A Matter for the Jury

by Peter Murphy

  ‘I’d be glad to do that,’ Singer said, as they shook hands.

  ‘Call the office if you have any questions,’ Barratt said, on his way out. ‘And let’s talk before we go to see Martin on Tuesday.’

  When they had gone, Ben and Jess looked at each other.

  ‘Where do you want to start?’ she asked.

  Ben took off his jacket, put it on a heavy wooden hanger, and hung it on the coat rack which stood behind the door. He undid his tie and threw it deftly on to his desk. He pointed in the direction of the bottom shelf of the huge bookcase which occupied most of the wall to the left of his desk.

  ‘There are files and assorted office supplies over there. First, I want to find out what is in that box. Then I want to get all the paperwork organised, filed and labelled. Then we can actually start reading it and finding out what this case is really about.’

  ‘I’m good at cross-referencing,’ Jess volunteered. ‘I helped the librarian re-arrange every book the school had when I was in the sixth form.’

  ‘All right. We will put that talent to good use. Let’s drag the box into the middle of the room. We will probably have to sit on the floor, I’m afraid.’

  ‘My natural habitat,’ she smiled.

  ‘Would you like some coffee? I can have Alan make some.’

  ‘Yes, actually that would be good. No milk, just a little sugar.’

  Together, they dragged the box from the side of Ben’s desk.

  ‘Not too far,’ she suggested. ‘So we can lean against the back of your desk and still reach it.’

  Ben left to make arrangements for the coffee. When he and Alan returned a few minutes later with coffee for both of them and a plate of ginger biscuits, Jess had removed her shoes and was sitting, cross-legged, between the box and his desk, a pencil between her lips and a sheaf of papers on her lap. Two large empty files and a pile of labels and dividers were within easy reach of her left hand. Ben sat down beside her.

  ‘Why don’t I glance at each document we come to?’ he suggested. ‘I will start to build up a picture of the case, and we can devise a filing system for them according to subject matter.’

  ‘And according to date,’ Jess added. ‘Chronology matters too, yes?’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Ben replied. He reached up and seized a blue notebook from his desk. ‘I will start making some notes as we go along.’

  The time was 10.15.

  * * *

  By 3.30 that same afternoon the box Barratt Davis had brought had been emptied and an impressive array of files, labelled, indexed and cross-referenced, was spread across the room. Two plates, which had held sandwiches, supplied by Alan from a café on Fleet Street and consumed hastily during a short lunch break, lay pushed up against the bookcase. Jess was leaning back wearily against Ben’s desk. She slowly untangled her legs from their crossed position, and stretched them out in front of her.

  ‘I’m not sure I can get up,’ she said. ‘I may have to stay here until my legs start working again. I don’t think they have any blood going through them.’

  ‘My legs are all right,’ he said. ‘But my back is aching.’ He sat up, straightening his back as much as it would allow. ‘Well, at least we have something to show for it, don’t we? It all looks very different from that pile of paper we were handed this morning.’

  ‘I think we should both get medals.’

  ‘We should. And we have definitely earned our weekends.’

  Her head dropped. ‘Don’t remind me,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The weekend. Don’t remind me.’

  ‘Not looking forward to it?’

  She sighed, tentatively rotating her ankles and flexing her toes to see if they were working.

  ‘Oh, it’s just that it’s nothing special – again. Having nothing else to do, I will take the train down to darkest Sussex and while away the hours with my parents, as usual. I really need to spend more time arranging things to do in London – or anywhere. It’s not as though I don’t have friends. But since I’ve been working for Barratt, the working week is such a whirlwind that I never seem to get around to planning anything. If I keep it up much longer, my friends are going to forget who I am.’

  Ben twisted round to face her.

  ‘Would you like to do something different – really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you ever been to a football match?’

  She smiled at him in surprise.

  ‘Well, I used to watch my brothers play for their school.’

  Ben returned the smile. ‘That’s not what I mean,’ he said. ‘I mean a real football match, in the First Division.’

  ‘What, in a big ground, with thousands of people shouting at each other?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘No. Never.’

  Ben took a deep breath.

  ‘Well, why don’t you give it a try tomorrow afternoon. My family is from the East End, and we are all West Ham supporters. My father can usually get tickets. Sometimes I take a young friend with me. His name is Simon Dougherty; he has just turned eleven, and he is the step-son of a member of Chambers, Kenneth Gaskell. Simon grew up in Walthamstow and has supported the Hammers all his life. I often take him to a match if his father can’t take him for some reason. We’ve arranged to go tomorrow. We are playing Manchester United at home, Upton Park. You would be very welcome to join us.’

  Ben’s stomach tightened into a knot as he spoke. He suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable. He had been stupid, he had spoken without thinking. He had offended her. He began to search his mind for any graceful way to withdraw. He had been presumptuous. He was…

  ‘That sounds like fun,’ she was saying. ‘That gives me the perfect reason to stay in London for the night, and I will have a new experience tomorrow.’ She experimented with pushing herself up. ‘Oh, thank God, I think my legs have started responding. I might even be able to stand up.’

