The Cinderella Plan

by Abi Silver

  ‘And am I right that you need government clearance before you can sell the cars in the UK?’

  ‘We’re waiting for the government to publish a list of approved vehicles, any day now. Then everything will take off...’ He raised his arm, palm upwards, towards the ceiling, ‘like a rocket, to the moon. It’s no secret that we all want to be on that list.’

  ‘Has there been a lot of consultation with the government?’

  ‘Tons. And the insurers and the software providers. We’re all working together, so you can imagine how quickly it’s all going.’

  ‘And when things go wrong with a prototype, do you check it out here?’

  ‘They don’t usually go wrong, but yes. We’re constantly monitoring the test cars. We can connect to them whilst they’re out on the roads, see what they’re seeing. It’s very clever.’

  ‘Do you have a suitable person here to look at the software from Mr Salisbury’s car, and to analyse what happened when it crashed, if that were necessary?’

  Toby hovered outside the door leading back into the reception area.

  ‘As long as we have the EDR, we can take a look. Is there anything else you’d like to see?’ he asked, although he hinted heavily that their visit was at an end, by choosing that moment to burst through the swing doors and lead them towards the exit.

  ‘No. You have been extremely helpful and informative. I’m intrigued. You’re very young to hold such a senior position in the company,’ Judith said. ‘Is your background in business or technology?’

  ‘I came in as an apprentice, straight from school,’ Toby said. ‘James trained me. I did well, so he promoted me.’

  ‘I see,’ Judith said. ‘What a fantastic opportunity for you.’

  ‘Yes,’ Toby said flatly.

  ‘Can I call you again, if I need to?’

  ‘Sure. You have my number.’

  ***

  ‘Interesting, isn’t it all?’ Judith began, as she and Constance sat drinking coffee in a Little Chef, a couple of miles from the SEDA factory. Judith scowled after her first mouthful and shunted her cup away.

  ‘Yes. Looks like it’s going to happen then.’

  ‘A world full of identical, faceless vehicles, travelling in equally-spaced convoy, with the option of customising the voice of the software to whatever accent you desire. Hm. That’s not what’s intriguing me, though.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘One of SEDA’s cars has just been involved in a fatal collision, the fallout for SEDA is potentially extremely damaging. When a similar vehicle crashed in the USA in 2015, it set the whole industry back a year. Not only that, SEDA’s CEO was driving it. What would you expect from them?’

  ‘You think they should be closing the doors, lying low. We are James’ lawyers. He wants to prove the accident wasn’t his fault and you asked for more information.’

  ‘But showing us how amazing his product is won’t help him. Far better for him to find some niggling little problem they haven’t ironed out yet that caused the crash, and then present it to us. Hey presto! He has a complete defence. Instead, we get a VIP day out at the factory and a direct phone line to the number two, even if he is only a boy.’

  ‘You’re assuming he has some kind of plan to save himself, to save his business. He says he just wants to find the truth.’

  ‘He is a businessman. He’s been doing this for years. Of course he has a plan. How much has the government spent on the autonomous car scheme so far?’

  ‘I know £20 million was invested, just in cars talking to each other. It must be at least ten times that, if you look at all the other aspects of the project.’

  ‘So, perhaps the most interesting thing of all is why this case has not yet disappeared down a large hole. It can’t be in the government’s interest to have this going through the courts, all this close scrutiny. Maybe they’ve told James, privately, that if he just hangs on, it will get buried.’

  ‘I don’t believe that. He’s pretty worried about it. And they can’t bury it. People wouldn’t accept it. Neil Layton, the husband, has begun a social media campaign. He had 18,000 Twitter followers after two hours and he was at 200,000 when I last looked.’

  ‘Ah. The power of social media. When is the application to get hold of the EDR?’

  ‘I’ve sent you the papers to review,’ Constance said, pausing to stir her drink with a plastic stick. ‘I thought Toby was rather sweet, though.’

  ‘Sweetness is not usually a quality associated with promotion to acting CEO of a major manufacturing company, even one which has not sold any products in the UK yet. You heard what he said. He came straight from school. There’s no evidence of business acumen or managerial skills. And he was hardly effusive in his attitude towards James, was he?’

  ‘He was, at the end, when he was trying to get us to leave.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘And not many people like lawyers asking questions, and you are an especially scary lawyer.’

  ‘Am I?’ Judith looked affronted. ‘How did James describe Toby to us?’

  ‘He called him his marketing assistant.’

  ‘Yes. You’re right. I bet that would have wiped the smile off “acting CEO” Toby’s face in a flash.’

  ‘Do you think the government forced SEDA to take Toby? You know they push all these apprentice schemes.’

  ‘You mean take on an idiot and we’ll give you a tax break? Nothing would surprise me these days. Shall we go home then, now I’ve finished my rant? But I sense we may have a few more revelations to come with this one. I can hardly wait for tomorrow.’

  41

  THERESE SAT quietly on the sofa, hugging the soft teddy to her chest. Jacquie had given up trying to tempt her to eat and was in the kitchen, mixing formula for Ruby.

