by Stan Mason
‘You were under the influence of alcohol and he took you to a room in the hotel where you spent the night together. Is that what happened?’
‘Yes... that’s what happened.’
‘But the room was booked in your name, Miss Starlight. Didn’t you book the room yourself earlier in the day?’
‘I can’t remember. It was some time ago.’
‘Let me refresh your memory. You telephone the White Hart hotel and booked the dinner and the room at ten thirty-four in the morning of that day. Your name is written in the hotel diary.’
The Plaintiff’s Counsel rose to interrupt. ‘We have no details relating to this new evidence,’ he told the Judge.
Grade apologised to the Court. ‘This is new evidence,’ he explained. ‘I understand one of my assistants will be bringing it to the Court shortly.’
Snood stared at him with astonishment. He knew that the lawyer had overplayed his hand. There was no evidence of that kind and Grade was treading on very dangerous ground.
‘It’s all right,’ declared the witness. ‘There’s no need to go to all that trouble. I rang the hotel and made the booking. There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m a widow... Mr. Tanner’s a bachelor. Nothing was untoward.’
‘Indeed,’ continued Grade solemnly. ‘But you say that you had no idea the issue of marriage would occur that evening... or did you have that in mind? ‘Do you now deny that you proposed to the Defendant and that it was not the other way around.’
‘An agreement was made by two people,’ she went on adamantly. ‘Whether he proposed to me or not, there was a contract. His agreement was to marry me and I hold him to that.’
‘That’s rather harsh, Miss Starlight. aren’t you putting your own interpretation on something started by yourself when you first booked the dinner and the room at that hotel rather than by the Defendant? Do you still love him? Would you marry him tomorrow if it were possible?’
‘I would. I still love him... we were excellent partners at bridge... he was excellent company. I think he would make a good husband.’
There was a stir in the Court at the submission by the witness. Grade plodded on a little further and then gave up the quest. He returned to his seat with an element of annoyance showing on his face.
It was now the turn of the Defence to present its case and the lawyer put Tanner on the stand. The spectators greeted his entry with a bout of loud booing. The Judge was forced to use his gavel again, banging it repeatedly on the bend until the noise died down. Tanner was so moved by the evidence given by Phoebe Starlight that, at the moment he entered the witness box, he asked the Judge to be allowed to make a statement.
‘I’ve been a very foolish man in my life,’ he stated sincerely. ‘I tried to find myself a wife only to discover in my innocence that I was manipulated by one woman and then another. Although everyone considers me to be a gigolo, I know very little of romantic matters and I’m not very clever when it comes to relationships with the opposite sex. I’m only a basic person searching for happiness and I want to get married to a good woman. If I’m guilty of anything, it being married to my work. I start relationships with women and then find that my duties on the Stock Exchange seem to take priority and I become so embroiled in my work that I forget everything else. In the future, this will change dramatically. I intend to marry Phoebe Starlight within the next month if she’ll still have me to settle down to a normal life. What do you say, Phoebe? I love you, my darling. Will you marry me next month?’
She stared at him in disbelief and then went forward towards him.
‘Roland... Roland, my love,’ she reciprocated, hugging him warmly.
The spectators in the Court cheered and roared their approval as both Counsel stared at each other hopelessly before looking towards the Judge. When everyone had quietened down and the two lovers held hands and gazed into each other’s eyes, Grade was asked to approach the bench.
‘I claim there’s no case to answer,’ declared Grade firmly. ‘If he’s going to marry her, there’s no Breach of Promise.’
‘What about the other four women?’ asked the Plaintiff’s Counsel.
The Judge thought hard and then exhaled deeply. ‘The action related to Mrs. Starlight. The evidence from the other women leaves me to believe that there’s nothing for the Defendant to answer. I’m going to end the case and dismiss the jury. But, let me tell you this. If the Defendant fails to carry out his promise and it comes back to this Court again, I shall throw the book at him!’
As they left the Court, Phobe and Roland were still holding hands. ‘Thank you, Grade!’ said the Defendant gratefully. ‘You made me realise how much I love this wonderful woman. And when we marry, it’s the end of any other women for me!’
When they returned to the lawyer’s office, Snood looked at Grade in an old-fashioned way. ‘You took a lot of chances in that Courtroom, you know.’
Grade laughed easily. ‘At least we can claim this case had a happy ending, but I’m rather concerned. You see, leopards don’t change their spots. When the next attractive-looking woman comes along, Roland Tanner will be after her like a ferret chasing rabbits. If the truth be known, I feel really sorry for young Phoebe. But as Shakespeare would have said: ‘Aye, there’s the rub!’’
High-Flier
Luck is involved in a great part in life; far more than most people realise. Some people claim they were left out of the scheme when Lady Luck conferred her bounties. More than likely they were the people awarded good fortune but frittered or squandered it away needlessly for one reason or another. Others become satisfied, hardly wishing for anything more, enjoying a low-level life and counting their blessings, while the very few enjoy outstandingly good fortune which was often totally unexpected.
