FRAUD

by PETER DAVEY

  “It’s pretty compelling though.”

  “From our perspective maybe, but then we’re the ones who know the truth. Looked at objectively, there are all kinds of problems... things which undermine our credibility.”

  “Such as?”

  “The fact that that novel was published more than four years ago for a start.”

  “Didn’t you tell him we’d only just found out?”

  “I did, but I could tell he thought it was pretty strange you never made the connection, given you knew her.”

  “But didn’t you explain that I live like a hermit?”

  “Yes I did. But then there’s the fact that ‘Tyranny’ was never published – it’s just a manuscript. In all the famous plagiarism cases he could think of, the material was stolen from an already-published work, albeit sometimes rather obscure. He mentioned the case of 'Roots' by Alex Haley, large chunks of which were plagiarised from a book called 'The African' by someone whose name I forget...”

  “Harold Courlander.”

  “That’s right. The judge just had to look at both books and could see that the later work had been plagiarised from the earlier. Simple.”

  “Haley settled out of court,” murmured Ted. “For six hundred thousand dollars. As an IP lawyer he should have known that.”

  “Well, anyway, the principle’s the same.”

  They paused as the waitress laid knives and forks and offered them some organic wholemeal rolls.

  “But the fact that ‘Tyranny’ was never published doesn’t make it any less my intellectual property,” Ted went on as soon as she had gone.

  “I made that point to him and he agreed that was true, legally. He was just talking about the practicalities of building a case. What he was really saying is that basing everything on circumstantial evidence and the balance of probabilities is not enough. If we’re going to make this happen we’ve got to find some solid forensic evidence. If we could just find that then the facts would speak for themselves and all this other stuff would become irrelevant.”

  Ted thought for a long time. “The only possible bit of forensic evidence is the email I sent her to which I attached the Word files, if that could ever be traced. I know it was sent on March 5th 2002 because it was the day after my birthday. But, even then, just emailing someone a manuscript doesn’t prove you wrote it. Anyone could have written it. Or I could have had it on my computer because she’d emailed it to me to get my opinion. Mind you, I do remember writing, ‘I’m sending you my manuscript…’ because I thought for a while about how to word it. Why else would I have said that?”

  “If only we’d kept that bloody computer!”

  “You can’t look into the future. As far as we were concerned it was just a knackered old computer on its last legs. I’d saved everything important as hard copy.”

  “I’m seriously thinking of employing a detective. The chambers we deal with use a firm who are really hot on IT.”

  “I don’t like the idea. It’ll cost a fortune and I don’t want a third party poking their nose into our affairs.”

  “If we go ahead with this the whole world’s going to be poking its nose into our affairs,” Anne remarked as she helped herself to a roll, “So we may as well get used to it. And we can’t afford to hide anything.”

  “You mean about me allegedly having an affair with her? I thought we decided that wasn’t relevant.”

  “Yes, but it is relevant isn’t it? Highly relevant. And I know from experience that if you go into a legal battle from a position of complete honesty, it gives you strength. If you’re hiding something you’re fighting with one hand tied behind your back. Quite apart from the moral aspect.”

  “So you’d be prepared to make my relationship with Nicola public?”

  “You were living together for nearly six weeks, working on your novel and… whatever else you were doing. It establishes a connection and provides her with the perfect opportunity. We could get David to testify she was there.”

  “And if her lawyers ask if we were having an affair? A twenty-three-year-old girl and a fifty-five year old man who then gets dumped and wants revenge?”

  “If you denied you were having an affair with her I would say I had no reason not to believe you.”

  Ted looked at her in amazement. “You’d do that?”

  “Of course I would. I’ve got no actual proof so I’m not going to pretend I have. It’s all about circumstantial evidence again, isn’t it?”

  “And supposing I denied it now?”

  She raised her head and looked him in the eye. “Don’t let’s go there again.”

  He took a draught of his lager. “He was right, your solicitor friend. We should forget the whole thing. I’m feeling less and less comfortable about it by the minute. And I’m too old for sleepless nights.”

  “We can’t just do nothing.”

  “We’ve got no choice. And even if we did win, by some miracle, Nicola’s fame would only turn me into a celebrity, albeit a rather villainous one. After all, people worship her, don’t they – like your solicitor friend’s son? They’re not going to thank me for making her look a fool. And I’m not sure that’s what I want anyway.”

  “If she’s made to look a fool she’ll only have herself to blame. And it’d mean getting ‘Tyranny’ published in your own name and under its proper title. And the rest of your novels. Isn’t that what you want?”

  “Not like that.”

  Anne sighed. “It looks as though she’s won then.”

  “Maybe.”

  At that moment their food arrived, though neither had much appetite for the delicious-smelling dishes which were being placed before them.

  “So do you think she had it planned from the start?” Anne asked when they were alone again.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Dominic said that when he broke the news to you, you weren’t as shocked as he expected, which rather surprised me. But, then again, maybe it doesn’t.”

  “I wasn’t about to show my true feelings in front of a total stranger.”

