Henrietta was in the garden when Charles arrived home, wearing trousers and a sun hat, a pair of pruning shears in her gloved hands. She didn’t often wear trousers, considering them too American and too modern, but Charles approved when she did. He found it difficult to take his eyes off her swaying hips as she moved, and on this occasion he watched from the kitchen door for some minutes before she sensed his presence. She turned and took her hat off, brushing the hair out of her eyes with her upper arm.
‘What are you doing here?’ she called with surprise.
‘I live here,’ he said cheerfully, crossing the lawn and approaching her. ‘Might I be addressing the lady of the house?’ Charles kissed her on the cheek. She absently kissed the air beside his face.
‘Yes, but it’s only six-thirty. You’ve not been home this early for years. Are you ill?’ she asked, almost serious.
‘No. I’m perfectly well. I thought we might spend some time together, that’s all.’
‘Good God, Charles, this is all rather unexpected. After all this time, you want to play at being husband for a night?’
Charles looked at her with his large brown eyes, the exaggerated pout on his lips not entirely hiding the fact that the remark had stung.
Henrietta was almost his height, slim, with an oval face framed with silky chestnut hair. She looked, if anything, more beautiful than she had the day he met her at Cambridge, eleven years before. On that day he’d been dressed as a penguin – part of some student rag accosting passers-by – and she’d been late for a lecture. He’d held her by her skinny arms until she either made a donation of at least half a crown or had promised to meet him for a drink. Having almost no money with her she had been forced to accept the alternative.
That meeting had been only two weeks after Charle’s decision to change his name, one week after the awful scene with his father. The full implications of his decision had yet to sink in, and he was still exploring his new identity, Charles Holborne, English gentleman. Perhaps that was why he had the courage to grab her wrists in his flippers and demand a date with her, because it wasn’t Charlie Horowitz asking, but this new, dangerous, dashing Charles Holborne.
Everyone knew Henrietta of course. The Hon. Henrietta Lloyd-Williams, eldest daughter of Viscount Brandreth, one of the fastest of the “fast set” as Charles’s father used to call them, and yet with an unpretentious, easy manner and, so it was said, a good brain too. What persuaded her to go out with this dark-eyed persistent penguin she didn’t know. His arrogance was quite unlike the self-assurance of the well-bred languid young men with whom she had grown up. It was dangerous, almost bellicose. It invited challenge, so much so that for the first few months of their relationship part of the attraction was her anticipation that something, anything, might happen when she was with him. There had been a couple of fights in Cambridge pubs in which Charles had demonstrated a thrilling ability to look after himself. There was also a bitterness about him, but softened by a gentle self-deprecating humour that made him appear vulnerable. It was certainly his ability to make her laugh that persuaded her to see him again, but it was the “little boy lost” that so endeared him to her. That so big a man, both in intellect and in size – although Charles wasn’t tall, he was as broad as a bull – could at times look so perplexed by the universe was indeed endearing.
For Charles’s part, he sensed something in Henrietta with which he identified. Her relationship with her father the Viscount, an exacting impatient man, was fraught and punctuated with long periods during which the two of them would not speak. Charles was unaware of it at the time, but Henrietta’s third year at Cambridge when they first met was one such period. That year had been the most intense of their lives – romantic weekends away, shared books, music and ideas, and sex at all times of the day and night, and in increasingly dangerous places. They couldn’t keep their hands off one another. They inhabited their own private, intoxicated, world. And barely ten months after they first met, post-coital on a desolate Northumbrian beach, Henrietta proposed to Charles, and he accepted. A week later, still during term, they were married in Cambridge without a word to either family. Two days before the ceremony Charles told Henrietta that he was Jewish by birth, but not practising. Charles didn’t think to mention that to be Jewish doesn’t require practice. She couldn’t actually say she’d met a Jew before, practising or otherwise, but it didn’t matter to her, she said, as long as they could continue to eat bacon and oysters.
Her parents loathed him of course, albeit politely. Her mother had been heard to say that there was nothing wrong with Jewish furriers from the East End of London, of course, nor indeed with their clever sons. They were just so… unsuitable, as in-laws. The Viscount took it as a personal insult by his daughter, the most successful means she had yet found to demonstrate her contempt for him, which in many ways it was.
So far as Charles’s parents were concerned it was much simpler. When they learned of the marriage they said Kaddish, the prayer for the dead, mourned Charles for a week and never mentioned his name again. As far as they were concerned, their eldest son, the apple of their eye, had died. Henrietta’s family were, of course, quite grateful for this attitude. One Jew connected to the family was quite enough; an entire brood would have been intolerable.
At the end of term Charles took Henrietta to his parents’ home to introduce her. His parents refused to come to the door and David, Charles’s younger brother, apologetically barred his way at the threshold. Charles, hurt beyond description, shouted some unforgivable words from the doorway before Henrietta managed to drag him away. He still remembered some of those words with shame, but he had no further contact with the family in the intervening years.
