Danny had spent most days since his release wondering when they’d finally catch up with him. The only surprise was that they’d called him Moncrieff.
Beth could no longer bear to look at her father, whom she hadn’t spoken to for days. Despite being forewarned by the doctor, she couldn’t believe how emaciated he’d become in such a short time.
Father Michael had visited his parishioner every day since he had been bedridden, and that morning he had asked Beth’s mother to gather the family and close friends around the bedside that evening, as he could no longer delay conducting the last rites.
‘Beth.’
Beth was taken by surprise when her father spoke. ‘Yes, Dad,’ she said, taking his hand.
‘Who’s running the garage?’ he asked in a piping voice that was almost inaudible.
‘Trevor Sutton,’ she replied softly.
‘He’s not up to it. You’ll have to appoint someone else, and soon.’
‘I will, Dad,’ Beth replied dutifully. She didn’t tell him that no one else wanted the job.
‘Are we alone?’ he asked after a long pause.
‘Yes, Dad. Mum’s in the front room talking to Mrs . . .’
‘Mrs Cartwright?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Beth.
‘Thank God for her common sense.’ Her father paused to take another breath before adding, ‘Which you’ve inherited.’
Beth smiled. Even the effort of talking was now almost beyond him. ‘Tell Harry,’ he suddenly said, his voice even weaker, ‘I’d like to see them both before I die.’
Beth had stopped saying ‘You’re not going to die’ some time ago, and simply whispered in his ear, ‘Of course I will, Dad.’
Another long pause, another struggle for breath, before he whispered, ‘Promise me one thing.’
‘Anything.’
He gripped his daughter’s hand. ‘You’ll fight on to clear his name.’ The grip suddenly weakened, and his hand went limp.
‘I will,’ said Beth, although she knew he couldn’t hear her.
49
MR MUNRO’S OFFICE had left several messages on his mobile asking him to call urgently. He had other things on his mind.
Sir Nicholas had been whisked off in a police car to spend the night in a cell at Paddington Green police station. When Mr Munro left him, he made his way by taxi to the Caledonian Club in Belgravia. He blamed himself for not remembering that Sir Nicholas was still on probation and was not allowed to leave the country. Perhaps it was simply that he could never think of him as a criminal.
When Munro arrived at his club just after eleven thirty, he found Miss Davenport waiting for him in the guest lounge. The first thing he needed to ascertain, and very quickly, was whether she was up to the job. That took him about five minutes. He had rarely come across anyone who grasped the salient points of a case so quickly. She asked all the right questions and he could only hope that Sir Nicholas had all the right answers. By the time they parted, just after midnight, Munro was in no doubt that his client was in good hands.
Sarah Davenport hadn’t needed to remind Munro of the court’s attitude to prisoners who broke their parole conditions, and how rarely exceptions were made, especially when it came to travelling abroad without seeking approval from their probation officer. Both she and Munro were fully aware that a judge would probably send Nick back to prison to complete the remaining four years of his sentence. Miss Davenport would of course plead ‘mitigating circumstances’, but she wasn’t at all optimistic about the outcome. Munro had never cared for lawyers who were optimistic. She promised to call him in Dunbroath the moment the judge had delivered his verdict.
As Munro was about to make his way upstairs to his room, the porter told him there was another message, to call his son as soon as possible.
‘So what’s so urgent?’ was Munro’s first question as he sat on the end of the bed.
‘Galbraith has withdrawn all his pending writs,’ whispered Hamish Munro, not wanting to wake his wife, ‘as well as the trespass order demanding that Sir Nicholas vacate his home in The Boltons within thirty days. Is this total capitulation, Dad, or am I missing something?’ he asked after he’d quietly closed the bathroom door.
‘The latter, I fear, my boy. Galbraith’s done no more than sacrifice the irrelevant in order to capture the only prize that’s really worth having.’
‘Getting the court to legitimize Sir Alexander’s second will?’