Luck begins with life itself. A typical example is a person born to a wealthy family in New York, likely to enjoy life for the better than the new offspring of a peasant family in a poverty-stricken area in a remote part of Asia. Alternatively, a healthy child will always be far more fortunate than one born with the condition of cystic fibrosis. However, there are other lucky or unlucky situations in life which are recorded in the national newspapers every day. An illustration of these are the different accidents or serious incidents which occur out of the blue, sometimes reeking of untoward death or of fantastic fortune which comes to the few who merely select six random numbers in the national lottery and win. Or perhaps it emanates from the Will of a relative or from a large accumulator win on the horses, or from Premium Bonds. A good writer might be unable to find an agent or have his work published or an excellent composer may not be able to sell his songs. Where good or bad, luck makes up its own mind on whom to confer fate or fortune. It may favour few or many or perhaps ignore the rest. In fact there are some people so strange to Lady Luck that they have never won a prize in a raffle, while another person may find a wallet full of money in the street. The diversity of such issues and the wide variation in the lives of human-beings on which luck is conferred makes it impossible to determine by analysis who will benefit and who will not. Yet, in many cases, even those who become lucky, find themselves facing problems when all the chips are down, because luck and good fortune are only elements in the lives of most people... especially those who devote themselves to living life for itself.
Harry Spires forever bemoaned his luck to the point of despair. He was indeed a rich man in his own right although he didn’t realise it. He never counted his blessings, such as good health, an excellent physique, a beautiful wife, two lovely children, a nice home, and interesting worthwhile employment. As far as he was concerned, those factors were the normal things to expect in life. He gambled a relatively small amount of money each week on horses and the national lottery ruing the small amounts of return if he did win. It was a pittance! In any case, he rarely won anything and it galled him to the point of frustration.
‘I’m a complete failure,’ he bleated to his wife one Saturday evening after watching the lottery results on television. ‘I never win anything!’ Harry became extremely angry, screwing up the lottery tickets and throwing them angrily into the fireplace. ‘One number right out of the six!’ he grumbled. ‘I need my head examined for doing it! One bloody number out of six!’
‘You take it far too seriously, dear,’ responded his wife, Susan, with a slight smile touching her lips. After all, it was simply a bit of fun. No one really expected to get rich by winning a large sum on the lottery. She recalled the trauma when her grandfather had lost many thousands of pounds on the Stock Market when it crashed one year. Now that was losing money, although he managed to claw some of it back when conditions improved.
’And I only got two winning horses out of six,’ he went on bleakly. So I lost out on all the trebles and the accumulator. My luck seems to run in spasms... all at low-level.’
‘Your day will come eventually,’ comforted Susan sympathetically. ‘You just wait and see.’
‘I’ll be dead by the time that happens,’ he groaned.
‘You mustn’t wish too hard for it, that’s all.’
Her husband stared at her sullenly. ‘If only!’ he muttered miserably. ‘If only!’ He shook his head reverting his attention to the newspaper crossword resting on his lap, cursing under his breath at being one of nature’s unfortunate people.
That night, when his wife was preparing herself for bed in the bathroom, he knelt down on the floor in his pyjamas and clasped his hands in front of him. ‘Dear God!’ he prayed fervently. ‘When will it be my turn? When will it be my turn to win a really grand prize? You’ve been good to me in every other way except that one. Please grant me the wish to win a fortune. I beg of you! I will do anything you want if you if you let me win a fortune!’ He opened his eyes to see that his wife was watching him and he rose looked rather shameful.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked in bewilderment, for no one could ever call Harry Spires a religious man.
‘I was praying to God to help me win a major prize,’ he admitted, hanging his head slightly.
‘You fool!’ she chided gently. ‘Why aren’t you satisfied with what you have in life? Why search for more?’
‘I can’t help it,’ he bleated. ‘It’s in my nature to gamble and I always want to win. What’s wrong with that?’
‘You’re a bad loser, Harry, that’s for sure. But if you really want to know, I’ll tell you what’s wrong. It’s starting to become an obsession with you. I reckon it’s got to the point where you’d sell your soul to the Devil to win a million quid on the national lottery.’
He thought deeply about her comment for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he agreed in due course, ‘I reckon I would. Who needs a soul anyway? Just think of all the things we could do with the money... and there would be fame also. We’d have our names and photographs in the local newspapers. It would be incredible!’
‘You must be joking!’ she snapped. ‘It would be a millstone around our necks. I wouldn’t mind wining twenty-five or even fifty thousand but a million’s ridiculous!’
‘Fifty grand wouldn’t be enough,’ he told her, his mind moving on to a different plane as the figures ran through his head. ‘Our mortgage is over sixty thousand and a new super car would cost about thirty grand. What about clothes, furniture, holidays, a swimming pool out back,... we’ve always wanted a swimming pool! And then there’s the fees to send the kids to public schools and a whole host of other things. No... fifty grand isn’t enough. I’d still have to go to work. What’s the fun in that? Now if it was a million... !’ His eyes became glassy as he tailed off into infinity thinking about it.
‘You’re living a pipedream,’ she countered sharply, climbing into the bed. ‘Do you know the odds of winning the lottery from a single ticket? It’s hundreds of millions. Hundreds of millions! You’d do better to buy Premium Bonds. They pay out a million every month and you can always get your money back. It’s a far better bet.’