  “What were your true feelings?”

  Ted gazed at his glass, turning it slowly between his fingertips. “I don’t know… amazement… confusion...”

  “And anger?”

  “Yes, of course anger. And a sense of betrayal. I kidded myself that Nicola and I were on the same side.”

  Anne set down the vinaigrette and observed him for a moment. “Poor Ted.”

  “What do you mean, ‘poor Ted’?”

  “Well, it must have been quite humiliating for you.”

  “You mean, because she was obviously using me, making a fool of me? The – how did you put it? – middle-aged failed writer with the waning libido?”

  “I was angry when I said that. And hurt.”

  “It was more a case of me making a fool of myself. Still, it’s all in the past now and I don’t want to drag it up again. I’m quite happy as I am. Living alone with nothing has taught me a lot about life and about myself, and it’s brought me a degree of inner peace I’ve never known before.”

  “It sounds as though our splitting up was the best thing that ever happened to you,” she laughed bitterly.

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Yes you did.”

  “I didn’t, honestly. It’s just that I’ve had an awful lot of time to think and I’ve realised the misery I felt before was nothing to do with you – it was inside myself. You were the one bright spot – you and the children – and I know I should have made more effort to make you aware of that. And another thing I’ve realised is that getting my second-rate novels published isn’t the most important thing in the world. There are millions of novels out there, most of them much better than mine. Whether or not I get published isn’t going to make a scrap of difference to anyone.”

  “Oh, come on Ted, that’s rubbish and you know it! For a start your novels aren’t second rate. Secondly, you do care about getting published, so don’t pretend you d
on’t. And thirdly, important or not, I don’t feel like just standing by and letting her get away with it.”

  “I’m very touched that you care.”

  “I’ve always cared about your writing. And, contrary to what you might think, it’s not about getting back at Nicola Pearson or Nicola Carson or whatever she calls herself. Although I can’t pretend that seeing that smug little smirk wiped off her vacuous face wouldn’t be a nice bonus.”

  Later, as they were strolling back to the car, he said, “I was wondering... if I found some really famous and respected writer who’d be prepared to back me up, would that help, do you think?”

  “I’m sure it would help, but it still wouldn’t be a substitute for proof. And famous writers tend to have their own agenda. Who did you have in mind, anyway?”

  “Tom Newcomb.”

  She stopped in her tracks and stared at him. “Tom Newcomb? You don’t know Tom Newcomb, do you?”

  “Not personally, no. Though I did meet him once, years ago, at a dinner party in Oxford. We got chatting for a while and I quite liked him. Then, years later, I sent him a sample of ‘Tyranny’ to get his opinion and, to my amazement, he wrote me a very nice letter back. He never offered to help me publish it, of course, but it was still encouraging.”

  “You never told me that.”

  “To be honest I was a little embarrassed. I felt like a sycophantic teenager.”

  “He’d never remember though, surely?”

  “He might. If I reminded him.”

  She shrugged slightly and resumed walking. “So how on earth would we contact him?”

  “His agent’s a woman called Miranda Cole. Or used to be.”

  “Well, if you say so. Maybe we could get our little helper onto it.”

  They walked in silence for a while then Ted said, “I just want to be clear about this. Since we’re no longer together and have no joint assets or property, you wouldn’t be liable in any way if we were to lose – assuming we went ahead.”

  “Not if you’re the sole plaintiff, no.”

  They arrived back at the car and she released the lock. “Oh, by the way, I bought you a present,” she said, reaching over to the passenger seat for a small, brightly-coloured box which she handed to him. “It’s a new mobile – the latest model. It takes no time at all to charge up and holds the charge much longer than your old one. It’s all set up and I’ve put fifty pounds’ call time on it, so there’s no excuse for being incommunicado. The guarantee’s in the box.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  “It’s mainly self-interest. Supposing something happened to one of the children? And I thought if we went ahead with this case we’d need to keep in touch. Anyway, you ought to have a decent phone, stuck out there on your own.”

  “In case I have a heart attack or something?” he laughed.

  “Well, you are pushing sixty.”

  “I’ll have you know I’m only fifty-nine!”

  “Exactly. Pushing sixty. And I’ve got some tablets for your back. They’re not drugs – they’re herbal. Linda swears by them.”

  “You really are being very thoughtful.”

  “Anyway, we’d better get going before the traffic builds up.”

  “Look, there’s no need for you to drive me all the way back to Wemborne. You could pick up the A22 at Uckfield and be back in Eastbourne in no time. I’ll get the train. I’ve got my return ticket.”

  She looked a little disconcerted by the change of plan. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, quite sure. They go every hour. I might even stick around and have a poke through the second-hand bookshops.”

  “Oh. All right then.”

  “But thanks again for your support in this. I really do appreciate it, even if we don’t go ahead.”

  She contemplated him for a moment. “Ted, I hate to think of you going back to that place. Do you really have to live there? It reflects badly on me apart from anything else.”

  “Why should it reflect badly on you?”

  “Because the woman always gets blamed for everything. Didn’t you know?”