‘You’ve got it in one,’ said Munro. ‘If he is able to prove that Sir Alexander’s new will leaving everything to his brother Angus supersedes any previous wills, then it will be Hugo Moncrieff, and not Sir Nicholas, who inherits the estate, including a bank account in Switzerland that is now showing a balance of at least $57,500,000.’
‘Galbraith must be confident that the second will is genuine?’
‘He may well be, but I know someone else who isn’t quite so confident.’
‘By the way, Dad, Galbraith called again just as I was leaving the office. He wanted to know when you’d be returning to Scotland.’
‘Did he indeed?’ said Munro. ‘Which begs the question, how did he know I wasn’t in Scotland?’
‘When I told you that I hoped we’d meet again,’ said Sarah, ‘an interview room at Paddington Green police station wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.’ Danny smiled ruefully as he looked across the small wooden table at his new solicitor. Munro had explained that he could not represent him in an English court of law; however, he could recommend— ‘No,’ Danny had responded, ‘I know exactly who I want to represent me.’
‘I’m flattered,’ Sarah continued, ‘that when you found yourself in need of legal advice, I was your first choice.’
‘You were my only choice,’ admitted Danny. ‘I don’t know any other solicitors.’ He regretted his words the moment he’d said them.
‘And to think I’ve been up half the night—’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Danny. ‘That’s not what I meant. It’s just that Mr Munro told me—’
‘I know what Mr Munro told you,’ said Sarah with a smile. ‘Now, we don’t have any time to waste. You’ll be up in front of the judge at ten o’clock, and although Mr Munro has fully briefed me on what you’ve been up to for the past couple of days, I still have a few questions of my own that need answering, as I don’t want to be taken by surprise once we’re in the court. So please be frank – and by that I mean honest. Have you at any time in the past twelve months travelled abroad, other than on this one occasion when you visited Geneva?’
‘No,’ Danny replied.
‘Have you failed to attend any meetings with your probation officer since you left prison?’
‘No, never.’
‘Did you at any time make an attempt to contact . . .’
‘Good morning, Mr Galbraith,’ said Munro. ‘I apologize for not contacting you earlier, but I have a feeling that you are only too aware of what caused me to be detained.’
‘Indeed I am,’ responded Galbraith, ‘which is precisely the reason I needed to speak to you so urgently. You will know that my client has withdrawn all pending actions against Sir Nicholas, so I’d rather hoped, given these circumstances, that your client will wish to respond in the same magnanimous manner, and withdraw his writ disputing the validity of his grandfather’s most recent will?’
‘You can assume nothing of the sort,’ retorted Munro sharply. ‘That would only result in your client ending up with everything, including the kitchen sink.’
‘Your response comes as no surprise to me, Munro. Indeed, I have already forewarned my client that would be your attitude, and we would be left with no choice but to contest your vexatious writ. However,’ Galbraith added before Munro could respond, ‘may I suggest that as there is now only one dispute outstanding between the two parties, namely whether Sir Alexander’s most recent will is valid or invalid, it might be in the best interest of both parties to expedite matters by making sure this action comes before the cou
rt at the first possible opportunity?’
‘May I respectfully remind you, Mr Galbraith, that it has not been this firm that has been responsible for holding up proceedings. Nevertheless, I welcome your change of heart, even at this late juncture.’
‘I am delighted that that is your attitude, Mr Munro, and I’m sure you will be pleased to learn that Mr Justice Sanderson’s clerk rang this morning to say that his lordship has a clear day in his diary on the first Thursday of next month, and would be happy to sit in judgement on this case if that were convenient to both sides.’
‘But that gives me less than ten days to prepare my case,’ said Munro, realizing he had been ambushed.
‘Frankly, Mr Munro, you either have proof that the will is invalid, or you do not,’ said Galbraith. ‘If you do, Mr Justice Sanderson will rule in your favour, which, to quote you, would result in your client ending up with everything, including the kitchen sink.’