  Ben rose to his feet and stood in front of her. He offered both hands. She accepted. He pulled her to her feet and brought her shoes. She put a hand on his shoulder to support herself as she put them on.

  ‘I usually meet Simon at Waterloo at midday,’ he said. ‘Kenneth and Anne live down in Surrey, so they put him on the train. I pick him up, we have lunch, and it gives us plenty of time to get to Upton Park. But I can arrange to pick you up later along the way, if you prefer.’

  ‘No. Waterloo at twelve would be fine,’ she said. ‘Let’s meet under the clock. I look forward to it.’

  She walked slowly towards the door, then suddenly stopped, and turned to face him. Her face suggested concern.

  ‘Oh, there is just one thing I think you should know…’ she began. Ben’s heart began to sink again. He felt his anxiety return.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘My father and brothers support Arsenal,’ she replied. ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘Only if you do,’ he smiled.

  Harriet Fisk passed Jess in the doorway, as she was coming in and Jess was leaving.

  ‘My word, you two have been busy,’ Harriet said, with approval. ‘It seems you had a more productive day than I did, trying to get a county court registrar to listen to me.’

  ‘Yes, I think we did rather well,’ Ben replied with a smile.

  19

  7 March

  They stood together at the end of Platform 9, and waved to Simon until his train was almost out of sight. She took his arm and they turned to leave the station. He was still crestfallen.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ben. They had an off-day, didn’t they?’

  ‘They certainly did. Losing 2-0 at home to that lot. I don’t know what the world is coming to.’

  She laughed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I know it’s not funny. But you and Simon were such a pair. I’ve never seen two such glum faces.’

/>   Ben grinned ruefully. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘It’s the price you pay for being a fan. But apart from that, did you enjoy it?’

  ‘I did, actually. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I would. But it was really exciting, all those people cheering their team on when they were attacking, groaning when the other side scored. I got quite carried away. I would do it again. And the least I can do is try to cheer you up – unless you have other plans?’

  Ben shook his head. ‘No, none at all. What do you have in mind?’

  She tucked her arm more tightly under his. ‘We’re going to start with a brisk walk over Waterloo Bridge – unless you have had enough of cold, damp fresh air for one day?’

  ‘No, that sounds good.’

  ‘It will blow the sad thoughts away, and remind you that there is always next week.’

  ‘Never was a truer word spoken,’ Ben groaned. ‘We are playing Manchester United again next week, in the Cup.

  ‘Exactly my point,’ she said. ‘The Hammers have every incentive to make sure it doesn’t happen twice.’

  They walked slowly together out of the station and along the approach to Waterloo Bridge. It was after 7 o’clock and already growing dark. A cold breeze was blowing across the river; there was a very slight mist and the suggestion of rain in the air. As they approached the bridge, the lights of the buildings on the far side of the river twinkled through the gathering gloom. St Paul’s Cathedral loomed into view to their right, the Houses of Parliament almost tucked away in a corner to their left as the river took a sharp turn. Traffic was light, and only one or two pedestrians passed them on the bridge.

  ‘How did you come to meet Simon?’ she asked.

  ‘It was while his mother was getting her divorce,’ he replied. ‘Kenneth was acting for her.’

  He sensed Jess turn her face towards him.

  ‘And now Kenneth and Anne are…?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘It was rather quick. There were all kinds of rumours. But they had known each other years before. I suppose it all re-kindled. Anyway…’

  ‘Anyway…’

  ‘Anyway, I was in Chambers on a Friday afternoon. I can picture it exactly. It was the same afternoon Merlin gave me Bourne & Davis’s brief for Sergeant Mulcahy.’

  ‘Your first case.’

  ‘My first case. I was about to go home for the day. But I was passing the clerk’s room, and I saw this little boy sitting in the waiting area, looking completely forlorn. He was wearing a West Ham scarf. So I approached him and talked to him. Anne was in conference with Kenneth, or she was in his room, anyway. I didn’t find out the details of the case until much later, but Simon was having a terrible time of it. Anne’s husband was violent towards her when he was drunk, which was almost every night, and Simon saw a lot of the violence. I didn’t know any of that when I first saw him. He just struck me as sad, and he seemed so lost, so alone, sitting there.’

  She squeezed his arm.

  ‘So I asked him if he would like to come to Upton Park with me for the next home game. Anne didn’t seem to mind, so we went. Once the divorce was final, and the husband had some access to Simon at weekends, I thought that would be that. But he can’t take Simon to all the games, so now we work it out between us.’

  ‘Well I think it’s really wonderful that you do that for him,’ she said. ‘I could see how much it means to him. He seemed really happy – except when Manchester United scored the two goals, of course. Sorry, won’t mention that again.’

  Ben laughed. ‘I’d already forgotten about it,’ he said. He paused. ‘I’m glad I can do something for Simon. But I get a lot out of it, too. It takes my mind off work. If I go to a game on my own I’m usually pre-occupied with some problem in a case, but with Simon I have to concentrate on what’s going on here and now. It’s good for me. It also reminds me of how lucky I am to have my family.’

  ‘Do you have a big family?’

