by John Wilson
– Don’t pretend to be ignorant. The only surprise for you is that I want to have our little talk today rather than in the New Year.
– What … is … going … on?!
Jeremy took a sip of his tea and looked across at his wife, a sardonic smile on his lips.
– I have instructed my solicitors to issue proceedings for our divorce. The petition was issued before Christmas and I mean to have it served today. I thought it only civil to advise you of it in advance.
– But this is preposterous. On what possible basis?
– You know very well, my dear. Don’t tell me that when you have been prying around my study and rifling through my drawers you didn’t read my correspondence?
– You’ve never given me keys to your study. I have never understood what secrets you needed to keep from me there.
– I’m having the locks changed.
– So that strange man who called last night, Johnson? Is your solicitor?
– Jackson is a private detective.
Julia had half climbed out of bed. She made a movement with her hands to bring unruly curls under control.
– You’ve been having me followed? I can’t believe you would do such a thing. I’m sure this Jackson can tell you nothing unseemly about me.
– We will see.
– I want to hear from you what you are intending to do.
– Very well. I believe you have been unfaithful to me. I am citing Adam Falling as Co-Respondent and he will be served tomorrow in Suffolk.
If Julia had been expecting this she gave no sign of it. Instead she threw back her head and let out a peal of laughter.
– Oh, darling! You are so ridiculous! Adam Falling?
– Don’t pretend to be surprised. You know that my solicitors think I have a good case.
– I don’t know what you’re talking about.
– Can you explain to me why I would find a piece of my writing paper burnt out in Falling’s ashtray?
Pemberton watched his wife carefully and took another sip from the cup.
– Oh that! Yes of course I can.
– I’m waiting.
– I’m your wife. I notice things. You’ve been acting so strangely recently and it took me a while to work it out. You can tell a lot about what’s going on in a man’s mind by listening to what’s coming out of his mouth.
– What are you implying, my dear?
– This man has been a member of your chambers for, what, fifteen years and you’ve hardly mentioned his name. And then, all of a sudden, you can speak of no one else and you’ve been giving me funny looks when you do mention him.
– I don’t see how that explains the writing paper.
– I wrote him a very polite, apologetic, letter explaining my concerns. I sent it to him in Chambers by first-class post. I didn’t even mark it “private and confidential”. You’ve probably read it so you will know what it said.
– He destroyed it as I’m sure you asked him to.
– I was embarrassed; of course I asked him to destroy it. It was so humiliating even to be writing it. Have you any idea what torture these last months have been for me?
Pemberton was taken aback. The letter had been one of his trump cards but Julia appeared not to be at all discomfited when he played it. If she had asked him to destroy the letter she would presumably have felt safe in denying that she had sent it. That is what he had expected her to do. After the discovery of the ashes and the watermark he had ensured that an especially careful watch be kept on both her and Adam and he was sure, as far as he could be, that there had been no communication between them. A seed of doubt entered his mind. But then he remembered how, despite these months of “torture”, Julia had been able to hide her feelings so well, even when he was watching her carefully. He thought of her books, of the Stafford Hotel … and of Falling’s evident nervousness in his presence.
– I’m sorry, my dear. You will have to convince a Court of your story. I’m afraid I don’t believe you’re telling me the truth.
– Jeremy. Please. I love you. Let’s stop this nonsense.
– I’m going to speak with Jenny later today and explain to her what is happening with us. I’ll leave it to you to tell Sebastian, Stephen and Agnes.
– Have you any idea what you’re doing? Do you want our names to be in the newspapers? What will our friends think?
– You should have thought of that before you embarked on this adventure. Anyway, the press has more … pressing …matters to report on. I intend to have this resolved before Easter if at all possible.
Julia allowed her shoulders to slump. She fingered her wedding ring and ran her hand through her hair again.
– Think of our children. It will be horrible for all four of them.
– I’ve always thought you’ve loved your children more than you love me. More than you love Jenny.
– That’s not fair! And they’re our children. If I loved them more than I loved you, why do I allow myself to be parted from them? I belong by your side.
– I have asked Jackson to be ready to serve you with the papers. I thought he could either serve them on you here or at my solicitors’ offices. They’re only a short ride away.
Julia sighed and her eyes filled with tears.
– You’re really going ahead with this aren’t you?
– I don’t feel I have a choice, my dear.
– May I at least choose where I am to be served?
– Of course. I will allow you that dignity.
– Where am I supposed to have committed adultery anyway?
****
Gazing across Piccadilly to Green Park on New Year’s Eve in 1940, an observer would see the remains of the gates. Banner headlines with the latest from the air raids posted behind the wire mesh as usual. The usual flurry of people climbing the steps from the underground and rushing backwards and forwards about their business. If such an observer had been standing there at about midday on New Year’s Eve he would have seen a tallish man with a large belly waiting by the entrance to the park, his hat pulled down low and a long brown envelope in his hand. An elegant lady in a long black coat, blonde hair pulled back under a peacock scarf, approached him and he lifted his hat in greeting. He handed her the envelope and they shook hands. Then she disappeared down into the park, looking for a bench amongst the trenches where she could sit down and read.