Danny looked down at Sarah from the dock. He had answered all her questions truthfully, and was relieved to find that she only seemed interested in his reasons for travelling abroad. But then, how could she possibly know anything about the late Danny Cartwright? She had warned him that he would probably be back at Belmarsh in time for lunch, and should anticipate having to spend the next four years in prison. She had advised him to plead guilty, as they had no defence to the charge of breaking his probation order and therefore she could do no more than plead mitigating circumstances. He’d agreed.
‘My lord,’ began Sarah as she rose to face Mr Justice Callaghan. ‘My client does not deny his breach of licence, but he did so only in order to establish his rights in a major financial case which he anticipates will shortly be coming before the High Court in Scotland. I should also point out, my lord, that my client was accompanied at all times by the distinguished Scottish solicitor Mr Fraser Munro, who is representing him in that case.’ The judge made a note of the name on the pad in front of him. ‘You may also consider it to be relevant, my lord, that my client was out of the country for less than forty-eight hours, and returned to London of his own volition. The charge that he failed to inform his probation officer is not entirely accurate, because he rang Ms Bennett, and when he received no reply, left a message on her answerphone. That message was recorded and can be supplied to the court if your lordship pleases.
‘My lord, this uncharacteristic lapse has been the only occasion on which my client has failed to abide strictly by his licence conditions, and he has never missed or ever been late for a meeting with his probation officer. I would add,’ continued Sarah, ‘that since being released from prison, my client’s behaviour, with the exception of this one blemish, has been exemplary. Not only has he at all times abided by his licence, but he has continued his efforts to further his educational qualifications. He has recently been granted a place at London University, which he hopes will lead to an honours degree in business studies.
‘My client unreservedly apologizes for any inconvenience he has caused the court or the probation service, and he has assured me that this will never happen again.
‘In conclusion, my lord, I would hope that after you have taken all these matters into consideration, you will agree that no purpose will be served by sending this man back to prison.’ Sarah closed her file, bowed and resumed her place.
The judge went on writing for some time before he put down his pen. ‘Thank you, Miss Davenport,’ he eventually said. ‘I would like a little time to consider your submission before I pass judgement. Perhaps we could take a short break, and convene again at noon.’
The court rose. Sarah was puzzled. Why would a judge of Mr Justice Callaghan’s experience need time to come to a decision on such a mundane matter? And then she worked it out.
‘Could I speak to the chairman, please?’
‘Who shall I say is calling?’
‘Fraser Munro.’
‘I’ll see if he’s free to take your call, Mr Munro.’ Munro tapped his fingers on the desk while he waited.
‘Mr Munro, how nice to hear from you again,’ said de Coubertin. ‘How can I assist you on this occasion?’
‘I thought I would let you know that the matter which concerns us both will be resolved on Thursday of next week.’
‘Yes, I am fully aware of the latest developments,’ replied de Coubertin, ‘as I have also had a call from Mr Desmond Galbraith. He assured me that his client has agreed to accept whatever judgement the court reaches. I must therefore ask if your client is willing to do the same.’
‘Yes, he is,’ replied Munro. ‘I shall be writing to you later today confirming that is our position.’
‘I am most grateful,’ said de Coubertin, ‘and will inform our legal department accordingly. As soon as we learn which of the two parties has won the action, I will give instructions to deposit the $57,500,000 into the relevant account.’
‘Thank you for that assurance,’ said Munro. He coughed. ‘I wondered if I might have a word with you off the record?’
‘Not an expression we Swiss have come to terms with,’ replied de Coubertin.
‘Then perhaps in my capacity as a trustee of the late Sir Alexander Moncrieff’s estate, I could seek your guidance.’
‘I will do my best,’ replied de Coubertin, ‘but I will not under any circumstances breach client confidentiality. And that applies whether the client is dead or alive.’