  Neil had been despatched upstairs to fetch the photo albums they had made for each of the children’s first year of life. He had hung back when she asked him, the words ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ etched across his face, but her icy expression had warned him not to challenge any request. Even so, his hands trembled as he retraced his steps, carrying the colourful books.

  He perched beside Therese and lay them down on the coffee table; pink for Georgia and blue for Bertie. Therese had secretly wished for a girl for their first-born and she had read countless articles on how to ensure she achieved her chosen gender, from what to eat in the months before conception to what music to play during sex. And even though she knew it was too late to have any more influence on the gender of her baby, once the blue line appeared on her pregnancy test, she had tried to have girlish thoughts throughout the pregnancy, to wear sweeter perfume than usual, to read romantic novels and to wear pink more often than before, in a subtle attempt to cajole her first-born into being a girl.

  When Georgia had arrived, Therese had felt smug as well as ecstatic, having gone along with Neil previously when they selected and whittled down a short list of boys’ names, successfully concealing her lack of enthusiasm. Which wasn’t to say that she had loved or wanted Bertie any the less when he appeared; his timing had been perfect too. After eighteen months of pink-and-floral-fest adoration for her daughter, she was fully prepared for another male ego charging into their household.

  She turned the first page of Georgia’s book and, as she leaned in to scrutinise and commit to memory every detail of every photograph of her daughter, Neil placed his hand on her arm. She allowed it to stay there for a few seconds only.

  ‘Please don’t,’ she whispered.

  ‘Let me help you,’ he said.

  She pushed his hand away and continued staring at Georgia’s photos.

  Neil sat quietly beside his wife; he had no more tears left. He was desolate and shrunken. His perfect life was shattered. He could not begin to contemplate how they would ever recover from this blow. He queried if he
was strong enough to withstand the months and years ahead.

  Jacquie entered, humming lightly, the same lilting melody she had sung to each of her now deceased grandchildren, and settled herself nearby, as Ruby obediently drank her milk, her eyelids drooping. She was a model child, a breeze of a pregnancy, a three-hour labour and had slept through from eight weeks, as if she knew instinctively that her two older siblings had taken all the pressure on their shoulders, and she was free to do whatever and be whomever she wished. Jacquie thought of asking Therese to hold Ruby, but then decided it was still too early.

  ‘She was so beautiful, wasn’t she?’ Therese whispered, stroking Georgia’s face in the first photograph.

  ‘Yes, she was,’ Neil replied.

  ‘How could he take her away from us? How could he do that? It’s so unfair.’

  Neil turned to see the bottle slipping from the mouth of his youngest child, now his only child, as she drifted off to her world of milk and cuddles. He rose, took her from Jacquie and tucked her close up to his chest. And he swore, with every last breath in his body, that he would protect Ruby on her journey through life.

  ‘I want Georgia and Bertie,’ Therese said. ‘I want them back.’ She was moaning, rocking backwards and forwards on the sofa. He gripped onto Ruby more tightly and watched Therese, struggling with his priorities as father and husband. He wanted to hold his daughter and never let her go, but he wanted to comfort his wife too. He sat down with Ruby still in his arms. Therese turned away from him.

  ‘I know you do,’ he whispered.

  Neil’s phone buzzed in his back pocket. It was probably Inspector Dawson replying to his enquiry of whether James Salisbury was to be charged or not. Or perhaps it was a notification of some more Twitter followers. His campaign for the Autonomous Vehicles Bill to be thrown out was gaining support. He wanted to check, but this wasn’t the time.

  Therese began to sob quietly into a cushion, the photo album open on her knee. And Neil knew that there could be no moving on unless someone was punished for what had happened to his family. Therese might prefer to focus on their loss, but his priority was retribution. Someone was to blame for this tragedy, and someone had to pay.

  42

  JUDITH STOOD outside Court 11, reviewing her papers. It was quiet and tranquil, and she welcomed the orderly beginning to her day. This was the civil court system; no defendants on criminal charges to represent or bolster or cajole, just people arguing over money or property or valuable intangible rights. It was the hygienic world she had left behind, in favour of the hurly-burly of the criminal law.

  She could see their application to obtain access to the SEDA’s data, listed on the door of the courtroom, but, with only five minutes to go to their appointed time, Constance was nowhere to be seen. The court clerk unlocked the door and peered out.

  ‘Are you here for this one?’ she asked, pointing to the first case on the list.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is anyone else coming?’

  ‘I’m not aware of anyone else, but perhaps we should wait another five minutes?’ Judith ventured, reflecting that Constance would not want to miss the fun.

  ‘I’ll tell his lordship,’ the clerk said. ‘He’s reading the papers. He says it’ll take him a few minutes. When the light comes on you can come in. That should give anyone else time to arrive. After that they’ll be too late.’ She disappeared back inside.

  Another ten minutes passed before Constance suddenly appeared, barrelling her way towards Judith from the lift, breathless and flustered.

  ‘I’m so pleased you haven’t gone in yet,’ she called out, when she was within earshot.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘The Minister for Transport is objecting to our application. He’s sending someone now. They’ve asked if you can tell the judge, but they say they’ll be here any minute.’

