Then it was time for speeches. The silk tried his best to be condescending to the judge and I found it fascinating to see how she handled it.
‘My Lady…I mean madam.’ That was one technique that he used, trying to emphasise that he usually practised in the High Court where judges are addressed as ‘My Lord’ or ‘My Lady’. ‘Madam’ is the term of address for a District Judge, two levels down from the High Court bench. The judge knew exactly what he was doing and eventually looked away from him, raised one eyebrow and stopped typing, drumming her fingers on the desk.
Then it was, ‘In the Central London Court we approach this issue daily and, invariably, the judges there recognise the near impossibility of selling minority shareholdings.’
‘Thank you,’ said the judge. ‘Perhaps you will forgive me then if after this case is over I telephone some of my colleagues who sit there just to check what you are saying. I used to be in chambers with two of them.’
‘Well, there may be some slight variations in practice…’
‘And there is High Court authority on the point of discount where there is a quasi-partnership anyway, isn’t there?’
‘Of course. But that’s not the point.’ The judge stopped typing again. There was a pause and then she said, ‘Do carry on please,’ as she tapped some figures into a calculator on her desk, ignoring what the silk was saying.
At the end of the speeches, the judge looked exhausted. It had been a heavy case to manage. ‘I’ll give a reserved judgment,’ she said. ‘There are matters that I need to think about and I need to review the figures carefully.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘I want to appeal.’ I had asked Peregrine to come into the office as soon as I had received the judgment two weeks later. The judge had done a very neat job. She rejected the arguments about discounting the value of the shares due to minority interest, but accepted that the shares were non-matrimonial assets and had been kept distinct from the matrimonial pot. However, she did not simply ignore their value as the silk had argued; she said that it was highly likely that, at some stage in the future, they would be a considerable source of wealth to Peregrine. Further, she found that, as things stood now, Peregrine had access to much more wealth through the company than he had admitted, and she approached the case on the basis that Mrs Hamley-Smith should have enough to meet her income and capital needs. The judge thought that she needed £700,000 for a house in the same area, £20,000 for a car, £20,000 for furniture and £75,000 to meet her debts, including her legal costs. She also needed a contingency fund of £35,000.
The house, therefore, had to be sold and Mrs Hamley-Smith got the £850,000 offered by Peregrine together with 60% of the pension. So far, so good. But she also got £60,000
a year in maintenance and provision for the children, with any child support being in partial satisfaction of the order. The maintenance was to reduce by £12,000 a year after three years. Worst of all, for Peregrine, the judge had not limited the maintenance in time. So, unless the court varied it later in subsequent proceedings, Peregrine was faced with an open-ended liability to pay maintenance for the rest of his life – or at least until his ex-wife died or remarried. It also meant that, if he ever did sell his shares or come into money, she could apply to the court to capitalise her maintenance – that is get a lump sum of money from Peregrine in exchange for her giving up her rights to be maintained by him. As Arun might have put it, that really did get him by the short and curlies.
She also found, as was true, that Peregrine would be left with a very substantial income, even after paying maintenance (at least £175,000 p.a. net) and had the very valuable shareholding.
‘If you want to appeal, you will need permission to appeal first. And we will need to get leading counsel’s advice before we do anything. We need to move fast because you have to apply for permission to appeal within 21 days of the District Judge’s decision.’ I couldn’t bear to look at him.
Explosion time. ‘How much is all this going to cost? How much more fucking money do you want out of me? First of all, you give totally duff advice. Next, you lose my case and then you tell me I have to pay for the privilege. You better sort this out or I’ll sue the lot of you. It’s called negligence.’
‘And that, I think, is called a threat. You need to calm down.’
‘Fuck off. Don’t tell me what to do. You wait until I tell Clarissa.’ I noted the first-name terms. ‘She’ll have your balls on a plate.’
‘No, she won’t. And, anyway, I keep my balls in my trousers or in my matrimonial bed.’ I had had enough.
‘What do you mean by that?’ He had his hands on the desk and was trying to stand over me as I sat on the other side – only his stomach got in the way.
‘You had better go away, Peregrine, and think about it, please. It may be far better now if you go to another solicitor.’ He stormed out, leaving his designer man bag behind. I went after him.
‘Er, you left your handbag behind.’ Did he say thank you? You’re kidding.
After that, a number of things happened. First, Peregrine took his flabby carcass to another solicitor. I had written to him immediately after our meeting to remind him of the time for appeal and of his right to seek different representation. His new solicitors wrote to me within five days of our meeting, telling me that ‘their client’ was deeply dissatisfied with the advice that I had given and intended to appeal the judge’s decision. They ‘reserved the right’ to claim the costs of the appeal as part of the damages claim that their client intended to bring against me.
As a result of that letter I informed Clarissa about the threat of a negligence action and she, in turn, had to inform our professional insurers. Clarissa was clinically cold about the whole issue. ‘I very much hope that what he says is not true.’ That was it – the full extent of the support that she wanted to offer.
