I had to admit that he did very well. His easy, slightly self-deprecating manner, coupled with his quick reflexes, made him a formidable witness.
He repeated the sequence we had heard three times before; briefly from Pedersen, bluntly from Crake and effusively from Wibberley. The conception of Lucille, the care and attention lavished on her in the antenatal period, the expectations of her proud parents, all rudely shattered by the brutal, unwarranted, unethical last-minute attack which had caused the infant to be stillborn.
It occurred to me to wonder how Mr Starkey was going to deal with this witness. I was pretty sure that rudeness wouldn’t pay off. Mallinson was too quick on his feet for the bludgeon. I could visualize counsel trying it and failing and the strong reaction of the jury in favour of a witness who succeeds in getting the better of a bullying counsel.
I needn’t have worried. Mr Starkey was far too old a hand to fall into any such trap. His manner, when he rose to cross-examine, was as courteous as Mallinson’s own.
He said, “Your partner, Mr Crake, told us that the advertising profession was as ethical as its clients allowed it to be. Would you go along with that?”
“I should need notice of that question. It covers rather a wide field.”
“I’ll be more specific. If the client wanted to pursue a course which was – I won’t say criminal – but unethical, would the advertising agency feel impelled to stop him, or would it say, ‘You’re the boss. You’re paying us. We don’t like it but we’ll do what you tell us’?”
“It’s a theoretical question,” said Mallinson cautiously, “but I should say that if the course was clearly unethical, a good advertising agency would refuse to act.”
“What sort of conduct would you describe as ‘clearly unethical’?”
“I can’t think of examples on the spur of the moment.”
“Would you include industrial espionage?”
“Oddly enough, no.”
“Then you approve of it?”
“I neither approve nor disapprove. Business is war. Both sides employ spies without necessarily approving of spying.”
It was a good debating answer, but I don’t think the jury liked it very much. Mr Starkey said, “Have you ever installed a spy in your enemy’s camp?”
“Personally, no.”
Now this was a lie and Mr Starkey knew it was a lie, because Oliver had told him about Philippa. Also Oliver had refused to let him use the information so that Mallinson was, in fact, quite safe. But he was not to know this and Mr Starkey, who was watching him with close attention out of his heavy lidded eyes, noted the very slight wariness in the witness’ eyes, the tensing at the corners of his mouth which betrayed him. It is always of interest to counsel to see how a witness behaves when he is forced to tell a lie.
He said softly, “Never, Mr Mallinson?”
“Never.”
Mr Starkey let the word hang. Then he returned to his brief, shuffled through the papers and said, “Your partner, Mr Crake, was telling us about the first Lucille campaign. The one which had to be postponed. He said that you mounted the same campaign six months later. Was it in fact the same?”
“Not word for word, no. Advertising’s a very topical matter.”
“But broadly the same?”
“In broad terms, yes.”
“Then your second campaign was also directed to making fun of Quinn & Nicholson’s Tendresse advertising?”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow that at all.”
“You said that both campaigns were broadly similar. My instructions are that your first campaign – the one you had to abandon – was designed almost exclusively to taking the wind out of your rival’s sails.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“My instructions are that you knew – or thought you knew – that Quinn & Nicholson were running a line of ‘snob’ advertising and that your original campaign was designed to crab this.”
“Our original campaign was designed to sell Lucille. And for no other purpose at all.”
“My instructions are that you actually had in your office three pulls of Quinn & Nicholson’s advertisements side by side with your own and that yours were purposely set out in the same type and format.”
“If those are your instructions, they’re wrong.”
“You deny having seen any of your competitor’s proposed advertisements?”
“I deny it emphatically.”
Again Mr Starkey noted with satisfaction that slight tensing of the jaw muscles. He said, “Then I have no more questions.”
Mr Snow said, “That concludes the plaintiff’s case.”
Victor Mallinson left the box and walked back to his seat. Mr Starkey had been engaged in a whispered conversation with Lewis Moffat in the row behind him. Moffat now spoke to Fergus Campbell, who squeezed out of his place and left the court. Mr Starkey said, “Before calling my first witness, I should like to say something. My learned friend–” here he bared his teeth briefly in the direction of Mr Snow, “–in opening his case, made an observation which many of you must have found curious. He said that the plaintiff regretted having to bring the case. It may have occurred to you that he could easily have spared himself such a painful duty. He is the aggressor. It is a simple matter for an aggressor not to start an attack. For the man who is attacked, it is not so easy. He has to defend himself. And he has to defend himself in the best way he can. For myself, I would much have preferred that the truth in this unfortunate case – and I am in hearty agreement with my learned friend that it is a case which should never have been brought – had been elicited out of the mouths of his own witnesses. In view of certain of their replies, the defence is forced to take a course which I, personally, regret. It is never pleasant to have to ask a man’s private secretary to give evidence against him.”
