The Brief

by Simon Michael

  ‘What’s there to think about?’

  ‘Everything…you, me, us, Charlie, Marjorie.’

  ‘What have Charles and Marjorie got to do with it?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Laurence, we’re married to them! What’s more, Marjorie’s my friend – my best friend, for that matter.’

  ‘Look, will you just let me pull in, and talk to you sensibly. This is ridiculous,’ he said, indicating their two cars standing side by side with their engines running. ‘I feel like we’re about to start a race.’ He smiled his most winning smile but she was not to be budged.

  ‘No! Stay there!’ She didn’t want him in her car. She knew what would happen. He would start whispering in her ear and stroking her neck; his other hand would travel up her thigh under her skirt; he would nibble her earlobes, his index finger would start making little circular motions, and she would be lost. In separate cars, with the cold night air on her face from the open window, she could be resolute. He looked at her with suspicion. His face hardened.

  ‘Are you telling me it’s over?’ he demanded.

  ‘No,’ she said, quite surprised, ‘at least…I don’t know. Maybe I am, but I haven’t realised it yet.’

  ‘Well you can get that out of your head immediately,’ said Corbett. ‘You’re not dumping me!’

  Henrietta stared at him, astounded. ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’ she demanded. ‘I don’t want to see you again, I bloody well won’t!’

  ‘You’re being completely unreasonable! Everything was fine this morning, and suddenly you spring this on me – ’

  ‘I have nothing more to say, Laurence,’ she said, closing her window.

  ‘Well I’ve got something to say to you,’ he said, getting out of his car, ‘you gin-soaked, spoilt little – ’

  But Henrietta didn’t hear the rest. She let out the clutch and her car shot forward, narrowly missing him, and swerved into the road. She put her foot down and raced off, looking back in her mirror to see him still on the road, staring after her. She caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her face was white and she looked frightened.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Charles sat at the kitchen table, reading the Sunday papers. The first arrests had been made in what was now being called the Great Train Robbery. Charles wasn’t surprised. He knew Detective Chief Superintendent Butler, the officer heading the London end of the investigation. Butler was a strange man, but Charles had enormous respect for his policing skills.

  He drained his coffee cup, and looked at his watch. Rachel was due to arrive at the flat in 10 minutes. He again scanned the apartment to make sure everything was in place.

  Charles had phoned Rachel and they had met for a drink after work to swap outlines of their lives over the last 16 years. It had been very comfortable, and the following evening they’d gone out for dinner. That had been better still, but there had been nothing overtly romantic – no kiss goodnight, no touching, not even “accidentally” during conversation. At the end of that evening, standing outside the restaurant, Charles had asked her if she would like to take him round her Gallery on her next day off. She had agreed, and there had been a pause. Charles had wanted to kiss her and sensed that the moment was right, but he’d hesitated and the chance was lost. Rachel had said goodnight, turned, and walked away. As Charles returned to Fetter Lane he wondered if she’d have bolted anyway, and thanked God he’d not tried. He’d spoken a little about his marriage and his suspicions about Henrietta’s affairs, and Rachel could see how unhappy he was. But the fact was, he was married, and until he sorted out the situation with Henrietta, Charles felt deeply uncomfortable about starting another relationship, no matter how much he was attracted to Rachel. And he sensed ambivalence in her, too. He thought she was interested in him, but not in an affair.

  So he wasn’t sure how to characterise this meeting. This was the fourth “date” in less than three weeks, so something was happening. But what?

  Charles had not been back to Thame during the week, and he had not spoken to Henrietta. That more than anything had crystallised his thoughts about the marriage. However bad things had been, he had never before spent a week away from her unless he was away on a case, and even then he used to ring every night from his hotel room. The fact that Henrietta had neither called nor made any comment about his staying at the flat spoke volumes. Charles realised that divorce was now probably inevitable and had started, almost unconsciously, imagining a life without her. He would have to go back to Thame and sort things out.