Ah yes. But then the truth, like Peregrine’s dick, will out. On the very day that Clarissa exuded those words of kindness in her concise and supportive email, I received another email from Mrs Hamley-Smith’s solicitors. They didn’t know yet that I had been sacked but they did know that Peregrine wanted to appeal. He had been bullying his wife ever since the hearing.
The email had four attachments. The first was an affidavit, that is a statement that is sworn to be true, from Peregrine’s former secretary. Peregrine had been having an affair with her while the divorce was happening and, as a result of that and of her position in the company, she knew all about the business. Her affidavit said that he had ditched her a few months ago, after they had argued. They had argued for two reasons. First, because he dismissed her and threatened to tell her husband about their affair. But second, because he had made her type the final draft of his narrative statement in which he had said that there were no discussions about selling the business. She knew that what he said was not true. How? Because she had typed all the emails and letters by which Peregrine had entered into the negotiations. And, to protect herself, she had emailed copies of the negotiations to herself when she left so that, if ever he did threaten again to tell her husband about their affair, she could use them to get him to back off.
So, the second attachment contained all the exhibits to her affidavit. And the third attachment was probably even better. Peregrine, no doubt attempting to rebut any suggestion that he might be sexist, had wanted to show his even-handedness by having a relationship with one of the negotiators then employed by the firm – a young man called Mark. Mark had been contacted by Peregrine’s secretary after she was booted out of the firm and, quite obviously, Mark did not like the way she had been treated. So he had sworn an affidavit, too. Everyone knew he was gay – why should he hide it? It was no skin off his nose (er, do I mean to put it in that way?) that he had had an affair with the boss and, what is more, he was by then employed by a rival firm which, no doubt, loved to hear of Peregrine’s troubles. Indeed, as Mark’s affidavit alleged, Peregrine had had even gone so far as to tell him: ‘Who gives a fuck a
bout the homophobic anyway?’ Fair comment, I suppose.
The fourth attachment contained the exhibits to Mark’s affidavit. Quite unnecessarily, I am sure, the first exhibit showed a pile of Peregrine’s designer clothes on the floor of the young man’s flat with the unmistakable, beached whale-like features of a naked Peregrine sleeping on Mark’s bed. But also annexed to it were copies of the documents that Peregrine, in his amorous zeal, had shown to Mark to persuade him of his future riches and the rich pickings (or maybe I mean dippings) that lay ahead. Mark had photographed them on his phone.
The email itself was very simple. ‘Our client has been deeply distressed to receive the attached and wholly unsolicited documentation. She has no personal knowledge at all as to whether the contents of the attached documents are true and does not in any way wish to influence your client when he is making a decision as to whether to pursue the application for permission to appeal which he apparently intends. However, it would not be proper for us to fail to disclose this documentation to you and so that is why we have sent it with this email. Of course, if there were to be an application for permission to appeal we would be duty-bound to apply to adduce the attachments as fresh evidence before the appeal judge. We are sure that you also understand, of course, that, if it were shown that the contents of the affidavits were true, it would mean that your client has committed perjury in the light of the evidence that he gave to the District Judge. We have no wish at all to see the police involved with this family and, for our client’s part, she feels enough is enough, particularly bearing in mind the interests of the children. Despite the contents of the attachments, we thought that it might help you to know that she is prepared to leave matters as ordered by the district judge in the absence of any appeal by your client. Should there be an appeal, she will cross-appeal and seek the necessary leave.’
‘Jane, come and look at this!’ I had no business to tell her, but there again, I really did not give a toss by then.
There was no appeal. I had forwarded the email to Peregrine’s new solicitor.
Chapter Fourteen
‘Jon, for goodness’ sake, quit before it wrecks you.’
I had come home on the day that I received that email and slammed a whole bottle of Prosecco down my throat in under ten minutes. Then I had just sat at the kitchen table playing around with my phone in a complete daze.
‘It’s all a game. One massive, stupid game,’ was all I could think to say.
Susan came and sat next to me at the table and took hold of my hand.
‘I can’t bear to see you so unhappy.’
‘How can people be like that? Why am I spending my time working with people who behave like that? What am I doing?’
I turned to Susan and buried my head into her shoulder. And then I cried while Susan stroked my hair and kissed the top of my head. I cried in a way that I had never cried before as an adult. Yes, I was drunk but I felt stuck, trapped. I had the most wonderful home life that was available to me and where I was loved …where I was really valued. My wonderful family. My home. Where I belonged. And yet as soon as I opened the door and went out into the world I was faced with Peregrine, Clarissa, the torment of Harry’s life, the harshness with which Seb had been treated. It felt as though I was drowning in the sea with the most beautiful beach just out of reach. In vino veritas.
‘Jon, you can’t go on like this. It will kill you. You can’t keep working these long hours and trying to take on so much. Life is a temporary affair. You know all that. It’s what you tell me all the time. Don’t waste it. It’s not a dress rehearsal. Every coffin is the same size, rich or poor… Remember?’
‘I know. I know.’
Then my eldest son, Paul, came in, saw what was happening and put his arm around me, too. ‘Dad, it’s OK. Really it’s OK.’ He didn’t say anything else. He is so like his mother.