In the light of Mr Starkey’s questions, and by the process of elimination, I think Mallinson must have guessed what was coming. Nevertheless, it hit him between wind and water. I saw him go as white as paper, and thought for a moment that he was going to pass out. Then the blood rushed back into his face, and his face was as scarlet as if it had been slapped.
Jennie Challen had been sitting outside in the corridor of the court and Chrissie had been holding her hand. “I could hear her teeth chattering in her head,” she said. “If I hadn’t been there she’d have run away long ago.”
That I could believe. I had been there the previous evening when the decision had been made and have rarely seen anything more distressing. I think Oliver had asked me to be there to ease the tension and make it seem a bit more official, but it was still a girl having her arm twisted by two men.
Jennie had started by refusing, point blank, to give evidence in court.
“I’ve told you about it,” she said. “You know exactly what happened.”
Her father said, “That’s not good enough.”
“I’m afraid we can’t give evidence about what you’ve told us,” said Oliver.
“I suppose not. But–”
“For God’s sake!” George Challen looked as baffled as if a newly joined recruit was defying him on the parade ground. “What’s come over you, girl? Didn’t we wangle your job so you could keep an eye on Mallinson?”
“I know.”
“Then what’s the snag? All you’ve got to do is to stand up in court and answer a few questions. They can’t eat you.”
Jennie said, “It’s difficult to explain. He’s treated me right. I just don’t want to do it, that’s all.”
“You’re not soft about him, I suppose?”
“Don’t be daft.”
“Then what the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Stop shouting at me.”
Oliver gave Challen a look which would have stopped a tank. He could see that he was simply putting Jennie’s back up. He said, “Don’t bully the girl, George. Look here, Jennie. You’ll have to make your own mind up about this, but I’d just like you to know how important it is.
If we lose this case we lose more than money. We lose reputation. And when that’s gone, a business might as well put up the shutters. We’ll all be out of a job.”
“It can’t all depend on me, surely.”
Oliver said, very gently, “I don’t know, Jennie. You never know what’s going to happen when you get into a Court of Law. It depends a good deal on what they say. I’ll promise you this. Unless it’s absolutely essential for you to give evidence we’ll keep you out of the box.”
Jennie said, “Oh dear,” and started crying.
Of course, in the end she promised to do what they wanted.
“Now, Miss Challen,” said Mr Starkey after the preliminaries were over, “I’d like you to tell us about an occasion – I don’t know the exact date, but you’ll probably remember it because I believe it was the first time Mr Wibberley came to your offices.”
“Yes, I remember Mr Wibberley coming.”
“Who was there?”
“There was Mr Mallinson and Mr Crake and the advertising man, Mr Pedersen.”
“And you?”
“Yes. I was there.”
“Good. Now, would you mind telling us, in your own words, exactly what happened?”
“It was some time ago,” said Jennie faintly. I felt George Challen stir angrily in his seat beside me. If he’d been a tiger it would have been the moment when the tip of his tail would have started twitching. Oliver, next to him, looked bored.
“I don’t want you to remember actual things that were said,” Mr Starkey’s voice was soft as silk. “You can hardly be expected to do that after all this time. Just see if you can tell us what happened.”
“Well, Mr Wibberley had these three pictures.”
“Can you remember what they were?”
“They were sort of posters. Roughs, I think he called them. They were advertising a new perfume Quinn & Nicholson were doing.”
“Tendresse?”
“That’s right.”
“And what did they do with these posters?”
“They had them side by side on the table and they were comparing them and saying how much better their lot were.”
“Was anything else said?”
“There was something about their lot being in the same type as Quinns. I gathered they’d been got up to look like them only better. And would they get away with it, and Mr Pedersen said he’d talked to his lawyer and his lawyer had said they would.”
“I’m getting confused,” said Mr Justice Mee. “Which lawyer said what to whom?”
“I gather, my Lord, that Mr Pedersen had consulted his own lawyer as to whether they would be in danger of legal process if their Lucille advertisements were markedly similar to the Tendresse advertisements.”
“And those were the Lucille advertisements which didn’t come out?”
“That is so.”
“Because of the Loo-seal advertisements which came out looking like them?”
“That is correct.”
Mr Justice Mee said, “Thank you, Mr Starkey,” and made a lengthy note.
Mr Starkey said, “Now, Miss Challen. I’d like you to turn your mind to a much more recent incident. Can you recall Mr Wibberley visiting your office again in the last few weeks?”
“Yes, it was about ten days ago.”
“Were you present at his interview with your employer?”
“I was in and out.”
“Can you remember anything that was said when you were in the room?”
“The second time – when I came back with the coffee – Mr Wibberley was saying how he’d like to break Mr Nugent’s neck, and Mr Mallinson said he could think of a better way of doing him down.”
“He didn’t explain what that way was?”
“Not whilst I was there.”
“I expect we can guess what he had in mind,” said Mr Starkey, and sat down.
