At the Dark Hour

by John Wilson

  He returned the feather to the vase on his desk and arranged it into a fan of colour with the others. There was nothing else on his desk apart from the two vases of feathers. His room was empty apart from the desk and chairs and his collection of paperbacks. There were no briefs waiting to be done. He had sent the Bateman papers back to Jones on Tuesday. He patted his jacket and felt the reassuring shape of a folded cheque in the inside right breast pocket. Twenty guineas! As a good solicitor should do, Jones had taken money on account and the cheque had arrived that morning.

  Adam was not concerned by the fact that he had no work to do. The early conclusion of the case had meant that he had unexpected free days to get up to date. It wasn’t as though there was no work out there. After the brief report of the case in Tuesday’s paper several solicitors had telephoned his new clerk asking to book him for cases and conferences, but he had given instructions for such requests to be turned down, for the time being at least. He needed to have a clear diary until the Pemberton case was over. And so his clerk told those that called that Adam was unable to take any new work prior to the 12th May. No further explanation was necessary. The fact that Adam was co-respondent in divorce proceedings was well known now, and, after his success in the McKechnie trial, the notoriety he had gained was tinged with respect. He had noticed this around the Temple as well. Many members of the Bar who had averted their eyes when he passed no longer did so, and some allowed themselves a half-smile in his direction as he went by. To his surprise he felt at peace with himself.

  After Catherine left the restaurant Adam had eaten his tepid lunch and paid the bill. The tea was too cold to drink. On a whim, because he had nothing else of importance to do that day, he had decided to walk up to Bedford Square and call on Jack Storman, whom he assumed would still be at Blytheway’s house. Caldwell answered his knocking and showed him in. Roly was at work but Storman was sitting in the back garden. It was large, well-tended and a trap for sunlight. Blue irises and pink and yellow roses filled the borders, and there was a weeping cherry tree in the middle of what had been a lawn but was now a vegetable patch. Adam wondered where Blytheway had kept his peacocks. At the far end was a small greenhouse and a wooden bench. Jack Storman was sitting in the middle of the bench, his head down and his shoulders slumped. He was wearing an unseasonal overcoat, and to Adam he looked shrunken up inside it. He did not notice Adam approaching until he was less than ten feet away. Storman looked up with a start at the sound of footsteps.

  – Adam! I’m sorry. I was miles away.

  – I hope you don’t mind, Jack, I thought I would drop by.

  – No, no. Of course not. Not at all.

  Storman moved over on the bench to make room for Adam. He sat next to him and neither of them said anything for a companionable five minutes. Adam did not know whether Storman wanted to talk. Instead, they gazed up the ornamental path towards the rear of Blytheway’s home. A gentle breeze made the heads of the irises sway and the scent of sweet peas and tomatoes drifted from the greenhouse. Eventually Storman stirred.

  – Thank you for coming on Saturday, Adam.

  – I’m so sorry.

  They lapsed into silence again. Adam gazed at the shadows that the rose bushes made. There was a pink petal next to the bench and he bent down to pick it up. It wasn’t uniformly pink. It was almost white at its heart and grew darker in colour towards its edges. Concave. He held it up to the sun and studied the veins in it.

  – I’m sorry that I didn’t join everyone at the hotel afterwards – or have a proper conversation for that matter.

  – I was pleased that you were able to come at all. And I understand why you didn’t want to stay.

  – It was a surprise seeing Deborah there.

  – Yes. I’m sure. I should have warned you but I’ve not been myself.

  – I had lunch with Catherine today.

  – Yes. She told me she was seeing you.

  – I can’t believe she’s brought Deborah back.

  – I told her not to. Or at least I told her to wait until Easter.

  – It’s not safe here.

  – You don’t need to tell me that, Adam.

  – I’m sorry.

  – She came round here yesterday.

  – She’s been in Roly’s house?