Once, a couple of years after that event, Harry Horowitz discovered David eating breakfast while reading a court report in The Telegraph about a case where Charles’s name was mentioned. David was by then in his early 20s, but his father still beat him as efficiently as his sixty-six year-old arms and heart condition would allow. Five years after that, when viewing a development plot in one of his rare property cases, Charles discovered by chance that the family had moved. The entire street in the East End where his childhood home had stood had been demolished. Where his parents were and whether they were both still alive he neither knew nor, he told himself, cared.
‘I thought perhaps we could go out for a meal,’ said Charles.
‘I’m sorry, Charles,’ Henrietta replied, with sincerity, ‘but I can’t. I’ve been invited to the Robertsons’ for dinner; they have some friends over from the States, and they’re holding a small party for them.’
‘I’m sure Helen wouldn’t mind if I came too.’
‘She didn’t invite you because you’ve never once kept a mid-week dinner arrangement since we’ve been married,’ she replied, continuing with her pruning.
‘I’ve told you a million times, don’t exaggerate.’
‘Alright, maybe not “never”. But you have let them down on more than one occasion. It’s a bit unfair to ask at this stage, don’t you think? It’s a small party, and it’s starting in two hours. You’ll throw her into a tizzy if you ask to come now. But if you really want me to ’phone, I will.’
Charles pondered, and decided against it. ‘Okay; forget it.’
Henrietta rested her forehead on his chest and Charles drank in the smell of her hair – cut grass and sunshine. She looked up. ‘It was a nice idea. If you do it more often, I’ll get used to it.’
She took his face in her muddy, gloved, hands, pulled his head towards hers and kissed him on the mouth.
‘You smell nice,’ he said.
‘You smell nice too.’
‘What of?’ he asked.
‘Just Charlie,’ she answered, hugging him.
‘I don’t suppose…’ he suggested.
‘What don’t you suppose?’ she replied, snuggling closer to him.
‘That you might develop a dreadful headache at about ten o’clock tonight which might
mysteriously clear up on your arrival home?’
‘Charlie! Whatever has come over you?’
‘Nothing’s come over me. I was hoping to come over you.’
‘You’re disgusting,’ she said with a grin. ‘Still, I’ll see what can be arranged.’
Henrietta took his arm and they walked slowly down the garden.
‘Charlie?’
‘Present.’
‘Can we both make a special effort? I know I’ve been a real bitch the last few weeks. And you – ’
‘I’ve been working too hard – ’ he interrupted.
‘You’ve been distant, cold and thoughtless,’ she corrected.
‘Hmm.’
‘I was adding it up this morning. I haven’t seen you for more than six hours this whole week. That’s three breakfasts, one trip to the shops, and an hour on Monday night – and that was only because the power cut prevented you from working.’
He sighed. ‘It’s this murder. And there’s the fraud next month. They’re both important – ’
‘I know they are, and I’m proud of you, even though I think you’re wasted doing this stuff. What does Daddy call it?’
‘“The Verbals”.’
‘Yes, that. But I sometimes wonder how high our marriage is on your list of priorities.’
‘We’ve been through this before, Etta. If you got yourself a proper job which actually stretched you, you wouldn’t be waiting at home with nothing – ’
‘“Proper job”?’ she exclaimed. She was about to launch into an impassioned response, but she bit her lip, took a deep breath and looked up at him. ‘Don’t you see how such comments demean me?’ she asked. ‘Do you never wonder how someone might feel, on the receiving end? Anyway that’s not the point. I don’t want a different job. I want – ’
‘I know what you want. You want a child. I know, Etta, really I do. But we’ve been through this, and we agreed to wait a year or two – ’
He was interrupted by Fiona calling from the French windows.
‘Is Charles in yet? Oh, you are. There’s a chap called Stanley on the ‘phone. He says it’s very urgent.’
Charles looked at Henrietta. ‘I’d better take it. I’ll be right back.’
He ran up the lawn and into the house where Fiona handed him the telephone. Henrietta returned to her gardening, shaking her head to herself.
‘Stanley?’ Charles asked.
‘Hello, sir. Sorry to trouble you at home, but I’ve just had a call from Tony, the clerk to Mr Rhodes Thomas. Mr Rhodes Thomas has had an accident. It’s not life-threatening, but apparently he’s broken his leg, and he’ll be out of commission, in traction, for at least six weeks.’
CHAPTER NINE
‘For fuck’s sake! What was he doing? Now what? Will we be adjourned? How long am I going to have to stay on remand?’ wailed Plumber.
Charles, Ralph Cohen and their client sat in a conference room at HM Prison Brixton, to which Plumber had been moved at the start of the trial.
Cohen replied. ‘He slipped down the stairs at the Old Bailey. It must have been just after I left him last night. He’s in Bart’s, just opposite the court. He says he’ll be in hospital for as much as six weeks. But we’re pretty confident that we can get the case adjourned.’
‘What, for six weeks?’
‘I don’t know about that. It will probably be more than six weeks before he’s back at work, maybe three or four months. It’s a very bad break. I’m not sure the Court will allow as long as that. It may be better to get a new silk in before then.’
