And Is There Honey Still For Tea?

by Peter Murphy

  ‘Which means that you have no obvious interest in any further evidence he may be interested in peddling,’ Ginny said. ‘So why are you so keen to listen to him?’

  ‘Because I can’t afford not to,’ he replied. ‘I can’t afford to be blindsided, and risk Digby being taken by surprise at trial. We can’t afford to take chances with this, Ginny. The stakes are too high.’

  ‘But how do we know any of this is genuine?’

  ‘We don’t, for sure,’ Ben conceded. ‘But I don’t think Baxter would be so protective of his evidence if he wasn’t genuinely worried about the security implications. I think we ought to give him the benefit of the doubt, as he put it. I think I can justify what we are doing, as long as we are doing it together.’

  Ginny reflected for a long time.

  ‘All right,’ she said eventually. ‘I will go along with it for now. But if there is any sign that we are being set up in some way …’

  ‘We cut and run,’ he said. ‘Agreed.’

  They walked back to the seat by the fountain.

  ‘Assuming that we accept what you tell us,’ Ben said, ‘how would you propose to make this information available to us?’

  Baxter smiled.

  ‘I was waiting for you to ask me that,’ he replied. ‘I’m afraid it is not altogether simple. I hope you didn’t have plans for the weekend.’

  51

  Ben returned to their table, walking gingerly from the bar with two bottles of Heineken and glasses, which he set down carefully. Just as carefully, he resumed his seat and placed a hand on each side of the table. As they looked at each other across the table, rocking rhythmically back and forth with the motion of the ship, they first smiled, and within a minute broke into loud laughter.

  ‘What in God’s name are we doing here?’ he asked, as their laughter subsided.

  ‘Trying to get ourselves disbarred?’ Ginny suggested.

  ‘I hope not,’ he replied.

  ‘When they haul me up in front of the disciplinary committee, I intend to tell them it’s all your fault,’ she said, pointing a finger at him.

  ‘It probably is. I more or less talked you into it.’

  ‘Not really. I can’t claim to have put up much resistance.’

  ‘I think we are doing the right thing, Ginny,’ he said, more seriously. ‘Quite why, I can’t really say. But I think this is right.’

  She nodded. ‘So do I.’

  Before parting from them earlier in the evening, Baxter had given precise, but frustratingly uninformative instructions. They were to go home, pack for two days, and tell their partners that they had been called away urgently to look at evidence in connection with a forthcoming trial, not to be identified. No one else was to be told of their absence. They would be away until Sunday evening. They would need their passports; and if they were prone to sea-sickness they should bring some remedy for it. All expenses would be met, and they would be provided with spending money, as required. Dress would be casual throughout; warm dress was advised for the ship. They were to return to the Temple with their bags, and rendezvous with Baxter on Victoria Embankment at the gate leading into the Temple, at 9 pm precisely. Baxter did not tell them where they were going, or what to expect.

  At exactly 9 pm, a black Humber Hawk pulled up quietly. The driver, a short man smartly dressed in a dark blue suit and a tie, jumped from the car, walked around the front of the vehicle, and greeted them.

  ‘Miss Castle? Mr Schroeder? Good evening to you. Let me take your bags.’

  Ben and Ginny had brought one medium size bag each. Baxter’s instructions had not provided them with much guidance, and both had erred on the side of bringing a few things more than they were likely to need. It was a fine evening, but there was an autumnal chill in the air, and they each wore a light sweater under a coat. Ginny also wore a dark brown silk scarf. The driver whisked the bags away, and moments later had them safely stowed in the boot. He opened the rear door, and they both climbed in. Baxter turned around to greet them from the front passenger seat. He had abandoned his habitual dark suit and tie in favour of a dark grey sports jacket, light grey slacks, and a blue shirt open at the neck.

  ‘Thank you for being so punctual,’ he said. ‘I don’t think we will have any problem with traffic.’ He glanced over at the driver, who shook his head as he signalled and pulled away from the kerb. ‘But you never know.’

  He rummaged for a moment or two in the inside pocket of his jacket and took out two long envelopes.