  Charles stood and rinsed his cup it and left it on the draining board. There was a light tap on the door. Charles took the single stride necessary to get him to the front door, and opened it.

  ‘Hi,’ said Rachel. Charles frowned. ‘One of your neighbours opened the main door for me,’ she explained. She leaned forward and kissed Charles on the cheek. She was wearing a summer dress printed with large pink roses on a white background, and sandals. The dress was tight over her body and flared from her hips. She wore make up, a change from the other occasions Charles had seen her, when she’d been working, and she carried a pink beret in her hand. She looked younger than her 26 years.

  ‘You look lovely,’ complimented Charles. ‘Come in.’

  Rachel entered the tiny lobby, and the two of them danced round each other while Charles shut the door and took her bag.

  ‘Would you like a drink before we go?’ asked Charles.

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Okay. Take a seat. I’ll just get my jacket and some money.’

  Charles went into the bedroom and Rachel sat down where Charles had been reading the paper. She scanned the article. ‘Do you have any professional interest in this?’ she called.

  ‘What, the train robbery? Not yet, but I have my fingers crossed. Every criminal barrister in the Temple wants one of those briefs. That’s the sort of case on which careers are made.’ Charles returned to the room, pulling on his jacket. He smiled at her. ‘Shall we?’

  •

  The Holbornes’ house at Putt Green, Buckinghamshire had once been a large farmhouse on the edge of the village. The last farmers of the land, brothers, had both been killed in action and after the war their executors had sold off the herd of dairy cattle, the land and the house to different purchasers.

  By the time the Holbornes acquired the house in 1955 it was badly run down, but a gift from Henrietta’s parents had restored it and it was now a stylish well-appointed family home, ideal for a couple with three or four children. But it was too large and rather isolated for a young wife who spent much of her time there alone.

  Its garden, carved originally from one of the fields, was huge. Someone had clearly spent a great deal of time working on it, as the lawns were well manicured and the flower beds colourful and orderly. Outside the French windows, on a patio that ran the width of the house, stood an oak garden table and six chairs. A long striped seat with its own awning swung back and forth in the gentle breeze. The far end of the garden was separated from the rest by a massive clipped beech hedge through which there was an archway. Beyond the archway the garden was semi-wild, the grass taller and dotted with wild flowers. There was the stump of a huge old oak, now long dead, and several apple trees, ideal for climbing. It would have been an exciting place had there been any children in the household. Through the fence at the wild end of the garden was a stile leading to open fields.

  Vehicles passed the front of the house infrequently and the noise of their engines was only just audible at the back. In the distance could be heard the voices of some children, and occasionally the sound of horses’ hooves floated over from the stables in the lane.

  Beside the stile at the rear of the house, hidden from the house by the hedge, a man shuffled from one foot to the other. He wore an anorak, heavy comfortable boots and thick socks, for his work often required waiting patiently in uncomfortable situations. He was short, with a round, jovial face and ruddy cheeks. He looked as if in another life he should have b
een an innkeeper. He’d been standing there for over two hours and he was getting tired. He looked at his watch. He took a pad out of his jacket pocket and made a note with a small stub of pencil. He replaced the pad, and chewed the pencil thoughtfully. It had been a dull shift, and he still had another two hours until he was relieved at 2.00 pm, when he would return to his car where a hot flask of tea and a sandwich awaited him. The subject had sat reading in the garden until the wind had picked up and it got a bit too cold, and then made herself something to eat. Thereafter she spent most of the time in the kitchen.

  The only event to punctuate the dull surveillance had been when the telephone rang. The subject had picked it up and spoken, calmly at first. Then her voice started rising until she was shrieking into the receiver. She stood and started pacing back and forth as far as the telephone cable would allow. The call ended with her slamming the receiver down. There was a pause, followed by a further scream – frustration or anger – from the subject, and the man saw a fast movement. A second later he heard the sound of an object smashing, a vase perhaps. The watcher grinned. Temper, temper, he thought, as he recorded the event in his notebook, in slow careful pencil strokes.