‘Premium Bonds!’ he scoffed bitterly. ‘One million paid each month! That’s a joke! The national lottery pays out millions every week! Sorry, Sue, but your argument doesn’t hold water.’
‘I’ll tell you something for nothing,’ she told him finally. ‘If we won a lot of money, it would probably be the end of us, bringing its own bad luck and perhaps disaster. People like us should know our place. We shouldn’t be seeking good fortune by gambling. We’ve got enough already. But then someone like you can’t see the wood for the trees.’
‘Did you hear the joke about the couple who were always arguing. ‘What would you do if I won the lottery?’ he asked her. ‘I’d take half and leave you,’ she said. That Saturday he came home late and asked if she really meant what she had said. She told him that she did. So he took a five pound note from his pocket and said: ‘Right, here’s a fiver... now buzz off!’
He almost fell over laughing at his own joke, then he climbed into bed beside his wife. They both turned away from each other in disagreement, left to their own personal thoughts. How could she be so dense not to realise how unlucky he was in life? How could he be so obstinate not to realise that he had everything he really wanted? Why couldn’t he count his blessings and be satisfied?
Months passed by and, despite Harry’s frenetic efforts to secure a fortune, he only won low amounts of money on his gambling. Nothing had changed in his life and, as far as he was concerned, everything continued in the same vain. However, whether his prayers were eventually answered or not it became his turn to receive an accolade from Lady Luck. In a moment he least expected, Fate finally overtook him. One Saturday, he sat in front of the television set as usual watching the programme where the national lottery numbers were drawn. He had begun to become conditioned to losing each week by now and he didn’t expect anything to change. Normally he bought three tickets with different numbers at random but on this occasion he had increased it to five tickets. For once the gamble paid off. As the first number emerged from the machine, on the television programme, he noticed success on the very last ticket he had bought. The same thing happened with the second number and the third.
‘Hey!’ he shouted to his wife excitedly. ‘I’ve got three numbers up. I’ve won ten quid already!’
Susan smiled easily, believing that he had arrived at the point where his luck would run out, but she was mistaken.
‘Four up!’ he shouted.
She was pleased for him. At least this time he would receive a prize higher than the ten pounds he sometimes won. When he shouted ‘Five up!’ she believed that he was playing a prank on her. He was merely pretending to have those numbers simply to fool her. It was his way of letting off steam for losing once more. Then, suddenly, he turned to her, his face turning a distinct shade of white. He placed the ticket carefully on the coffee-table and stared at it solemnly before turning the volume down on the television set so that the room was in silence.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, with an element of concern in her voice.
He failed to answer for a short while, inhaling deeply as though in severe pain. ‘I can’t look,’ he told her feebly. ‘Tell me that last number is twenty-six! Please tell me it’s twenty-six!’ He screwed his eyes shut and waited for the answer.
Susan stared at the television screen, paused, and then turned back to him. ‘How clever of you!’ she said. ‘You’re right. It is twenty-six.’ ‘She looked at him suspiciously for a moment and then smiled. ‘Ah, I get it! This is a repeat programme from last week. That’s how you know the number. You can’t fool me, Harry Spires. I know what you’re up to!’
His breathing became quite shallow in his excitement. ‘No,’ he managed to say. ‘That’s not it at all. This is for real. I’ve won the lottery. I’ve actually won the bloody lottery. He leapt off the settee and began to dance around the room throwing
his arms in the air with delight. Then he picked up the lottery ticket and began to kiss it. ‘I’ve won!’ he shouted at the top of his voice. ‘I’ve gone and bloody won!’
It was only then that she realised he was telling the truth. From that moment on it was mayhem in the family household with both parents and the children speculating how many people would be dividing the main prize and how much it would be for each of them. After all, there was one occasion where eight people shared the four-and-a-half million pounds on offer while at other times one single person scooped the whole pool.
They didn’t have long to wait to find out the answer. A telephone call to the lottery operator told them that there were only two winners who would each receive the sum of two-and-a-quarter million pounds. Not surprisingly, Harry made certain to take great care with the winning lottery ticket. None of them could sleep that night and the celebrations began four days later after they had received the cheque. It was followed by a round of parties for a while with family, friends, neighbours, and many new-found well-wishers who had never seen them before. They all came along in the hope that some of Harry’s fantastic luck, and perhaps a little of his fortune, might rub off on them. Then, one afternoon, after the euphoria had died down, Harry sat in his garden, basking in the glorious sunshine, sipping the best malt whisky that money could buy. He laughed to himself at the comment he had made at one of the parties. ‘What are you going to do about begging letters?’ asked one of the guests. ‘Oh, I’m still going to send them,’ he had replied.
‘Cursed is the man who achieves his ambitions,’ quoted Tom Bradbury, his lifelong friend who sat opposite him holding a glass of dry martini. ‘That’s what the Chinese say and I reckon they’re right. It’s a curse!’ He stared at Harry with a doleful expression on his face. ‘But I can help you with your dilemma,’ he joked casually. ‘I can take all that money off your hands to remove the curse and set you free.’