  ‘Here are your tickets for the ferry,’ he said, handing the envelopes to them. He noted the questioning looks they exchanged, and smiled.

  ‘Well, I did give you a clue,’ he said. ‘I warned you about sea-sickness.’ He smiled again as he watched them open the envelopes gingerly, as if they were not quite sure what they might find.

  ‘So now you know where we are going – well, in general terms, anyway. We are taking the overnight ferry from Harwich to Hoek van Holland, sailing at 11.30, arriving about 6.30 tomorrow morning. We will get to Harwich a bit on the early side, but there is no harm in that. It’s a bit of an obsession of mine, I’m afraid, arriving early for travel. We are sailing on the Koningin Emma. She’s an elderly lady, requisitioned for service as a troop carrier during the War, but she has been completely refurbished since, and I’m told she is quite comfortable.’

  ‘Mr Baxter, where are we going eventually, in less general terms?’ Ben asked.

  ‘You will find out when we arrive,’ Baxter replied. ‘Sit back and relax.’

  Baxter had booked small cabins for each of them, and once the Koningin Emma was under way he wished them a good night and disappeared to his own with a sandwich and a cup of soup. Neither Ben nor Ginny was keen to spend any more time in the close confines of a cabin than was necessary. They had a late supper in the restaurant and adjourned to the adjoining bar which, as they were on the high seas, would remain open throughout the journey. It was getting late, but they were in no mood to sleep. It was not a rough crossing, but the sea had a good swell, and it was not easy to walk through the ship without holding on to something.

  ‘What did you tell Jess?’ she asked, raising her glass in a toast.

  ‘I told her you and I were eloping,’ he replied, raising his own glass, ‘running away together to Paris in search of the Bohemian life.’

  She laughed. ‘I don’t think Jess would quite believe in you as a Bohemian,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ he conceded, ‘I am sure you are right. Actually, I followed Baxter’s instructions. I said something urgent had come up, and I had to go away for a couple of nights to look at some evidence.’

  ‘Didn’t she ask where you were going?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I told her I didn’t know, but that I was taking my passport, and she wasn’t to worry.’

  Ginny laughed again. ‘I’m sure that put her mind at ease.’

  ‘I’m sure it didn’t, but she accepted it. Jess is very calm; she is one of those people who doesn’t get upset unless there’s a good reason. What did you tell Michael?’

  ‘About the same. He was anything but calm. I was cross-examined for a good ten minutes. Who was the man I was going with? What did I know about him? What kind of evidence could there be that would need me to take my passport to go to see it? Of course, there was nothing I could say. He realised that I didn’t know anything, but he kept on and on about it. How did I know I could trust this man? What if I knew too much about something? What if this was all a ghastly plot to kidnap me? How could he be sure I would be safe? At one point he was talking about turning up on the Embankment at 9 o’clock, and either confronting the man or following us to see where we went. I eventually talked him out of it, but he was serious.’

  ‘Well, he is bound to be concerned about your safety.’

  ‘Michael tends to see conspiracy in everything,’ she said. �
�It’s part of what makes him such a good solicitor. But it’s hard for him to let go of it sometimes.’

  ‘I am sure he was happy to hear about the result Miles and Bernard got in front of the Committee,’ Ben said. ‘Jess certainly was. Things were a bit strained while that was hanging over our heads, to say the least. We have both heaved a big sigh of relief. I am glad it’s over.’

  ‘Me too,’ Ginny replied. ‘Well, you heard Michael when we had dinner at your flat. He was beside himself when we first found out about it. I wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if he had taken a can of petrol and burned the Middle Temple to the ground. I tried my best to keep things calm, but it wasn’t easy, mainly because I didn’t feel calm myself. Still, here’s to Miles and Bernard. I think they have definite promise as advocates. They may make it at the Bar yet. What do you think?’

  ‘I think they have every chance,’ Ben smiled, raising his glass. ‘We will always be in their debt.’

  They were silent for some time, as the ship gently eased her way forward, rocking up and down with the swell, which had grown more noticeable as she headed into the open sea.