  •

  INTERIM REPORT No. 4 to BSI ON

  OBSERVATIONS AT ‘The Old Farmhouse’, Putt Green, BUCKS.

  Surveillance continued. Subject apparently retired for the night and surveillance about to end when at 22.23 hours lights were seen in the master bedroom. At 22.41 hours the subject left the house and jogged to the junction of Church Road and the A428 bypass. Waited for ten minutes. Red Mercedes Saloon, Regn. No. LUC 800 approached travelling east on by-pass, stopped, and subject got in. Vehicle drove into church car park without direction from subject, suggesting the car park had been used for rendezvous in past. Due to lack of cover, an approach to vehicle deemed not safe, and observation continued from corner of church at distance of 150 metres. Driver: male Caucasian, late-thirties/early forties, light colouring, no facial hair. Driver attempted to kiss subject, was resisted, although parties clearly familiar with one another. Discussion in car for ten minutes. Driver continued to press himself on subject. It appeared driver attempting to persuade subject. 23.05 hours subject descended from car, slammed car door, and began to run out of church car park. A few feet from car, subject turned and shouted to driver. Subject’s back was turned to operative, but words appeared to be: “And don’t ‘phone any more. I mean it. I’ll tell -” and here subject used a name, possibly “Melanie” or “Marjorie”. Subject ran back to house. Vehicle remained stationary until 23.10 hours, then rejoined the A428 and continued in an easterly direction.

  •

  INTERIM REPORT No. 5 TO BS1 ON

  OBSERVATIONS AT ‘The Old Farmhouse’, Putt Green, BUCKS.

  Surveillance recommenced 08.45 hrs. Subject seen to be up and about house. Visit from female neighbour 10.45 hrs. to 11.13 hrs. Subject left address driving Jaguar Regn. No. CLH 7. 11.54 hrs. Followed to local shops. Returned to address 12.48 hrs. Jaguar broke down outside address. Subject enlisted two male workers from adjoining farm to push it into garage. Subject returned to house. Worked in rear garden until operative relieved. No further incident.

  •

  The phone rang in the clerk’s room and Stanley picked it up. ‘May I speak to Mr Holborne, please?’

  ‘Is that Mrs Holborne?’

  ‘Yes, Stanley? How are you?’

  ‘Not bad, thank you. A bit rushed this week as Sally’s on holiday. Just putting you through. Mr Holborne? Your wife for you, sir. And your conference has arrived.’

  Charles heard a click on the line.

  ‘Charles?’ said Henrietta.

  ‘I haven’t time for another flaming row, Henrietta. I have a conference starting right now.’

  ‘The bloody car’s broken down.’

  ‘Okay. Where?’ asked Charles.

  ‘Just outside the house, thank God. I’d just been out shopping, and it conked out as I was driving back into the garage. I got some of Jim’s men to help push it back in, but I’ve tried it since and it won’t start at all.’

  ‘What do you want me to do about it?’

  ‘It’s your bloody car.’

  ‘Then I’ll bloody manage without it until the weekend, won’t I?’

  ‘What am I supposed to use in the meantime?’

  ‘I thought you just said it was my bloody car. What you mean is, it’s my bloody car, but you want to drive it.’

  ‘Charles, you know very well how isolated it is here. There’s no way I can get around without transport. Particularly if you’re not proposing to come up again until Friday. I’ve got arrangements this week.’

  Charles took a deep breath and adopted as reasonable a tone as he could command. ‘I’m really sorry, Henrietta, but I can’t get there before Friday. If you need it urgently, book it into Breck and Co on the village green.’

  ‘They’re Vauxhall dealers.’

  ‘They repair other cars too. They’re very good. You might even persuade them to lend you a car while the Jag’s in for repair. But I’m afraid I really have to go; my conference is waiting to begin.’

  ‘You’re a real bastard sometimes, you know that Charles?’

  ‘That’s a bit unfair don’t you think?’ started Charles, but Henrietta had hung up.