I sorted myself out. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve had too much to drink.’
‘Dad. Let’s all do something together...some family time. Let’s sit down and watch a film. How about Born Free?’ It is the film about Elsa the lioness and Paul knew it was my favourite film of all time. The kids and I had watched it together many times when they were younger.
‘You are a very clever boy, Paul, and so like your father. Same looks, same manner.’ Susan looked at me and smiled; she knows how to look after us so well.
Paul looked at me and grinned. ‘Yuck. You’re bloody joking. And there was I thinking I got my looks from you, Mum.’ But he kept his arm around my shoulder as he said it.
‘Jon, why don’t you sit down quietly and write out what it is you want to do? What it is that you are really thinking? Then you and I need to sit down together, on our own and sort this out for you. But do it tomorrow. Let’s watch that film, now.’
It was very good advice. I still have the piece of paper on which I wrote down my thoughts the following day. They went like this:
1) More than anything else in the world I want to be a full and happy member of my wonderful family. I love each one of them and I want to look after them to the best of my ability. I want to be my wife’s lifelong companion and the best father that I can be to my children. Nothing matters more to me than that.
2) I want to be a proper, grown-up, fulfilled man. I do not want to be caught up in the commercial world where nothing matters except money. I feel that if I continue in my present job it will turn me into something that I am not.
3) I want to be a good man, someone who serves a purpose. Someone who can be wise and, in time, get old happily. I do not want to spend my life being competitive. I want to be myself, as I am, not someone that I am forced to be.
4) I want to be able to understand what life is about. To find my own beliefs. To understand faith…religion… all the things that we used to talk about when we were younger but now seem to have been pushed aside by the demands of daily life.
5) I want to have time to enjoy things. To walk more slowly, drive more slowly, admire the world around me. Smell the air around me and enjoy it. Look at the stars. Join in with things with my friends and family rather than having to spend so much of my time with people I don’t like.
6) As to the job that I do, I want it to be something that I believe in.
And then Susan and I sat down and had a long, long talk. Cups of tea, no booze, kids banned from the room until we sent out the papal smoke allowing them to come back in.
‘Right,’ Susan said at the end, ‘one of two things is going to happen now. Either you promise me that, within six months, you will be out of this wretched job that you are doing, or I will go into your office stark naked, waving a bottle of vodka and telling them you are married to an alcoholic sex maniac.’
‘Er…I think that we better have a word with the kids.’
Chapter Fifteen
Christmas and the skiing trip came and went. I had spent a lot of time before the break searching around for Harry but it was like looking for a needle in a very big haystack. We spent Christmas Day with Seb, Freja and their boys, which was fun; then they came and house-sat for us while we were away. However, my thoughts about Harry were like a constant dull headache, always there at the back of my mind.
We had decided that I would not say anything at work, except to my secretary Jane, until I knew what I was going to do next. However, my plans were pushed along after the secretary to Humphrey the humper, the commercial partner, had a long chat with Jane soon after I came back to work from the holiday. Jane, of course, told me all about it.
‘Jon, I think you ought to hear about this.’
‘What?’
‘What Sophie, the humper’s secretary, has just told me.’ Jane knew all the nicknames I used for my colleagues – in fact she had made up many of them herself.
‘OK, spill the beans.’ I thought it would just be another round of office chat.
‘Well, you know that there were negotiations for the sale of Mr Hamley-Smith’s business?’
‘Yes.’
/>
‘Guess who gave them legal advice about the deal.’
‘I have not the first clue, Jane. Go on, hit me with it.’
‘Humphrey.’
‘What? He couldn’t have done. He knew that I was doing the lying bastard’s divorce.’
‘Well, he did. And Sophie says that he gave express instructions that you were not to be informed. They’re long-standing friends, aren’t they?’
‘Humphrey would never be that stupid…surely?’
‘Sophie says he was.’
‘Well, I’ll never be able to prove it. He will deny everything.’
‘That’s why Sophie gave me the password to her computer and told me where you will find the folder containing the documents.’
‘Yes, but they will all be password-protected as well. He’s not that stupid.’
‘Nor is she. She has removed the password from two of them – here’s a piece of paper with the details. Just don’t drop her in it.’
‘How do I avoid that? It will be obvious that she gave me her password.’
‘No, it won’t. You can say I gave you her password because she and I share our passwords so that we don’t get locked out if we forget them.’
‘Yeah, but that would put your head right on the block. I’m not doing that.’
‘Jon, do you really think that I will stay in this vipers’ nest after you’ve gone? Anyway, they wouldn’t dare do anything against me. I’d have their balls for breakfast in the employment tribunal if they did.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Go for it.’
‘Is it true, please Humphrey, that you were instructed to negotiate the sale of the business on behalf of Mr Hamley-Smith?’ I had called a meeting with Clarissa and Humphrey in Clarissa’s room and had told them that I had received information, from a source that I was not going to name, that the firm had been instructed on his behalf.
Harry Page 6