  ‘Miles and Bernard worked together on our behalf in the Inn but, as I’m sure you know, they have not always been very close,’ Ginny said. ‘And I am not sure the Digby case is going to help, whatever we find out or don’t find out, on this trip.’

  ‘They have been against each other in some big cases,’ Ben observed.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. She paused for a moment. ‘Were you aware of the Dougherty divorce case?’

  ‘Not at the time,’ Ben replied. ‘I knew that it was going on because I met Simon Dougherty one day in chambers. He was waiting for his mother to come out of a conference with Kenneth Gaskell. I saw he was wearing a West Ham scarf, which meant we were co-religionists and I ended up taking him to Upton Park from time to time. I still do. He was living with his mother in Surrey. Your client didn’t get access to him until after the divorce settlement, so I took him whenever I could. Now I make arrangements with Dougherty. If his father can’t take him to a game, I take him when I’m free.’

  ‘That’s really nice of you,’ she said.

  ‘He is a great boy,’ Ben replied. ‘He has been through a lot, but he seems to be doing well now. I didn’t know anything else about the case – about the scandal – until after I was taken on in chambers.’

  He picked up their empty glasses, made his way back to the bar in a far from straight line, and returned with two more Heinekens.

  ‘I know Bernard blamed Miles for what came out about Kenneth Gaskell,’ she said. ‘But it was Michael who turned that case around, with his nose for conspiracy, for things being out of place. The wife was killing us. Our man was drinking too much and knocking her around, and we didn’t really have a defence. But Michael suspected that Kenneth was having an affair with Anne even while he was representing her in the divorce case. He put a private detective on their trail, and he came back with the evidence.’

  ‘Including the infamous photographs?’ Ben asked.

  She laughed. ‘Infamous, but not particularly interesting,’ she replied. ‘You couldn’t see much detail. But they put Kenneth and Anne together in hopelessly compromising circumstances, and together with the evidence of car registration numbers and what have you, the case was watertight. They had a little love nest going in Hastings.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘It was all so bloody stupid,’ she said. ‘He could have brought down his whole chambers. If anyone was to blame, Kenneth was. I can’t imagine Herbert Harper sending work to a man who behaves like that.’

  She leaned forward smiling.

  ‘I don’t suppose you would like to tell me how Bernard extracted Kenneth, and his chambers, from a mess like that?’

  ‘I can’t think what you mean,’ he replied, returning the smile. ‘Why don’t you ask Miles?’

  ‘Perhaps I will,’ she said. She sat back happily in her chair, nursing her Heineken. ‘That was when Michael and I got together,’ she said, ‘during that case.’

  * * *

  The siren announcing the arrival of the Koningin Emma at Hoek van Holland woke her passengers from whatever short periods of sleep they had been able to snatch during the crossing. Baxter met Ben and Ginny as they emerged from their cabins, and took them for a quick coffee before it was time to disembark and make their way through the Dutch immigration and customs controls. As they left the customs shed, a uniformed driver met them and took possession of their bags. He led them to a black Mercedes parked a few yards away by the quayside. Baxter exchanged a few words with the man in Dutch before climbing into the front passenger seat. The driver smiled broadly as he opened the rear door for Ginny and Ben. It was a cold morning, the sky was grey and overcast and a light rain was falling. Ginny pulled her scarf tightly around her.

  ‘Goeden morgen, Mevrouw, Meneer. Welkom in Nederland,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Please, make yourselves comfortable. The drive will not be a long one.’

  52

  Saturday, 9 October

  Baxter did not suggest that there was anything classified about the route they were taking, and Ben concentrated hard on the unfamiliar Dutch road signs, which told him that the Mercedes was apparently taking the most direct route into The Hague. There was little traffic at that time of the morning and, as the driver had promised, the journey was accomplished quickly. But as they were entering the city, the driver left the main road and took them along a number of residential streets into the heart of a suburb. Ben had no way even of guessing where they were going, or where they were. All the streets looked much the same, rows of elegant, well-painted houses, tall and narrow, and at that hour, quiet. The driver stopped outside one such house, left the car, and had the bags on the front doorstep of the house in a matter of seconds. He waited until Baxter had rung the bell and the door had been opened by a woman, and then drove quickly away.