It was plain to Mr Snow – as it was to everyone else in court – that he had to break Jennie’s evidence or go down. There were two roads open to him. He could suggest she was honestly mistaken; that it had all happened a long time ago; that she had forgotten exactly what was said and done; that in an honest but misguided attempt to help her father’s firm (it was clear from the flurry of notes which had attended her appearance that her relationship to George Challen was known), she had misconstrued certain words and actions.
If he had taken this course I think he might have had a chance. Instead he set out to break her down entirely and show that she was a liar.
In a vicious cross-examination, which lasted the whole of that afternoon, he accused her of being a spy and a cheat; of having wormed her way into the confidence of her employer, who had trusted her implicitly, with the intention of telling lies about him; lies which would serve the purpose of her real employers.
Now, such an assault is a two-edged weapon. If it succeeds, it succeeds completely. If it fails, it can turn in the hand of the user and wound him mortally. Under sympathetic questioning and probing, Jennie might easily have been led into such a maze of qualifications and contradictions that the jury would hardly have known whom to believe. Under bullying, she showed a streak of native toughness. It certainly surprised Mr Snow. It also annoyed him. And when counsel gets annoyed his client’s case suffers.
When he used the word “treachery” in a question, Mr Justice Mee leaned forward from the bench and said, “I think, Mr Snow, that you ought to reconsider the form of that question. We are here to discover the facts, not to dissect this witness’ character.”
After that it was a walkover.
When Jennie left the witness box Mr Starkey said, “It had been my intention to call further witnesses, but in the circumstances I see no point in doing so. The evidence we have just heard will have made it abundantly clear that what happened in this case was that the plaintiffs attempted to discredit the defendant’s product and were outmanoeuvred. The biter can hardly complain if he gets bitten.”
Mr Justice Mee felt it to be his duty to sum up at length, but no one paid much attention to him. The jury had made up its collective mind before Jennie left the witness box. They found for the defendant with costs.
My last impression was of Victor Mallinson’s eyes, in a very white face, following Jennie as she walked out of court with her father and Oliver.
6
We had not planned any particular celebration. It was the sort of party which develops spontaneously. Oliver said, “It’s ten past five. By the time we get there the bar’ll be open at Brett’s. If it isn’t we’ll damned well open it. Come along, all of you.”
The invitation was clearly intended to include not only the lawyers but Jennie, who was standing close to her father. She wasn’t actually holding on to him, but she looked as if she was glad to have him there.
George Challen said, “I think I’d better take Jennie home first. She’s got a rotten headache. No wonder, after being slanged by that prime bastard in a wig. I felt like wringing his neck for him.”
“He wrung his own neck,” said Oliver. “If Jennie won’t come with us, we’ll send her home in style. That’s the least we can do.” He never seemed to have any difficulty in attracting taxis, and three of them were already lined up along the pavement in front of the Law Courts. He put Jennie into the first one. As he did so I caught a glimpse of her face. It was twisted up like a rolled handkerchief and almost as white as Mallinson had been. I think it was only then that I fully realized how much we had hurt her.
The rest of us got into the other two taxis and went round to Brett’s. We were a silent crowd to start with. The directors had been living under the shadow of litigation for so long that they could hardly realize that they were not only out of the wood, but successfully out of it. However, a round of drinks quickly thawed us out. Mr Starkey obliged with his celebrated, but unrepeatable, story of the male litigant with a cleft palate and a delusion that he was pregnant. After that the party warmed up nicely. The third round of drinks was bought by Jacob Naumann, who l
ooked in with Saul Feinberg to congratulate Oliver, and attached himself to the crowd round the bar. Other members, who had been following the progress of the case and had heard the result, came in to tell Oliver that they’d always been quite sure he was going to win, and the thing gradually became a Roman triumph.
I knew very few of the people personally and was happy to sit in a corner drinking the glass of whisky which was thrust into my hand at regular intervals, and watching Oliver.
I had seen him drinking before but never with quite the steady ferocity that he showed that evening. I lost count of the singles and doubles that went down, but on any computation he must have drunk between half and three quarters of a bottle before the calls of dinner began to thin the party out.
Challen had been one of the first to go. In the general excitement I think I was the only person who noticed his defection. Normally it was the sort of impromptu party that would have suited him down to the ground, with an added attraction that he was doing his drinking in one of the most exclusive clubs in London. But he had been uneasy from the first, and it wasn’t hard to guess why.
Three whiskies later I had forgotten all about him.
Jennie shared a small flat with two other girls in a converted house in that honeycomb of converted houses which lies south of Kensington High Street. One of the girls worked a late shift at a security printing plant, and the other had aspirations to be an actress and spent most of her evenings hanging round Television Centre chatting up producers and script editors. It was the knowledge that both of them were likely to be out and that Jennie would be on her own that had pulled an uneasy Challen away from the party and put him into a taxi heading west.
He stopped twice; the first time at a delicatessen store in Soho where he bought a veal and ham pie and a carton of cold potato salad, and the second time at a pub where he got hold of half a bottle of gin and a bottle of sweet white wine.
The Dust and the Heat Page 23