by John Wilson
– But that would be disastrous!
– Oh, it doesn’t help. Then again, as I said to you once before, I was never entirely happy, instinctively, with this evidence. And there is another problem.
– Another?
– Yes. You see, her statement is rather meaningless as it stands.
– But I thought it provided Jul – Mrs Pemberton with a complete alibi?
Adam saw that Blytheway had noted the slip, and realised that this would be filed away in his photographic memory.
– In one way it does. But it is very short, as I said. All it does is make reference to a number of crosses in her diary. It cannot be understood without being cross-referenced to this. And the current whereabouts of the diary are unclear. If it is still in Eaton Square I do not believe it will be seen again. Not, at least, until long after your trial is over. I cannot believe Pemberton would be able to bring himself to destroy it but it would be very easy for it to go missing.
– So Pemberton has it?
– To be honest, I don’t believe he has. I understand from Alnwick that Mrs Pemberton may have smuggled it out of the house when she left. But whether that is true or not remains to be seen. So you see we have a double hurdle.
Adam felt the remains of any hope left in him draining away. He was slightly befuddled by drink and felt himself casting about for another lifeline. Blytheway read his mind.
– I think we should have a slight pause now whilst I recharge you with Fonseca 1922.
He poured and they drank in silence. Adam sensed that Blytheway was waiting for him to speak.
– Betty! There is still Betty Sharples! She supports my story.
– I thought you should have another glass before we got onto Betty, Adam. I would like you to read this and then explain it to me.
Blytheway reached into his inside pocket, pulled out a pale blue Basildon Bond envelope addressed in blue ink to Eric Jones, and handed it to an unsuspecting Falling.
Chapter Seventy-five
(Sunday 23rd March 1941)
It was getting late now. The lamps and candles in the Salon cast a circle of light around the armchairs where Adam and Roly were sitting and made the port decanter gleam. All was quiet in the Square outside. Adam took the envelope from Blytheway’s hand and turned it over in his hands. He did not recognise the child-like handwriting, but the W1 postmark was identification enough. He noticed that it had been posted on Friday 14th March, over a week ago. He looked over at Roly, who was watching him intently, then opened the flap and pulled out the letter. The date receipt stamp was Monday 17th March. He looked over again at his friend, who said nothing. Then he read it through twice, starting again the first time when he reached the end.
– Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?
– I could see no profit in it. You’ve been very unwell.
– But I ought to have been told about it!
– And what, pray, could you have done about it other than worry? Have another glass of port.
Blytheway reached for the decanter and in a fluid movement lifted it and positioned it over the rim of Adam’s glass, letting the ruby-red liquid trickle slowly into it. Adam immediately put it to his mouth.
– And besides, I have been very busy this week and I wanted to be present when you read the letter. Equally important, I didn’t want anyone else to be present.
– Why ever not?
– Oh Adam, please!
– Did Jones reply to her letter?
– With my assistance, yes. He was mortified, to be frank. Jones is a good solicitor and he feels he has let everyone down – particularly Betty – wandering about the Royal Courts lost and in her best dress. He apologised profusely to her and explained what had happened to you and to Jenny and all of the last-minute panics. He told her that the trial had been refixed for the 5th May and that she would be needed on the 6th, and he included a postal order to cover her conduct money – with a little bit extra to cover her inconvenience and upset. We haven’t received a reply.
– I still don’t see why you had to wait until now to show it to me.
Blytheway sighed.
– Because I wanted to hear from you an unvarnished and unrehearsed explanation for this letter.
– I would have thought that was obvious. She wrote the letter because no one told her that the trial wasn’t happening. And she was upset.
– Please don’t be obtuse, Adam. I’ve read and re-read that letter and it simply doesn’t fit. It’s privileged, of course, so Pemberton and his lawyers aren’t entitled to see it, but it gives me a far clearer picture of Betty than her witness statement did – and a far better idea of how she is likely to perform on oath (if she is called). It also raises a number of questions that I would like you to answer for me.
Suddenly the room felt so cold that Adam was surprised he couldn’t see his own breath. It would be bad enough being cross-examined by Roly when he was telling the truth! He didn’t want to lie to him, but if he explained to Blytheway what he had agreed with Betty back in December, then Blytheway would have to cease to act for him. He understood now why his friend had waited; why he wanted to conduct this interview alone. He steadied himself and looked down at his glass, unable to catch Blytheway’s eye, took a deep breath, and said:
– Of course! I would be happy to answer any questions you have.
– When did you first meet this girl?
– About May or June of last year. Lie.
– Was she working as a prostitute at that time?
– Yes. Lie.
– Had you ever seen a prostitute before then?
– No.
– What made you decide to start seeing prostitutes?
– I don’t really know.
– So tell me, what made you decide – in May or June of last year – to start seeing prostitutes?
– Umm …
There was a long silence whilst Adam grappled with this simple question. Blytheway said nothing, and although Adam was avoiding his eyes he could feel them boring into him. Eventually Roly broke the silence:
– “Umm” isn’t actually a very good answer, Adam.