  ‘On what grounds are they objecting?’

  ‘Public interest. I haven’t had time to get hold of any cases to help us, they only told me half an hour ago as I was leaving the office and, since then, I’ve been trying to find out what’s going on.’

  ‘Public interest?’

  ‘That’s all I know. Perhaps the rest will be clear when they arrive.’

  At that moment a delegation of four men, deep in hushed conversation, swept around the corner, heading in their direction. Judith recognised Adam Venables QC, a renowned public law barrister, accompanied by three other suited men. He waved the others to silence momentarily, as they passed close by, nodded politely in their direction and then the group came to a halt a few metres away, resuming their intense debate, in an undertone, their backs to Constance and Judith.

  Then the red light on the court door turned to green and they all trooped inside.

  Judge Smyth settled himself before them and opened a small laptop.

  ‘Ms Burton, thank you, I have read your application on behalf of your client, Mr James Salisbury. Is your client here today?’

  ‘No, my lord. He is still a little unwell. He was injured in the collision which has led to this application.’

  ‘I see. Yes. Mr Venables, an unexpected pleasure?’

  ‘My lord, I am appearing today, instructed by Her Majesty’s government, more specifically, by the Minister for Transport, the Right Honourable Alan Tillinghurst MP. It is with great regret that I address you, without having provided papers in advance or, indeed, having been able to give my learned friend, here, notice of our opposition to her application. I only took carriage of this matter within the last two hours. And, also, less than ideal, I am afraid that I have been instructed to ask for my reasons for opposition to this application to be heard by you privately.’

  ‘Hm. Thank you Mr Venables. Is your client here today?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘He’s not unwell?’

  ‘No, my lord. Just elsewhere.’

  ‘And on what basis are you asking for a private hearing? Let me understand, when you say private, you are even objecting to Ms Burton and her instructing solicitor being present?’

  ‘I am, yes. If I might hand up a letter from the Minister, then matters may become a little less opaque.’

  ‘Yes, very well. Ms Burton, bear with me for a moment.’

  The judge read the letter through carefully, laid it down on his desk and spent a few minutes reviewing matters on his laptop. Then he stared out at his audience.

  ‘Ms Burton. I know this will be frustrating for you, and Mr Venables, it’s a pity you were unable to provide a little more warning to the applicant, to save the attendance of all parties. However, I confirm that the information provided by a member of Her Majesty’s government is sufficient to satisfy the requisite test of a “public matter of a highly sensitive nature”. Accordingly, I will, albeit with some reluctance on my part, as the maxim “justice should be seen to be done” has always formed part of my daily mantra, accede to Mr Venables’ request to hear his objection and cross application for release of the data in question to his client, in private.’

  ‘My lord. The car belongs to Mr Salisbury, he is currently under investigation by the police, the data which will be recovered is crucial to his defence and I am instructed that his company’s technicians are best-placed to extract the data safely,’ Judith was not giving up so easily. ‘A man’s liberty may be at stake here. I have not had time to find any cases to back me up, but I am certain there must be a number of heavy-weight decisions directing that the balance should fall in favour of the liberty of a British subject as against “a public matter of a highly sensitive nature”.’

  ‘Ms Burton, you and your client have my sympathies, but you don’t have the law on your side on this one. If your team could leave now, please. Do wait outside, in case we need you again. And, if there is anyone else out there who looks as if they may be tempted to enter, inform them this is a private h
earing now until further notice.’

  Judith bowed to the judge obediently and exited the room. Once she was outside the court, she stomped her way to the furthest corner of the waiting area and sat down, depositing her papers unceremoniously in the next seat and scowling broadly. Constance trotted obediently behind.

  ‘This is outrageous. We should appeal,’ Judith said. ‘Sneaky, sly, shifty application! Can you find out who the duty judge is today and see if we can get before him? How did the Department of Transport get to know about our application, though?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I think it was my fault.’ Constance dug her toe into the hessian carpet and avoided Judith’s hard stare.

  ‘How could this be your fault?’

  ‘I told Dawson we were going to make the application today. I wanted to make sure he didn’t mess with the car in the meantime.’

  ‘Oh don’t be silly. I would have done the same. If the police had botched it up it would have been even worse. Everyone would have been in trouble then, including Dawson. The Department of Transport will have sufficient technical expertise, I hope, to do the job properly. It can’t be that difficult. I suppose they see this accident as having wider repercussions and they want to be informed. You could see Smyth didn’t like it, though. He smelled a rat.’

  ‘Do you still want to appeal?’

  Judith sighed and leaned forward, clasping her hands together.

  ‘It won’t do any good. Let’s see what happens. They will get the access they want for their chosen expert. The best we can hope for today, I think, is an order to review their report within twenty-four hours. What? What is it? I know you’re cross. Tell me.’

  Constance laughed sadly.

  ‘I know James is not like most of the defendants I represent, that he can look after himself, but I do still feel that things are harder for him than for most.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘He can’t remember what happened and now, not only does he have the police on the other side, it looks like the government is against him too.’