by Neil Wild
“Good attendance.” was what he said.
Brakespeare made noises in response.
“Philip’s holding the reception.” Mortimer began to move towards the queue where Annette Morrison was standing. Brakespeare found that he had to move with him in order to stop Mortimer from talking to himself.
“Philip?”
“Breezie.” warned Lisa in a low voice.
“Yes, do you know the way?” asked Mortimer. His wife paid no attention to them.
“Er, no.”
“Oh well, follow us.”
By this time they had joined the queue. Brakespeare and Lisa looked at each other helplessly. Suddenly Lisa transformed herself once more, and shrugged off her mourning.
“That was a very nice service.” she said to no-one in particular.
Much to his wife’s disgust, Mortimer started an inconsequential conversation with Lisa, leaving Brakespeare to his thoughts. He managed to gently disentangle Lisa from his arm. Mrs Mortimer made no attempt to speak.
Soon they were at the head of the queue. Warm kisses were exchanged between the Mortimers and Annette Morrison together with equally warm words of commiseration.
He didn’t know why he did it. “Minge Lane” he whispered to Lisa in what he had not intended to be a stage whisper.
“Minge Lane?” asked Annette with obvious interest.
Brakespeare thought rapidly on his feet. “I was er, trying to remember where we had parked.”
Lisa made a loud choking nose, started to laugh but managed to mimic a sob.
Immediately, Annette who seemed decidedly far more radiant than a new widow ought to be, stepped forwards and put her arms round Lisa.
“Oh my poor darling.” She said as Lisa buried her face in her shoulder. Annette patted her back. It was impossible to tell whether Lisa was laughing or crying.
With Lisa still in position she extended her free right hand to Brakespeare.
“You must be Jonny. Gordon was very grateful for the way in which you jumped in to keep his ship afloat. What a pity you two never met. I’m sure that you would have got on like a house on fire.” She paused and looked up soulfully him as Lisa drew away from her.
“On the other hand, perhaps it’s better that you didn’t see him after his operation.”
“I expect so.” was the only answer that Brakespeare could give.
“Perhaps I can chat to you both at Philip’s.” she said, indicating that they should move on.
“Yes, of course.” said Brakespeare. Lisa looked grateful and nodded. Her face was wet with tears.
“Come on, Jonny.” she commanded and held her hand out to him.
Brakespeare felt compromised. Did Annette think that he and Lisa were an item? What strange behaviour. Whatever Annette was doing, it didn’t seem to be grieving.
Mortimer’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Did you say that you had parked in the Minge?”
chapter twenty eight
Brakespeare could see why Philip Breezie was hosting the reception. His was a large and tastefully furnished farmhouse at a curiously named village called Shuthonger, south of Upton Upon Severn, and over the border in Gloucestershire.
The farm seemed to have passed into other hands, and the house stood alone with a few outbuildings.
He and Lisa occupied the short journey with Minge jokes, but both agreed that they were secretly dreading the hours ahead, and resolved to leave the reception at the earliest opportunity.
“Did you see David Newberry, at the Church?” Lisa asked.
“Good heavens, now that you mention it, no.” Brakespeare replied. “Oh shit, you don’t think that he wasn’t there because someone forgot to give him a lift.”
“Well wouldn’t his wife have driven him?”
“Did she know Gordon?”
“I don’t know. I imagine so.”
“Did she, er, know about you.”
“I don’t know.”
There was a pause while they both tried to work out a likely scenario, and both came to the same conclusion; that Mrs Newberry disapproved of Morrison because of his involvement with Lisa, and had refused to attend the funeral because of that.
“Well she ought to take a leaf out of Annette Morrison’s book then.” said Newberry.
“God, that’s strange.” Lisa replied. “I can’t get over her. She actually seems happy now that he’s gone.”
“So do you.” Brakespeare could not help replying.
“No, I’m not, but I’m not going to let it get me down. He was never mine. He was hers.”
If there had been dancing at the reception, Annette Morrison would have led it. As it was, she chatted animatedly to all who wanted to talk to her, while her wine glass was continually refilled with Spanish Cava by her attentive brother, who seemed to be maximising his own consumption.
As at all parties where alcohol flows freely, especially during the day, the noise level gradually increased. If Morrison had wanted a wake, then this was it.