– Err … I was just looking for some excitement, something different. I wanted to try the thrill of it. Lie.
– So, all was not well in that department at home?
– Yes it was … I mean, no, it wasn’t really.
– Well. Which was it?
– I suppose it was and it wasn’t.
– And is that the reason why you decided to go to see a prostitute?
– Yes. Lie.
– And what made you choose Betty Sharples?
– I don’t know really. She was the first person I found. Lie.
– Would you mind describing her to me?
– Not at all. She’s in her mid-twenties, about five foot five with blonde hair and rather pretty.
– Would it be fair to say, then, Adam, that if she does appear at your hearing, a neutral observer might conclude that she does not look dissimilar to Julia Pemberton?
– I suppose they might, yes.
Adam was not enjoying this – and Blytheway had only just begun.
– Was there any reason why you would always seek out Betty?
– Not really.
– I mean, in that area of town it can’t be difficult to find someone else for a change? Was she offering preferential rates for repeat customers?
– I just liked her that’s all. We got on.
– And what particularly did you like about her? Why did you get on with her so well? What did you talk about?
– Oh, this and that.
– This and that? So when Betty is asked what you talked about is she going to say “this and that”?
– I suppose so.
– I’ll move on I think. Is she married or single? Does she have children?
Adam breathed more easily. He knew the answer to this one.
– She’s a widow.
– A wid
ow? She sounds very young to be a widow. How and when did her husband die?
Adam opened his mouth to reply. He was about to tell Roly how Joe had been killed in the Blitz after getting back from Dunkirk but remembered just before he spoke that this would upset the whole chronology.
– Um… Accident at work I think. Lie.
– And when did this accident happen?
– Beginning of 1940 from memory. Lie.
– So presumably Betty brought a claim for compensation for his death?
– I don’t know.
– You don’t know!? You’re supposed to be a lawyer! Presumably you would have given her the benefit of your knowledge and experience? Tried to help her out?
– We didn’t really talk about that?
– Then I’ll ask you again. What did you talk about?
– Day-to-day things really.
– I’ll move on I think. Why did you choose to take Betty to an expensive hotel like the Stafford when, presumably, she has her own boudoir?
– It just seemed more romantic, I suppose.
– Romantic!? You’re paying someone you hardly know for sexual intercourse and you take her to a place like that?
– I’d never done anything like that before and I suppose I just felt safer – cleaner.
– When did you first take her to the Stafford Hotel?
– May or June of last year from memory.
– So, if I understand our case correctly, you didn’t go to see any prostitutes until about May or June 1940. At the same time, by unhappy coincidence, Winston Churchill introduced regulations requiring anyone who checked into a hotel to provide identification. That notwithstanding you chose this moment to take someone other than your wife to the Stafford Hotel? Don’t answer that. We’re down to the dregs. I’m sure Caldwell will have left another decanter in the hall just in case.
Roly sprang lithely to his feet and was out of the room almost before Adam looked up. He took a deep breath. It was plain that Blytheway did not believe a word of it. After a while he had stopped counting his own lies. Every time Roly had had him on the ropes he had backed away from pressing home his advantage. It would not be like that when Sir Patrick Tempest eventually cross-examined him. He wondered how Betty would cope with the onslaught. He thought back to that first conversation he had with Roly in this room. He had said that the truth mattered to him enormously and that he would never mislead the court. What he had said next was engraved on Adam’s mind:
“You should know by now that the courtroom is not a theatre for truth. Or for justice for that matter. Would you really want the truth to come out in every case? And anyway, let us assume that Novak loves this woman. Is he not entitled to say to himself I will sacrifice my life for that love even if the truth must remain hidden? Assuming he actually knows the truth. People do the strangest things in the name of love, as we all know.”
At the time he had thought these remarks rather barbed. It was only now that he realised how sharp the hook that lay within them was. He looked at his watch. It was past two in the morning.
Blytheway re-entered carrying a fresh decanter, a biscuit tin and a bag of candles. Adam had not noticed that, one by one, the existing candles had guttered and gone out.
– Cream crackers. I thought we needed a bit of sustenance if we were to avoid bad heads. Take these and light them up please. And when you’ve done that why don’t you have another cigarette? You don’t seem to have touched one for over an hour and you look as though you could do with one.
After the candles had been lit, the port poured and the biscuit tin opened, the two sat down again.
– Roly, I’d like to explain about Betty Sharples.
– I don’t want to hear any more about her for now, if you don’t mind. Unless you are going to tell me that your defence to the petition is untrue?
– I’m telling the truth.
– And that is what you will say at the trial?
– Yes.
– Then we shall leave it there shall we? Have that cigarette.
Relieved, Adam picked up the packet of Embassy and shucked out a cigarette, lighting it from the flame of one of the candles. If Blytheway had been affecting tiredness earlier there was no sign of it now. His languid form crackled, nonetheless, with energy. Adam thought it wise to change the subject.
