or even met Mr Seaton. There must be some mistake. She remembered she’d had a bad cold that weekend, her fiancé had been abroad, so she’d stayed in bed without going out for two days.
‘It’s a conspiracy,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears again. ‘I s
wear I’ve never set eyes on this man in my life.’
The barometer was wavering once again. I felt the Jury were going to believe her.
There was a long pause. Then it was Pendle’s turn.
‘Miss Graham,’ he said in his gentlest drawl, ‘you do realize that people who don’t tell the truth in court can be sent to prison?’
‘Of course,’ she said.
Pendle crossed the court and handed her a piece of paper.
‘Did you write this letter?’
She glanced at it. ‘Yes, it’s a thankyou letter for a wedding present.’
Pendle went back to his place.
‘My Lord, I have here a document in the same writing as this letter. Later I will call a handwriting expert to verify their similarity. Normally I wouldn’t resort to snooping and appropriating private documents, but when my client’s reputation is at stake…’
‘All right, Mr Mulholland,’ said the Judge irritably, ‘get on with it. What have you got to show us?’
Pendle picked up a kingfisher-blue, leather-bound book, which had been hidden in his papers; the lock was hanging from it.
‘I have here a diary belonging to Miss Graham in which she chronicles only too clearly the events of the past few months.’
Suddenly Fiona’s face twisted in horror. ‘No, don’t let him,’ she screamed. ‘He’s got my diary; he’s a thief.’
‘Be quiet, Miss Graham,’ snapped the Judge. ‘Proceed, Mr Mulholland.’
Jimmy Batten’s face never moved an inch, but he must have felt the floor give way beneath him.
‘M’Lord,’ he protested, ‘I must object to my learned friend’s methods.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ said the Judge. ‘Go on, Mr Mulholland.’
‘In a minute the ladies and gentlemen of the Jury can examine the diary themselves,’ said Pendle, ‘but first I’d like to read out one or two passages.’
The lack of expression in his voice made Fiona’s passionate outpouring sound even more dreadful. First there was her description of meeting Gerald Seaton and the weekend in the Cotswolds exactly as he had described them.
‘“It’s marvellous”,’ he read in his flat drawl, ‘“after Ricky, to find someone who knows what he’s doing in bed.” ’
Fiona’s lips were blue now. ‘It’s a forgery,’ she whispered.
Pendle flipped over a few pages: ‘Now,’ he said softly, ‘let us turn to her description of her first days of working for Mr Canfield: “My new boss is really sexy, I fancy him rotten.” Here on the 5th is a picture of Mr Canfield cut out of the Investor’s Chronicle.’
‘Nothing unusual in that,’ snapped Jimmy Batten. ‘Any girl would cut out a photograph of her boss.’
As detail followed horrendous detail of her growing obsession for Canfield, I couldn’t bear to look at her, or at Ricky Wetherby, sitting stunned and unbelieving. I was mesmerized by the distaste and cruelty in Pendle’s voice. How he seemed to hate her. I could only think of a cobra striking again and again.
‘And now,’ he said suavely, ‘if you’ll bear with me, I’ll read the entry on September 28th, the day before the alleged rape:
‘“Bobby’s wife came in today. God I loathe her, the old frump. Bet she bores him to death in bed. Tomorrow is my last chance. I shall die if I don’t get him. If only Ricky’d let me go on working after we’re married. I’ll wear my new blue dress, and pretend I’ve lost my shorthand notebook and ask Bobby to give me the letters again after work. If we’re alone in the building, something’s bound to happen. I know he fancies me.” ’
Against my will, my eyes went to Ricky Wetherby, and came away again at once. It was crucifixion.
Pendle paused again, and looked slowly round the court. ‘After this the diary becomes rather anatomical, and moves into the realms of fantasy as to what Miss Graham would like Mr Canfield to do to her in bed. I imagine the ladies and gentlemen of the Jury would find it less embarrassing to read for themselves.’
But the next moment Fiona had jumped down from the witness box and was crossing the well of the court towards Pendle, screaming abuse.
‘Bastard! Bastard! Give it back to me!’
I thought she was going to claw Pendle’s face, but Ricky was too quick for her. He was beside her in a flash, his handsome face stone-grey as a pavement.
‘Leave her alone,’ he shouted at Pendle, putting his arms round Fiona. ‘Say it’s not true, Fiona darling, for Christ’s sake, say you didn’t write it.’
For a minute she glared at him.
‘Yes, I did,’ she hissed. ‘I wrote every word of it. Can’t you understand that I love him? I love him!’ And she collapsed, sobbing hysterically, into the arms of a policewoman.
A great sigh went through the court. For a minute the Jury conferred. Pendle was about to call his next witness. But the Foreman of the Jury forestalled him. If it so pleased His Lordship, they felt they had the evidence required.
‘What witness were you about to call, Mr Mulholland?’