  – Caldwell made up some tomato sandwiches and we ate them in the garden – sitting on this bench actually. I tried to persuade her to get Deborah away from London but she was fairly adamant about it.

  – Did she meet Roly?

  – Not here. He was at work.

  – So she met him after the funeral?

  – At Sunbridge Park Manor. They had quite a long discussion. He was very nice to Deborah.

  – What were they talking about?

  – Oh Adam! You know Roly. In a room containing Julia, Pemberton and Preston? Me, for that matter. When she came over to speak with him, after pleasantries, he was careful to usher her well away from everyone. He asked me to look after Deborah.

  – Could you at least get an idea of what they were saying?

  – Oh, she was being very vehement. I caught Jeremy and Julia looking over at them. They seemed to be attracting a lot of attention. But no one could hear what was being said.

  Storman lapsed into silence again. Adam looked at his watch. It was getting on for five. Then he thought suddenly of what Blytheway had told him – that Jack had been meeting Catherine fairly regularly for drinks and meals (he had seen her, after all, yesterday), and that Storman would let him know what he thought he could as long as it didn’t compromise Catherine’s confidences.

  – Hang on a minute! You know exactly what she said. She confides in you, I know. If you didn’t hear what she said after the funeral I’m sure she would have told you yesterday.

  Storman sighed.

  – I want to keep out of this, Adam.

  – If she told my counsel something, surely I am entitled to know what it was?

  Another sigh.

  – She told him what she has told me every time we have met one another.

  – Which is?

  – She doesn’t believe a word of your story. That you’ve made up this prostitute business to protect Julia.

  – You don’t accept what she says, do you?

  – Adam. Please don’t ask me to cross-examine you on your story. I am finding all of this very uncomfortable as it is.

  Adam decided not to take it any further. He took another look at his watch and said that it was time he left. Both men stood and Storman escorted him back through the house to the front door. They shook hands on the doorstep.

  – It’s funny. I lived here for a while as well.

  – I know.

  – Roly has been a marvel. Thank you so much for recommending him to me. For him to put me up and provide me with his cast-offs was more than I could possibly expect.

  – You know he disapproves of your accommodation – and your tidiness generally?

  – He can be quite forthright.

  – He has a bee in his bonnet. Goes on about the fact that you only have a basin and worries that you aren’t keeping yourself properly clean.

  – He insisted on bringing me an iron and ironing board.

  – Well, now he is worried about your bathing habits. He asked me to tell you – on the off chance that we met up – that you should feel free to come round here for a bath if you need one.

  – Oh, really! He is quite peculiar.

  – Yes. But a good friend. He handled all of the funeral arrangements – right down to putting a notice in the Times. Insisted on paying for everything. Caldwell has been very supportive as well.

  – I’ll see you soon.

  – Good luck for next week.

  – Thanks.

  Adam walked down the steps and headed back towards the Temple. He heard the front door shutting quietly behind him.

  ****

  He looked around his empty room in chambers again. Storman hadn’t believed his story. Ca
therine plainly did not. What did Roly think? He went over to the window again and looked down on the church. At that point the door burst open and Blytheway rushed in, still wearing his wing collar and bands from a day in court.

  – I have some terrible news!

  – Why? What is it? What’s happened?

  – The Limitation of Supplies (Miscellaneous) Order of 1940.

  – What?

  – It’s due to expire on the 31st May!

  – I’m sorry. What has that got to do with anything?

  – I knew this would happen!

  – What would happen?

  – Adam, I have this on very good authority but I think that this may not yet be in the public domain so what I am about to tell you must be treated with the utmost confidentiality. Is that understood?

  – Yes. Of course.

  Blytheway subsided into a chair and motioned for Adam to do likewise.

  – It would be better if you are sitting down.

  – What’s going on?

  – Now I don’t want you to be too upset, but what I have feared for many months is about to come to pass.

  – Yes?

  Roland Blytheway took a deep breath.

  – As of the 1st June they are going to introduce clothes rationing!