****
It was about six in the evening and Jenny was in her bedroom on the second floor. She had chosen the green dress and some matching shoes. She sat at her little dressing table and opened a lipstick. Dark red always brought out the best in her complexion. The atmosphere around the house had become unbearable and she kept thinking back to her conversation with Julia the previous day. It all seemed so preposterous. Perhaps it would all go away? In the meantime, she busied herself with preparations for a night out. Simon would be calling for her at seven thirty. He had arranged a car for them. She knew she looked beautiful. There was a knock on her door. It was Samuels.
– I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss Pemberton, but your father has asked that you come and speak with him in his study.
Jenny left her room and headed down the stairs. Julia was standing on the first-floor landing with her back to her step-daughter. She was holding one of the photographs from the alcove – Jenny could see that it was of Julia with all three of her children. Julia turned as she heard her approach. Her eyes were red-rimmed and full of tears.
– Julia! What’s wrong?
– Help me, Jenny. Please help me! Get him to stop this!
– Oh, Julia. I’m so sorry. I’ll try.
And she crossed the landing and knocked on her father’s door.
****
Pemberton was sitting at his desk. The green lamp glowed and his spectacles shone. He was holding the photograph of her mother. He asked her to take a seat. Jenny remembered what Julia had said to her the night before: don’t tell what you know; don’t reveal your sources. She
came to listen to what her father had to say. She would do her best to talk him out of it.
****
It was eight thirty by the time the car dropped Jenny and Captain Jenkins in Coventry Street. Simon was on leave and wore full uniform. He had never been to the Café de Paris before. Jenny had booked a table weeks ago and was looking forward to showing it off to him. They had ignored the air raid sirens. There were few places safer than the Café de Paris. Those who were less well-off envied them, sometimes vociferously, but if they had had the money to go there, they would have gone themselves.
A concierge welcomed them at the doorway and they made their way down a very long steep staircase. The room at the bottom was far smaller than the club’s reputation and it was already thronging with officers in uniform and girls in their best dresses. On a stage at the rear a band was playing and a tall young black man was singing “Oh, Johnny”. He wore an immaculate white suit with an exotic buttonhole and swung his hips fluidly as he sang.
– This is quite a place!
– I knew you’d like it.
– You’d think it would be a lot hotter down here with all these people dancing.
– Oh, there’s plenty of air. That man, Preston, from Daddy’s chambers, told me that they’ve got a large air shaft so that we don’t all suffocate.
– Would you like a dance before dinner?
– And a glass of champagne. I want to have a good time tonight.
And having obtained a bottle and an ice bucket, they danced. Jenny felt a flood of euphoria fill her as she mixed with so many happy young people. So many people who were in love. She put her interview with her father out of her mind and tried not to think of Julia’s face, tear-stained and full of entreaty, when she emerged. She had not been successful in her attempts to dissuade her father. He was resolute. He was also awkward and strange. More than once he had called her “Joan” before correcting himself with an apology. He wished her the many years of happiness that had been denied to her mother.
She smiled at Simon as he led her round the dance floor. Love didn’t need to be so complicated. She would have to work on her father. If anyone could talk him out of this, she could. A plan was forming in her mind.
The sound of the air raid going on outside faded to nothing and on the stage Snakehips Johnson launched into “The Sunny Side Of The Street”.
Chapter Twenty-nine
(Wednesday 8th January 1941)
Roland Blytheway shimmered up from past Garden Court towards Fountain Court. As always he was dressed impeccably, wearing a long, almost Edwardian, frock coat over his tailored suit, with an elegant white cashmere scarf thrown over his shoulder in a way that appeared, but was anything but, casual. Blytheway stepped over the rubble and broken glass rather as a nanny would step over the toys in an untidy nursery, tip-toeing daintily in his well-polished shoes, so as to avoid any possibility of dust taking away their gleam. He was like a matinee idol stepping through a film set of war.
For the third day running Falling watched him discreetly from a bench behind the trees in Fountain Court. He pulled on a cigarette, savouring every mouthful of smoke. Adam had put on a little weight and there was some colour again in his cheeks. It was almost a week since a rather uncomfortable Jackson had arrived at the flat in Dr Johnson’s Buildings to serve him with the petition and the letter terminating his tenancy at Stirrup Court.
Storman had been able to visit him, very briefly, on New Year’s Eve with the doctor’s prescription, and Barry, a good night’s sleep behind him, had ensured that Adam was provided with extra blankets and an additional electric fire. He had also restored hot water to the flat. He had brought from the Temple kitchens bread and soup and significant quantities of beef and sausages. Adam was sure the man had been breaching rationing regulations to do so but he was too grateful to him to ask questions. He was still sleeping badly, however. Storman had not been able to visit him on New Year’s Day and Adam was secretly relieved. He did not want his friend to be present when Jackson turned up with the petition. The day was spent in an agony of anticipation. But the detective did not turn up.
The evening of New Year’s Day had also been bad. A landmine hit Harcourt Buildings during further raids and caused a great deal of damage. Despite Adam’s entreaties Barry would not allow him to help with the fire-fighting. Despite Barry’s entreaties, Adam had refused to go down to a shelter and spent the night instead in the third-floor flat, listening to the bombers and the ack-ack and waiting for a direct hit. It did not come. He slept poorly.