  •

  ‘Is that you, Mr Holborne?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing further to report. She stayed in all evening. No visitors. Went to bed about an hour ago. Do you want us to continue the surveillance?’

  ‘Stand down your men for the night. It’s late and she’s got no car. I can’t see her going anywhere tonight. Start again tomorrow morning?’

  ‘Very well, sir. I’ll report again tomorrow evening.’

  •

  It was 3.30 am, a dark and damp night. No lights showed from any of the houses in the deserted lane. A thin blanket of mist rose gently from the brook that ran parallel to the lane on the other side of the road to the houses. The clear water usually gurgled over its rocky path under a line of willow trees, but this night the mist seemed to muffle the sound of water, and the lane was unusually quiet. A tall man with broad shoulders, wearing overalls and a woolly hat pulled low over his ears, stood underneath one of the willow trees and observed the Holborne residence. He was completely still and almost invisible. Heavy drops of water dripped from the leaves of the willow onto his head and face. The house was in darkness. Satisfied, the man stepped lightly across the lane and walked softly up the drive of the Holbornes’ house towards the garage. He tried the main door but found it locked. He skirted round the garage, keeping to the shadows, and entered by the rear door. A minute later the main doors swung silently open. Then, like the silver snout of a large animal, the nose of the Jaguar emerged silently from the shadows. The man pushed the motor car from the driver’s door, steering it with one hand. It was slow going at first and took an enormous amount of effort, but the drive sloped gently down towards the brook and after a couple of car’s lengths the vehicle picked up speed and the man had to jog to keep up with it. Where the drive joined the lane he expertly steered to the left and allowed the vehicle to roll to a stop. He walked on a few paces to the tow-truck in which he had arrived, got in, and let off the handbrake so that it rolled silently backwards to within a few feet of the front of the Jaguar. Then he walked silently and quickly back up the drive and closed the garage doors, returning to the tow truck.

  Curled on the back of the truck was a steel hawser with a hook at its end. The man silently uncurled the hawser, crawled under the front of the Jaguar, and attached the hook to the front axle. He returned to the tow-truck and operated the electric winder for three or four seconds, tightening the hawser, and the front of the Jaguar rose smoothly off the ground. The man then climbed swiftly into the cab of the truck, started up, and drove off, towing the Jaguar behind him. The operation had taken less than four minutes, and within seconds of the tail lights of the tow tr
uck disappearing, the lane was again utterly silent.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It was mid-morning in the Temple, and the ancient courtyards resumed their sedate pace following the early rush of barristers dashing off to court. Chancery Court was silent with concentration as members of Chambers settled down to draft documents and research the law in the Chambers’ library.

  Charles threw down his pen, stood, and paced about his room. He had been trying to draft what should have been a very simple Advice on a personal injuries matter for the last hour, and had written and crossed through the first paragraph four times. He could not concentrate and when he looked at the uncharacteristic chaos of papers and instructions lying on his desk, he realised that he had achieved almost nothing in the last two days.

  Yet again Charles reached for the telephone. ‘Peter?’ he said as he dialled.

  Charles’s pupil Peter Bateman looked up from the papers on which he had been working.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Make yourself scarce for a few minutes, eh?’

  ‘Sure,’ replied the young man, and scurried off for a quick cigarette. Charles didn’t permit smoking in the room, and the chance for a cup of tea and a smoke with the other pupils in Chambers was always gratefully received.

  The call was picked up at the other end.

  ‘Henrietta?’

  ‘Yes?’ she said, recognising his voice, and truculent.

  ‘Do you agree that it would be sensible for us to have a discussion about the future?’

  There was a long pause at the end of the line but Henrietta’s voice when it came was sadder and gentler than Charles had expected. ‘What do you propose?’

  ‘I was thinking of coming up tonight, if you’ve got no plans.’

  There was another pause at the other end. At first he could hear her breathing but then the line was silent. Just as he was about to check that she was still there, Charles heard a sob and realised she was crying.