– Do you have any news of Catherine?
– I’m pleased to say she is doing very well. Storman managed to get her a job at the Board of Trade, and by all accounts she is thriving. Earning forty-eight shillings a week, which is not at all bad considering, and reading avidly about Keynes and Beveridge.
– Who are they? And how can you possibly know about her reading habits?
– Jack Storman’s been looking after her. He appears to have been meeting her fairly regularly for drinks and meals. He lets me know what he thinks he can tell me without compromising Catherine’s confidences.
– Storman? But he’s married!
– My! That wasn’t jealousy was it? I don’t think, given our recent conversation, you are in a position to complain.
Adam thought back to the Pembertons’ party, where Storman had attended alone, and wondered how long it was since he had actually seen Margaret Storman. He had always admired the man and it was he who had recommended Blytheway to him.
– How long have you known Jack?
– Almost since the outset of my career at the Bar.
– I do find that odd. You see, I have known him since I started out, and he has never even mentioned your existence – let alone the fact that you are friends.
– That is precisely why he and I get along so well together. He is a compartmentaliser. He has no difficulty at all in living with separate worlds and keeping them apart. I saw a kindred spirit almost from the start. I mentioned before dinner that I used to join in the soirées of the Bloomsbury set and their friends. When it was my turn to entertain, Jack was the only member of the Bar I ever invited – and Margaret of course.
– Why do we never see Margaret these days?
– Well, I wouldn’t want to be breaking confidences but I know that Jack wouldn’t mind me mentioning this. Margaret was always a lovely lady, intelligent, considerate and pretty, particularly in her youth. Indeed, on some occasions when Jack was indisposed I would stand in for him as her consort. A lovely lady. But as the years have gone by the poor thing has been increasingly afflicted with agoraphobia. For several years now, certainly since 1937, she has been reluctant even to leave home. She has become increasingly dependent upon Jack, which has been something of a strain. The war has made it all much worse: to have a fear of open spaces when people are trying to kill you in your home! It hasn’t been easy for him.
– Jack told me that he thought you were a far better barrister than he was.
– That’s very kind of him because he is extremely good. It’s another thing I like about him: he is capable of making an objective appraisal of his talents as against someone else.
– Then you agree with him?
– I have little choice other than to agree with him. False modesty is egregious and he would agree on that. Neither he nor I regard ourselves as competitors for some non-existent prize. We are friends.
– You obviously still see quite a lot of him?
– Yes. He is perhaps the one member of the Bar – although you may have some future claims – whom I can trust. He knows more about me than anyone else. But he would never tell you what he knows. He would regard that as my prerogative. Well, it’s almost three thirty. One more glass of port and a few more crackers and then I think we should both turn in.
Blytheway reached for the new decanter and poured out two more glasses, then proffered the cream crackers again. Adam lit a final cigarette. The evening – or rather early morning – subsided into something approaching calm. Blytheway looked as fresh as he had when the evening began. His pearl-white cummerbund with the yellow and green splashes looked as though it had only just been put on a
nd his dress shoes twinkled blackly.
– There’s something else I don’t understand, Roly.
– Fire away, sweetheart.
– With all your intelligence – and your photographic memory – why are you working as a fire watcher? Why haven’t you been seconded to military intelligence?
– A very good question, Adam. I often ask myself that. I did apply but I was turned down.
– Turned down!?
– Unfortunately, yes. Look at Preston. He has landed himself a prestigious position at the Ministry. Would you really say that he is a match for me? He has friends in high places. I, however, it would seem, only have enemies there. Come on, let’s blow out these candles and call it a day.
Chapter Seventy-six
(Friday 28th March 1941)
Julia Pemberton emerged from the Temple Church, as she always did, at about 9.15 a.m. and headed through Cloisters down towards Fountain Court. She walked with her head low, a dark blue scarf covering her hair, avoiding the looks of any who crossed her path. Watching from his window in Lamb Building Adam was close enough to her to hear the rapid staccato click of her heels. He looked at his watch. He could afford to give her a ten-minute start. He inserted a pin into a cheap cigarette and, lighting it, took a long drag, holding onto the smoke for as long as he could before blowing it in a dirty cloud into the mild spring morning air.
He was bored and lonely. As Blytheway had predicted, there was no work waiting for him when he returned to Chambers – he wondered if Roly had engineered this – and he was running short of money. His rooms felt emptier without Delia, although he realised it would have been selfish to hold her captive there.
It had been almost noon before he awoke from his night talking with Blytheway. Caldwell brought him brunch of tinned salmon and reconstituted egg together with a cup of coffee. Roly, he was told, had been up for many hours (if he had been to bed at all) and had gone out to meet someone for lunch. He would be back at around three to help with moving Adam back to the Temple. The porcelain carafe in the corner of the room had been filled with water. Adam downed most of it, fighting off the pick-axe pain of a port hangover, and holding onto the side of his head to prevent it falling off.