‘A handwriting expert, M’Lord.’
The Foreman consulted with the Jury again.
‘M’Lord we have reached our verdict already. We are unanimous in returning a verdict of Not Guilty.’
‘Always thought she was a fast piece,’ said my neighbour, disconsolately, upending the empty red Malteser packet.
The Judge in his summing up congratulated Pendle on his handling of the case, admiring his tenacity, if not his slightly reprehensible methods of obtaining information. The moment he swept out in his scarlet robe pandemonium broke out. Fiona Graham was led away by the police and the Press made a most indecent dive for the public telephones outside. Across the court Pendle was being congratulated by a stunned Canfield contingent. His hands were shaking as he gathered up the papers. I knew he was dying for a cigarette. Looking up, he caught my eye over the crowd and waved. I made a double thumbs up sign. Then he mouthed that he was a bit tied up, but he’d pick me up at the flat at 8.30.
I took a bus to Sloane Square, and then walked home. I wanted some fresh air and time to think. Women in tweed skirts were raking up leaves in Chelsea gardens. An aeroplane trail was turning pink in the setting sun. Inside the houses, people were switching on lamps and lighting fires. A group of children were throwing sticks into a goldfish pond; a black spaniel ran round them barking with excitement. It all seemed so normal after the dramas in court. I was haunted by Ricky Wetherby’s stricken face. He had been so God-like and self-confident that morning. I kept thinking of Pendle, cruel and as merciless as Torquemada, turning and turning the thumbscrew on Fiona Graham. In a kinky way, though, the whole day had been so erotic. Fiona’s feverish craving for Canfield had been uncomfortably near to my own feelings for Pendle. If he didn’t make a pass at me soon, I should burst. I had been rattled too by Jimmy Batten’s comments. Perhaps Pendle was queer, and if so what was the point of seeing any more of him? But after today, I knew I was in too deep to get out. I felt restless, uneasy and horribly carnal. I’d better have a cold bath before I went out.
In fact we had a heavenly evening; all my fears were lulled. Pendle took me to Parkes and we sat in a secluded corner, guzzling champagne and Mediterranean prawns fried in garlic, and gloating over the evening papers. Canfield had been vindicated at great length, with the most sensational headlines.
‘How on earth did you get that diary?’ I asked, holding out my empty glass absently. Pendle filled it.
‘I spent the last fortnight chatting up Fiona’s flatmate.’
‘Is she pretty?’ I said, bristling.
‘No.’ Pendle flipped my nose teasingly with his finger. ‘She’s a cow and absolutely eaten up with jealousy where Fiona’s concerned. She pretended it wasn’t quite cricket to hand over the diary. Actually she was frightened Fiona’d find out she’d nicked it.’
‘When did she finally give it to you?’
‘Lunchtime today.’
I whistled.
‘I did run it a bit close, I admit. That
’s why I had to abandon you to Jimmy’s blandishments. You made a conquest there.’
‘Did I? How lovely.’
‘He rang up when I got back to the office, ostensibly to congratulate me, actually to ask us both to dinner next Friday.’
‘Ooh, can we go?’
Pendle was silent for a minute, fidgeting with his lighter. That was odd; I’d never seen him fidget before. Then he took a deep breath.
‘I’m thinking of going home for a few days next week. I was wondering if you’d like to come too.’
For a few seconds I couldn’t believe my ears. I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t speak.
‘I’d adore to,’ I finally squeaked.
Relief seemed to flood over him.
‘It’s a long way. My family live in the Lakes, but it doesn’t take that long up the Preston Motorway. I’d like to leave on Thursday afternoon, and probably come back on Sunday night. Can you get the time off?’
‘I’ve still got some holiday left,’ I said. ‘And I can always blackmail Rodney by threatening to tell Jane terrible things about him.’
‘Good. We’ll try and make it in time for late dinner then.’
‘It’ll be such heaven getting out of London,’ I said.
He smiled rather ruefully. ‘I hope you’ll enjoy it. They’re all rather formidable, particularly my mother.’
I went whooping into the flat, dying to tell Jane all about it and barged into the drawing-room. In the dim light, I could just distinguish two people locked on the sofa.
‘Get out!’ shrieked Jane. She must have picked up someone at the party she’d been to. How crude, I thought loftily, as I made myself a cup of coffee. How much more sensible Pendle and I were conducting our affair. I’d obviously destroyed their mood, for a few minutes later I heard voices, and the front door bang. Jane came into the kitchen looking ruffled.
‘You look jolly smug,’ she said sourly. ‘Has he asked you to marry him?’
‘Not quite,’ I crowed, clutching my happiness to me like a hot water bottle, ‘but he’s asked me to stay with his family next week.’
For a second her face fell. However much one likes one’s flatmate, one can’t bear their love-life to go too well, but Jane is basically a nice person, and she smiled almost immediately.