  ‘Not huge, but more than enough. They all live in Whitechapel, near the family business.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes, Schroeder’s Furs and Fine Apparel in Commercial Road. The family has been in the business for generations, but we are originally from Vienna. We moved to London at the turn of the century, settled in the East End, and started up the business again, just as it was in the old country.’

  ‘Tell me about your parents. Do you have brothers and sisters?’

  ‘One of each. Larry is almost seventeen and Ella is thirteen. My father, David, is the main partner in the business. He runs it with my uncle Eli. My mother, Ruth, worked there too for a long time, but she stayed home with Larry and Ella. She is a fantastic cook, among other things. Then there is my grandfather, Joshua. He actually came to court for Sergeant Mulcahy’s case, without telling me. He sat in the public gallery and didn’t announce himself until it was over.’

  She laughed. ‘Good for him.’

  ‘Yes. Then there are all kinds of uncles and aunts and cousins who descend on us at Passover and Hanukkah. To be honest, I don’t know who all of them are, or how they are related to us, but no one seems to mind. It can be a bit chaotic at times, but it has always been a warm, loving home.’

  He paused.

  ‘The family has done quite well financially. But we have – I don’t quite know how to say it – something of an identity crisis. We are not sure who we are: Austrian, English, Jewish, all of those things. So we have always tried hard to be part of the community. Part of that is the synagogue, of course. The family is observant, but my parents didn’t bring us up to be too strict, certainly about food. We keep away from pork, but we are not kosher. But we also try hard to be English and Londoners, specifically East Enders, so we support West Ham and all the rest of it. And…’

  ‘And..?’

  ‘And I never talk this much. I must be boring you to death.’

  ‘Not in the least. Talk to me all you want. It’s interesting.’

  They had crossed the river and were walking the few yards towards the Strand and Aldwych.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ she asked.

  ‘Starving. It seems a long time since lunch.’

  ‘Do you like Indian food?’

  ‘I’ve never tried it. There are one or two Indian restaurants open now in Commercial Road. I keep meaning to try it, but I never have.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Well, it’s high time you did. We don’t have to go as far as the Commercial Road. There is one not far from here, within striking distance of the Temple. Barratt introduced me to it. People from the firm go there for dinner quite often.’

  They turned right on to the Strand. The restaurant was unobtrusive, apparently part of a small commercial hotel, its presence marked only by a small, dark sign. They had to climb three flights of stairs to reach it. The restaurant was dim and sparsely furnished, with small framed chairs and tables with chipped formica tops.

  ‘It dates back to 1946,’ Jess smiled, as they were seated, ‘and I don’t think they have altered, or even decorated the place at all since then. It’s one of London’s better-kept secrets. You wouldn’t be likely to find it if you didn’t know it was here. And if you didn’t know how good the food is, you would probably think twice about staying, even if you did find it.’

  A waiter brought menus, and they ordered beers.

  ‘Why don’t you let me order for you?’ she suggested. ‘Indian food can be quite spicy and it’s best to start off with something fairly mild until you get used to it.’

  Ben sipped his beer happily.

  ‘Order away,’ he replied. ‘I’m sure I’m in good hands.’

  ‘Are you the first in your family to go to the Bar?’ she asked, as the waiter retreated towards the kitchen with their order.

  Ben nodded.

  ‘They must be very proud of you.’

  He sighed, and leaned forward with his arms on the table
.

  ‘I think so. I know my mother and my grandfather are. It was a problem for my father.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because, as the oldest son, I am supposed to take over the business when he dies. Which means that I was supposed to work in the business as soon as I was old enough.’

  She sat back, nodding.

  ‘Yes, I see. A long tradition?’

  ‘Long enough. But I just could not see myself doing it. I knew before I left school that I wanted to come to the Bar. But I had to persuade…’ He stopped and laughed. ‘If I tell you this, you are going to think we are all very strange. I’m sure you do already.’

  ‘No. Go on.’

  ‘Well, before anyone in the family takes a major decision, it has to be the subject of a round-table conference, with all available adult family members present. I used to call it the family council. My decision to become a lawyer was discussed several times. I am sure you can imagine. My father would be talking about how I was betraying the family. But my grandfather and my mother, and even my Uncle Eli, stood up for me. My grandfather gave me the money to join the Middle Temple and find a pupillage. But not before we had discussed every aspect of my becoming a barrister, including how it might be the end of civilisation as we knew it.’

  Jess’s eyes had opened wide. ‘That sounds terrifying!’

  ‘Actually,’ Ben replied, ‘it was good practice for the Bar in a way. I had to argue for what I wanted; I had to explain it, justify it.’ He laughed. ‘They would not have minded half as much if I had decided to become a solicitor.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘That might have been useful to the business.’ On an impulse, he mimicked his father, holding his hands out wide, the voice with its modulated East End accent pitch perfect. ‘Do you know how much we pay Morton Levenson year after year?’

  She laughed, then became serious.

  ‘So, that’s quite a burden you’ve taken on yourself.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘To prove to your father that you have done the right thing, even if it means breaking with tradition; to show the family council that they were right to give you that opportunity. Don’t you feel that as quite a responsibility?’