‘I fully understand your position,’ said Munro. ‘I have reason to believe that you had a visit from Mr Hugo Moncrieff before you saw Sir Nicholas, and that therefore you must have considered the documents that constitute the evidence in this case.’ De Coubertin did not offer an opinion. ‘Can I assume from your silence,’ said Munro, ‘that is not in dispute.’ De Coubertin still did not respond. ‘Among those documents would have been copies of both of Sir Alexander’s wills, the legitimacy of which will decide the outcome of this case.’ Again, de Coubertin didn’t offer an opinion, making Munro wonder if the line had gone dead. ‘Are you still there, chairman?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I am,’ de Coubertin replied.
‘As you were willing to see Sir Nicholas after your meeting with Mr Hugo Moncrieff, I can only assume that the reason you rejected his uncle’s claim was because the bank, like myself, is not convinced that the second will is valid. So that there is no misunderstanding between us,’ added Munro, ‘your bank concluded that it is a fake.’ Mr Munro could now hear the chairman breathing. ‘Then in the name of justice, man, I must ask you what it was that convinced you that the second will was invalid, but which I have failed to identify.’
‘I’m afraid I am unable to assist you, Mr Munro, as it would be a breach of client confidentiality.’
‘Is there anyone else that I can turn to for advice on this matter?’ pressed Munro.
There was a long silence before de Coubertin eventually said, ‘In keeping with the bank’s policy, we sought a second opinion from an outside source.’
‘And can you divulge the name of your source?’
‘No, I cannot,’ replied de Coubertin. ‘Much as I might like to, that would also be contrary to the bank’s policy on such matters.’
‘But—’ began Munro.
‘However,’ continued de Coubertin, ignoring the interruption, ‘the gentleman who advised us is unquestionably the leading authority in his field, and hasn’t yet left Geneva to return to his own country.’
‘All rise,’ said the usher as twelve o’clock struck and Mr Justice Callaghan walked back into the courtroom.
Sarah turned to smile encouragingly at Danny, who was standing in the dock, with a look of resignation on his face. Once the judge had settled in his chair, he peered down at defence counsel. ‘I have given a great deal of thought to your submission, Miss Davenport. However, you must understand that it is my responsibility to ensure that prisoners are fully aware that while they are on licence, they are still serving part of their sentence, and that if they fail to keep to the conditions set down in their par
ole order, they are breaking the law.
‘I have of course,’ he continued, ‘taken into consideration your client’s overall record since his release, including his efforts to obtain further academic qualifications. This is all very commendable, but does not alter the fact that he abused his position of trust. He must therefore be punished accordingly.’ Danny bowed his head. ‘Moncrieff,’ said the judge, ‘I intend to sign an order today which will ensure that you will be locked up for a further four years should you break any of your licence conditions in the future. For the period of your licence you may not under any circumstances travel abroad, and you will continue to report to your probation officer once a month.’
He removed his spectacles. ‘Moncrieff, you have been most fortunate on this occasion, and what tipped the balance in your favour was the fact that you were accompanied on your injudicious foreign excursion by a senior member of the Scottish legal profession, whose reputation on both sides of the border is beyond reproach.’ Sarah smiled. Mr Justice Callaghan had needed to make one or two phone calls so that he could confirm something Sarah already knew. ‘You are free to leave the court,’ were Mr Justice Callaghan’s final words.
The judge rose from his place, bowed low and shuffled out of the courtroom. Danny remained in the dock, despite the fact that the two policemen who’d been guarding him had already disappeared downstairs. Sarah walked across as the usher opened the little gate to allow him to step out of the dock and into the well of the court.
‘Can you join me for lunch?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Sarah, switching off her mobile. ‘Mr Munro has just texted to say he wants you on the next flight to Edinburgh – and please call him on the way to the airport.’
50
‘IN CHAMBERS’ was a term Danny had not come across before. Mr Munro explained in great detail why he and Mr Desmond Galbraith had agreed on this approach for settling the dispute between the two parties.
A Prisoner of Birth Page 31