  The woman was in her thirties, tall and slim, with black hair and brown eyes. She wore a simple beige cotton shirt, a brown skirt just below the knee, and brown flat shoes. She extended her hand to Ben and Ginny in turn as they entered the house.

  ‘My name is Paula van Harten,’ she said. ‘Welcome to The Hague. I am sure you must be tired after your journey. Let me show you to your rooms. If you will follow me…’

  Her English was fluent and betrayed only the merest trace of an accent. She began to make her way up a narrow spiral staircase which ran, dizzyingly, the full height of the house like a huge wooden spinal column. Ben made to pick up his case, but Paula gestured to him to leave it.

  ‘I will bring your luggage in a few minutes,’ she smiled. ‘I am used to these Dutch staircases. They can be hazardous for foreigners. I run up and down them all day.’

  Ginny had been assigned the only room on the fourth floor, the top floor of the house. Ben and Baxter had rooms on the third, with the bathroom and toilet between them. The rooms were small, furnished simply but comfortably with single beds, wardrobes, a chair and a writing table with a reading lamp. The windows looked down from a great height; Ben’s on to the small garden at the rear of the house and the backs of the identical row of houses in the next street; Baxter’s on to the street at the front of the house. Ginny’s room was long and thin, spread over the whole of the fourth floor, with two small windows, offering her both views.

  ‘I have arranged lunch for one o’clock, as you asked, Mr Baxter,’ Paula said as she left his room. ‘I am sure our guests would like to rest, but if they would like coffee or tea with some biscuits, they can come down to the kitchen. Will you explain the arrangements to them?’

  ‘I will,’ Baxter replied. ‘Dank U wel, Mevrouw.’

  ‘Als U blieft, Meneer.’

  He heard her flat shoes making their way briskly and confidently down the treacherous stairs to bring the luggage. He knocked on both doors to pass on the invitat
ion to visit the kitchen. Ginny gave him a tired smile. Ben was already asleep.

  * * *

  Lunch was served in the living room, a large room which occupied most of the ground floor. It ran the whole length of the house, on the left-hand side, from the front door to the garden at the rear, access to which was afforded by French windows. On the right-hand side, the staircase began more or less opposite the door of the living room, with a storage space and ground floor toilet underneath. The hallway led down the middle to the kitchen, which also gave access to the garden. The living room consisted of two parts, separated by sliding doors which looked rather flimsy, and in need of a coat of paint. The front part of the room was furnished in the style of a meeting room: most of the space was occupied by a large, square, wooden table which looked heavy and solid; a number of chairs; and a functional long, narrow sideboard. The rear part had two armchairs and a sofa, none looking particularly inviting; and two bookcases with a variety of books in Dutch and English, and back issues of one or two popular magazines. Lunch was eaten at the heavy table. It consisted of erwtensoep, a delicious thick pea soup, served with thick chunks of fresh crusty bread smothered with butter; followed by plates of fruit and Gouda cheese. A pot of strong black coffee rounded it off.

  As lunch ended Paula van Harten quickly cleared away the dishes and wiped down the table with a damp cloth. After asking whether they wanted more coffee, she withdrew silently. Ben and Ginny sat at the table, finishing their coffee. They had both slept well for about three hours in the quiet of their rooms high above the street, and had been refreshed by a shower and a change of clothes. Baxter sat across from them on the other side of the table.

  ‘We will use this room for our meeting,’ he announced. ‘Our guest is expected at about four o’clock.’

  Ben and Ginny exchanged glances. Ben’s watch indicated 2.15. This was the first hint of any kind they had received about the promised evidence. It was not a particularly informative hint. Who the guest was to be, what evidence he or she had, and why they had been brought all the way to The Hague to see or hear it, remained a mystery – and one which Baxter appeared to have no intention of resolving.