  Chapter Ninety-five

  (Friday 2nd May 1941)

  Adam laughed out loud.

  – I don’t believe you are treating this with the seriousness it deserves. I’m disappointed in you.

  – I thought it was going to be something to do with my case.

  – Oh, that!

  – Aren’t you at all concerned about it?

  – Of course I am, sweetheart. But that is something I can do something about. I can’t do anything about clothes rationing.

  Blytheway pulled a feather out of one of the vases and studied it carefully.

  – I wonder how my peacocks are faring. I haven’t seen them in months!

  – Oh, Roly! Be serious for a moment.

  – I must put a call through to my housekeeper. I’m sure they must be all right. She would have called me if they weren’t.

  He stood and took a turn around the room, running his finger along the mantelpiece to check for dust.

  – I hear that you have stopped taking new work for the time being?

  – I’m not like you, Roly. I need to have a clear head to deal with next week.

  – I’ve never seen a room of yours looking this tidy. Well done! Are you hanging up your suits properly?

  – Tell me about Sir Patrick Tempest.

  Blytheway returned to his seat and looked deeply into Adam’s eyes. He saw again that fierce intelligence that had unnerved him the first time they met.

  – Pat? A formidable opponent.

  – Does he scare you?

  – Not at all. But he does worry me.

  – Do you think you are equal to him?

  – I’m more than equal to him. I’m worried about you. I’m also worried about Mrs Pemberton’s counsel, Alnwick. The man’s a fool!

  – I hear that you had an opportunity to speak with Catherine after the funeral?

  – Delightful lady! Smarter than most of our colleagues. And you have a lovely daughter. I hope you have taken the time to see her.

  – We went out for tea yesterday. There’s a shortage of kittens.

  – If you like I could try and persuade Caldwell to give up Delia. He has become rather attached to the wretched thing but I would be glad to get shot!

  – It’s all right. I think she would prefer a kitten. Catherine told you that she didn’t believe my story about Betty. That I was doing it to protect Ju … Mrs Pemberton, didn’t she?

  – She did.

  – Do you think she’s right?

  Once again Blytheway gave him that intimidating stare.

  – Are you intending to change your instructions?

  Adam stared back at him until he could no longer stand his piercing eyes. He lowered his head.

  – No.

  – Then what does it matter what I think?

  – What worries you about Alnwick?

  – Besides the fact that he is a blithering idiot, not much. I went to see him yesterday. He has got this case completely the wrong way round.

  – In what way?

  – Well, first of all, he doesn’t intend to use Jenny’s statement because it was not witnessed. Nor does he intend to put Jenny’s diary to Pemberton because it was a record of what she was thinking, feeling and doing and not something that Pemberton had any direct knowledge of.

  – But the statement wasn’t intended to be used, in any event. She was supposed to give evidence and now she can’t. It was for her solicitors. Not for the court. And why would it be so important to put the diary to Pemberton? Hasn’t Alnwick got a point?

  – I sometimes think you are as bad as he is! And he has got his tactics completely wrong. He intends to cross-examine Pemberton about the fact that he punched Julia in the face and knocked her out.

  – Surely that would put Pemberton in bad odour with the court – with the press.

  – Only until Pemberton tells everyone that it was because she was laughing hysterically about the death of the only daughter he had with Joan.

  – I see your point.

  – Now. I want you to think very carefully about something.

  – What?

  – You’ve told me how you were invited to Pemberton’s Christmas party and that you thought it odd at the time.

  – Yes.

  – That he went out of his way to speak with you? Could you please try and remember what he spoke about?

  Adam closed his eyes.

  – It’s hard to recall in detail. He spoke about how he had seen all this coming and stocked up so that he could take advantage of the black market.

  – I knew about that. Despicable!

  – He talked about the Bateman case. Which was hardly surprising. He said Julia was doing her “war work” but would be along later.