Storman had come to visit again on the 2nd January in the early afternoon. Barry had brought food and drink and Adam was propped up in bed when Storman entered.
– Adam! You’re looking a lot better. The prescription seems to be working.
– Thank you, Jack. Barry’s been very kind. You’ve both been very good to me.
– How’s 1941 been treating you so far?
– Were you able to get me any cigarettes?
– They aren’t doing you any good, you know.
– You haven’t got any cigarettes?
Adam sighed and pulled the blankets up over his chest.
– How long do you intend staying here?
– A few days. That’s all. I’m happy here for now.
– I’ll make us some tea.
Storman went over into the little kitchen and put the kettle on. There was a small jug of milk and so he poured some of it into a bowl for the kitten. He put two generous spoonfuls of tea in the pot. During his preparations, he looked over at Adam with questions in his eyes. But he said nothing. Adam heard the kettle begin to rattle and then the sound of boiling water being poured. Eventually, Storman emerged holding two mugs. He put one down by the bed and cradled the other.
– Adam …
There was a knock at the door.
– Good afternoon, Mr Jackson. This is a pleasant surprise. Happy New Year.
There was acid in his voice.
– Mr Storman, sir. Happy New Year, sir. I’m sorry, sir. I’m … I was looking for Mr Falling. I’ve been wrongly informed.
– Oh no, Mr Jackson. Mr Falling is here. He’s sick.
– I’ll come back another time.
– I’m sure, Mr Jackson, that, subject to what Mr Falling has to say, he won’t mind me being present.
Adam, from his bed, said nothing. A long pause and then Jackson edged his way across the room.
– Mr Falling, sir.
And he had handed over the petition and a separate letter and then turned and almost ran for the door. Nothing was said. Adam listened to his footsteps clattering down the stairs and looked up at Storman. The questions he had noticed in his eyes were gone.
– Would you like me to leave you?
– There’s no need now.
Adam read the petition and then handed it to Storman. Whilst the latter was reading it he turned his attention to the letter. It had been sealed and there was an ostentatious “P” stamped into the wax. The writing paper inside carried the Pemberton watermark that had become so familiar to him over the previous four and a half years. Its contents had, thanks to Catherine, been anticipated. The only surprise was that Pemberton had dated it the 30th December 1940. Adam couldn’t understand why it had taken Jackson until the 2nd January 1941 to get round to serving it on him.
It wasn’t until the following day that he received a letter, sent by his daughter care of Stirrup Court, which described the strange events of New Year’s Day: how a peculiar fat man had turned up in something of a lather at about four in the afternoon. She had been riding with the gipsy on his pony at the time. Deborah described how she’d watched, from the far side of the paddock, a confrontation between him and her mother: Catherine’s body hunched forward, her finger pointing – the sound of unintelligible shouting drifting across the meadow – whilst Jackson leaned away from the verbal onslaught before turning, head down, and sloping back to his car. “Mummy didn’t tell me what she said to him or wh
at it was all about, but she was terribly angry.” There was no word from Catherine herself but Deborah said that she, at least, missed him and she asked him to take care of himself.
Storman had finished reading the petition. As anticipated, it had alleged that Adam had committed adultery with Julia Pemberton on a number of dates, on each of which – according to the hotel records – he had checked into the Stafford. If Storman had been surprised by its contents he did not show it. Adam passed him Pemberton’s letter and watched his friend read in silence.
– Adam. How much truth is there in any of this? We need to talk.
– I’m very tired, Jack. I will talk with you about it. I promise. I’m very tired. Can we talk tomorrow please?
And Storman had let him be. Adam lowered himself down into the bed, curled up and pulled the blankets over his head. An enormous tiredness came over him and he fell asleep. It was twenty-four hours before he awoke again. If there had been another air raid he had not been aware of it. When, finally, he woke up he felt infinitely better than he had done for a long time. His secret was out. He knew that, already, the talk would be all over the Temple, and in a funny way he felt as though he had been freed from something. As if the poison in the suppurating wound of his enforced silence had been brought to the surface and released. He’d been able to sleep. He was warm and he’d eaten better than for some time. Both Barry and Storman had insisted he remain in the flat and rest. He had been without cigarettes since the raid on the 29th January but the pain in his chest had eased.
He realised that Storman was now compromised. Although the notice period expired after seven days – the 6th January – Storman had persuaded Pemberton that, as it had not been formally received by Falling until 2nd January, he should have a further seven days to remove himself. Subject to that he and Adam were no longer members of the same chambers. Without an address from which to practise he could not take instructions, so he had asked that Storman contact Jones and let him know of his circumstances and of the fact that he could no longer act for Mr Bateman or for Novak. Storman had initially protested, but in the end accepted that without Chambers Falling could no longer hold himself out as a practising barrister. And as always with the weights that we do not appreciate that we are carrying, the fact that he no longer had to worry about Bateman and the McKechnie divorce or Novak and the gallows, Adam was, to his own surprise, able to relax further.