‘You mean start the trial again?’ protested Plumber.
‘Del, we’re going to have to do that, whatever happens,’ replied Cohen, sympathetically. ‘I understand how you feel. But a jury can only be sent away for a couple of days, certainly not for weeks. They’ll have to be discharged.’
‘And how long will it take to find another silk?’
Cohen looked at Charles to answer. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘The case isn’t difficult in terms of what’s got to be assimilated; it’s just a question of finding someone who’s free at very short notice. Good silks get booked up early.’
‘So it means I’ve to put up with someone who’s second rate? With me life on the line? You gotta be fucking joking!’
‘Please calm down Mr Plumber,’ answered Charles. ‘There is no question of you being represented by anyone second rate. Mr Rhodes Thomas was my first choice, but there are plenty of excellent leaders.’
‘Yeh, but I’m under pressure to find one quickly. I’ve been on remand for months. I can’t go through this again, Mr Holborne. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, and I’m at me wits’ end. I don’t want to put the case off at all. Why can’t you do it? Don’t you feel up to it?’
‘It’s not that. You’re charged with a capital offence, and you’re entitled to leading counsel.’
‘I’m entitled to counsel of my choice, right? Well, one of ’em’s crocked but I’ve still got one left, and I’ve got confidence in him. I don’t want the case put off or started again.’
Charles looked at Cohen, who shrugged. ‘You are aware,’ said Charles to Plumber, ‘that I have less experience than a Q.C. would have?’
‘Yeh. But, like I said, I have faith in you. I know you’ll do as well as anyone.’
Charles paused. ‘Thank you for that vote of confidence, Mr Plumber. I appreciate what you’ve said. But I need a little time to think about this. I have a professional duty to do the best I can for you, and if that involves getting in another silk, that’s what I have to do. Would it be okay if I give you my answer tomorrow?’
Plumber nodded.
•
‘Well?’ asked Charles of Cohen as they stepped out of the prison gates onto the forecourt.
‘You’ve had express instructions from the client, Charles. He wants you to carry on. It’s a murder, yes, but this is about as straightforward a case of murder as you can get. All you have to do is discredit one witness, and you’ve done that hundreds of times. I think you can cope.’
‘But if I mess it up, our client’s going to hang.’
‘True. But that doesn’t make me any less confident that you can do it. To be honest Charles, you’re better than half the silks I see every day. And I think the jury’ll warm to you. You talk like them, you come from the same part of London, and there’s no front on you. It’s your decision of course, and if you decide it’s a bit too early, I’ll take your advice and we’ll find someone else.’
‘Okay. I’ll think about it overnight.’
•
R. v. Plumber – Transcript of Evidence
Friday, 18 November 1960
Sands: Examination in chief
MR HOGG:
Would you please give the court your full name?
WITNESS:
Robbie – er, that’s Robert – Reginald Sands.
MR HOGG:
Your present address.
WITNESS:
Brixton Prison.
MR HOGG:
Yesterday, you pleaded guilty to robbing the Express Dairies, London North Depot of approximately £138,000 on 5th February this year.
WITNESS:
Aye, I did.
MR HOGG:
Did you commit that robbery alone or with others.
WITNESS:
I did it w’ him.
JUDGE:
Let the record show that the witness pointed to the Defendant, Plumber.
MR HOGG:
Were any others involved?
WITNESS:
No.
MR HOGG:
Were any firearms used in the robbery?
WITNESS:
Aye. We each took an imitation, at least that’s what I thought.
MR HOGG:
Would you please show the witness Exhibits 4 and 5?
WITNESS:
They’re the ones. I cannae say which was mine or Plumbers, ‘cos they were identical.
MR HOGG:
WITNESS:
I did.
MR HOGG:
When you obtained them, were you anxious to obtain real or imitation firearms?
WITNESS:
I wouldnae have gone on the job at all had I known that real shooters were to be used.
MR HOGG:
What was your part in the robbery?
WITNESS:
We both went in. I stood by the door and collared the employees as they came through; Plumber handcuffed them to the pipes. We took two cars, well, a van and a car. Plumber was the getaway driver. The van was used to block the alley after us.
MR HOGG:
There came a time when a member of one of the crews returning to the Depot was reluctant to enter, did there not?
WITNESS:
There did.
MR HOGG:
Will you tell the jury what happened then?
WITNESS:
The wee laddie on the door opened up, but the fella wouldnae come in. He must have been suspicious, ‘cos he ran off, shouting something.
MR HOGG:
What happened then?
WITNESS:
I rushed out to grab him. He was about ten yards ahead of me, running to his van.
MR HOGG:
Where was Plumber at this stage?
WITNESS:
I thought he was still inside, ‘cos that was his job, right? Guarding the employees. But then I heard something behind me, and the next second there was this bang. The guard caught it right in the middle of the back. Blew him off the ground and down by the van.
MR HOGG:
Did you see what had caused the noise?
WITNESS:
Not till I turned. There was Plumber wi’ that in his hand and smoke coming from it.
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