  – He offered me a packet of cigarettes and told me he thought it was unhealthy to smoke whatever the advertising said. And that was about it.

  – Nothing more?

  – No. I don’t think so. Oh, wait a minute. He said something about … Mrs Pemberton having all of her clothing dry-cleaned.

  Blytheway sat upright in his chair.

  – Interesting. Did he say that before or after he mentioned smoking?

  – I can’t rightly remember.

  – I want you to think about this. I must go now. I’ve spent five shillings on a season ticket for the Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy and I want to catch the private view tonight before it closes. Here.

  Blytheway handed Adam a ticket. It was for a concert the following evening at the Queen’s Hall.

  – Bach, Beethoven and Brahms! It should be a splendid occasion. Why don’t you come round to the house about six and we can have a glass of something before we head off?

  And with that he stood up, smiled, turned and left. Adam studied the ticket. It would be a welcome distraction. Then the door to his room opened and Blytheway leaned in, holding onto the door handle.

  – There was one other thing.

  – Yes?

  – Tempest telephoned me yesterday evening, as a courtesy. He said that he is likely to be relying on a dance card that belonged to Mrs Pemberton.

  – A dance card?

  – From the 1936 Middle Temple Ball.

  – I don’t understand.

  – Apparently, it shows that you marked Mrs Pemberton’s card for the seventh dance, which was a slow waltz, and Preston had booked himself in for the eight, which was a foxtrot.

  Adam felt his insides lurch.

  – I don’t see what that has to do with anything.

  – Pemberton saw you dancing with his wife, and when recently he asked Preston about the slow waltz it appears that Julia had gone missing. He looked around for her but she was nowhere to be seen, app
arently. Although she was back in time for the ninth dance, which was with her husband. Tempest intends to call Preston to vouch for that fact. Attention, it seems, is likely to be focused on those missing five or so minutes.

  – I’m sure, given a little time, I can explain everything.

  Roly’s voice suddenly became very stern.

  – No, Adam. I forbid it.

  – It was entirely innocent.

  – I do not intend to ask any questions of you or Mrs Pemberton about it.

  – What if I insist? You are supposed to act on my instructions.

  – If you insist then we must part company. You have trusted my judgment so far – by and large at least. I would ask that you do so once more.

  – Very well.

  – Tomorrow at Bedford Square, sweetheart?

  And he closed the door and departed, this time not to return. Adam was filled with a sense of grim foreboding.

  Chapter Ninety-six

  (Monday 5th May 1941)

  Double summer time started over the weekend so that the sun rose very early. Corresponding changes had been made to the hours of blackout. There was hardly any point in enforcing it when the sun was still shining. The sun rose at 6.26 a.m. – which a week earlier would have been 5.39 a.m. Sunlight edged the blackout shades and brought Adam to consciousness. His debut role as a co-respondent was due to begin in just over four hours. Roly was going to meet him with Jones in chambers at nine and, after a conference, he planned to be at court by quarter to ten.

  He climbed out of bed, pulling up his sagging flannel pyjama bottoms as he made his way wearily to the window to pull away the blackout. There was little more, now, that he could do. He was in Blytheway’s hands. He had, however, been unnerved by his Friday meeting with Roly, for two particular reasons. First of all Blytheway clearly saw Tempest as a real threat. The case turned on credibility and, if Blytheway was right, Tempest was likely to unmask him. The second point of concern was the dance card. How could a case like this turn upon the fact that Julia went missing for five minutes or so? Roly could have dismissed the point as ridiculous. He could have asked Adam what had happened next. But he had done neither. Instead he made further discussion of the point a resigning matter. Why would he do such a thing? It was hardly the largest problem in the case. Julia could have had all sorts of reasons for avoiding a dance with Preston. Blytheway would have understood that. He had told Adam that he did not like either Pemberton or Preston. Why was he unwilling to take the easy way out and support whatever version of events Adam put forward? He did not understand and it worried him.