  “No. No, I didn’t.”

  “I did offer to set you up in proper accommodation.”

  “Honestly, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine. I’d far rather live surrounded by fields and sheep than by barking dogs and squabbling neighbours. I live very simply and Frank only charges me a tenner a week to cover the water so I have a bit left over for life’s little luxuries – like the Queen’s.”

  “I just don’t know how you manage.”

  “Well I do. So don’t worry.”

  They faced each other for a moment, unsure how to part. It seemed absurd to shake hands after knowing each other for nearly forty years and having born three children together and yet it was hard to kiss. Finally they jerked a couple of times in each other’s direction, like two large ungainly birds performing a mating ritual, smiled with embarrassment and then Ted clasped her elbow and landed a peck on her cheek. It was the one which had been facing the window in the restaurant and was still warm.

  9

  “Dominic? It’s Ted.”

  Dominic was surprised to receive the call, given the frostiness of their recent parting. He wondered if Ted was going to apologise about his manner that afternoon, but the meeting was never mentioned. Nonetheless, his tone seemed conciliatory.

  “So how was Anne’s conversation with the solicitor?”

  “Not very encouraging.”

  “Are we going ahead?”

  “I don’t know. We haven’t decided yet. But there’s something I’d like to look into and I wondered if I could possibly ask your help with it, since you live in London. But only if you have time, of course.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Have you ever heard of a writer called Tom Newcomb? He’s a bit before your time.”

  “Ted, I work in publishing. Of course I’ve heard of Tom Newcomb!”

  “Yes, of course. Silly of me.”

  “I have to admit I’ve never read any of his books, though. Not really my style. I did see a film of one of them once, with Tom Courtenay and Julie Christie in it. It seemed to be raining all the time.”

  “That'd be right. He's a bit passé now but he’s still got plenty of clout in the literary world.”

  “Are you thinking of getting him on side?”

  “Well I may be pissing at the moon, but it’s worth a try. He’s the older generation – I think he’d spot at once that Nicola didn’t write my book.”

  “But why him particularly?”

  “Because I’ve… got reason to believe he may not like her very much.”

  Dominic was mystified, but he did not question Ted any further. Progress on the story had hit the doldrums and he had already over-run the fortnight Katie had allotted him, straining their relationship to breaking point. He was grateful for anything that might give fresh impetus to their cause.

  “Your best bet is to go through his agent, who used to be a woman called Miranda Cole, and possibly still is.”

  “I know that name. She’s Nicola Carson’s agent too.”

  “I know. Which is why you’ll have to tread very carefully.”

  *

  “I'm going into town this afternoon,” he said.

  “I'll come with you.”

  “Okay. But there is one thing I have to do on my own.”

  “It's not to do with Ted bloody Haymer, is it?” Katie asked suspiciously, “because you've had your fortnight.”

  “This is the last thing – the very last thing, I promise. I just told Ted I'd pop into this literary agent and try and set up a meeting between him and some famous author who might support him. I'm just doing it as a favour to him, because I'm in London.”

  “Why can't he do it himself? There is such a thing as the telephone.”

  “It might take a little persuasion and he thought it might be better done face to face. But once that’s over, that'll be it, I pro
mise. I'll focus all my attention on America and never ever mention Ted Haymer again.”

  “You'd better not!”

  *

  Miranda Cole was a one-man band, operating from a small but plush first floor office in Farringdon Street. Dominic apologised to her receptionist for calling without an appointment but wondered – since he worked in publishing himself –if he might impose on Miss Cole for just five little minutes. It was very, very important.

  The receptionist – who was disconcertingly pretty and had ‘girls’ public school’ written all over her – called her boss on the internal phone and then told Dominic that she could see him, but literally for five minutes. He was shown into an adjoining office where a small, gaunt woman with a boy’s haircut and silver hoop ear rings stopped typing at a computer, stood up and shook his hand.

  “It’s very good of you to see me, Miss Cole. I work in publishing but I’m between jobs at the moment and I’m spending the time researching a book.”

  She smiled as she gestured to him to sit down, then resumed her seat. When he informed her he had been with The Dragon’s Head, she said, “I’ve met Alistair Milner a few times, and I certainly know him by reputation.”

  “Yes, it was a great privilege to have trained under him.”

  “So, what’s this book you’re researching? A novel?”

  “Yes,” Dominic replied after a moment’s hesitation, “and a large part of it is set in the sixties. I’m having problems and… I know it’s a big ask, but… I was wondering if it might be possible to speak to a client of yours. Tom Newcomb to be precise.”

  She looked surprised by the request. “Well, I can ask him. He’s quite elderly now and lives a rather alternative lifestyle, but he might be willing to see you if you don’t mind going to Gloucestershire.”

  “No, not at all. Anywhere. I’m sorry if it sounds pushy but might it be possible to make it sooner rather than later? The thing is, this new job is in the States and I’m leaving in about ten days. ”

  Miranda Cole observed him for a moment, then snatched up the receiver of her telephone and dialled a number she seemed to know by heart.