Brakespeare was not a party animal. Apart from Lisa and the office staff the house was full of strangers. He found himself making awkward conversation with staff members, but it was he who was awkward, not they. Tracy made eyes at him, and looked as if she wanted to change places with Lisa. Even Margaret, who he had not noticed at the Church seemed in jolly mood. Lisa looked perfectly happy, although he noticed that she kept one eye on Annette’ and made sure that she was always at the opposite corner of the room from her. Time was dragging for him, but he knew that he shouldn’t be the first to leave, and couldn’t unless someone was willing to offer Lisa transport. He didn’t want that.
Suddenly, Breezie, was upon him. He must have consumed a lot of drink, because he was red in the face; his eyes bulged and his speech was slow and deliberate.
“Ah, Jonny. Sorry I haven’t had the chance to talk to you.”
“Busy party.”
“Wonderful. All these people who knew Gordon.”
“And one who didn’t”
“Who?”
“Me.”
“No. Well I suppose someone had to bring the Tart.”
“What?” Brakespeare felt as if he had been given a slap round the face, but Breezie’s thoughts had moved on.
“Look Jonny, come into my study. I wanted to talk to you but…..” He didn’t finish the sentence, but lurched out of the room, which must have been the Dining Room, through a Lounge which was equally full of noisy people, and to a room at the far end of the house. He held a champagne flute in one hand and a bottle of Cava in the other.
Brakespeare had no alternative but to follow after catching Lisa’s eye and raising an eyebrow.
Breezie lurched into a captain’s chair behind a large leather topped desk, and gesticulated to Brakespeare that he should take the seat opposite.
“Your glass is empty.” He observed.
“Driving”. Said Brakespeare simply.
“The Tart.”
“Who the hell do you think you’re talking about.”
“You know bloody well who I’m talking about.” Breezie suddenly became quite vicious and his accent gained a touch of his native South London. ”Gordon’s last bit of skirt. Been round the block a few times, that one, I’d say.”
“Is that why you’ve called me in here. To slag Lisa off.”
“Slag? You chose the word old boy.”
“What’s your problem with her. So she had a relationship with your brother in law. Well it’s over. Funny Annette doesn’t seem to be half as upset as you are.”
“My sister prides herself on being a good Christian soul. She has literally turned the other cheek. That doesn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. I can tell you it hurt her a lot, and it was me who had to help her. It was me who had to remind Gordon of his duty as a husband and father, as well as of the cost of a divorce.”
“You said ‘last bit of skirt’?”
“You never met him, did you.” He reached for a photograph. “This is him.”
Brakespeare took the photograph. A handsome silver haired man in his early forties smiled at him. It was the eyes though. The eyes said it all. Rather like Lisa’s. They could have come from the same mould. Perhaps that was the mutual attraction.
“Good looking bloke, eh.”
Brakespeare handed the photograph back.
“Women always fell at his feet, and he didn’t hesitate to jump on top of them.”
“But Lisa…”
“Just another…..”
“Really?”
“More brains than the usual perhaps?”
Breezie took a gulp from his glass.
“More interesting?” asked Brakespeare.
Breezie put his glass down. “There was only one thing Gordon was interested in – and she gave it to him. Giving it to you now is she?”
Brakespeare became suddenly calm.
“No. No she is not.”
“Got something else somewhere have you?”
Brakespeare hesitated as to how to answer. He decided to tell the truth.
“Yes, I have.”
There was a silence while Breezie decided whether or not to pursue the subject, and obviously decided against it. He refilled his now empty glass.
“That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“No?”
“No, it’s about our friend David Newberry.”
“Who I thought would have been here today.”
Breezie shook his head.
“We warned him off.”
“We, what?” asked Brakespeare incredulously. “What on earth for.”
“Protect Annette. Bad enough with the Tart here. To have Newberry with his long term lover here would have been too much. Besides, you can’t mix business with pleasure. I can hardly have a client who I am defending in my house at a family do like this, can I.”
“You didn’t want him here?”
“Perfectly professional point of view.”
“Perfectly fiddlesticks. This has nothing top do with the case. David and Gordon were friends. Friendship surely transcends professional sensitivities.”
Breezie shrugged. “Have it your own way, only the fact is, he ain’t here, so I can talk to you about him.”
“Hang on, you’ve just implied that from a professional point of view, you can’t mix business with…..” He gestured round the room. “ something like this.”
“You can’t, well not in my book anyway, but what I want to talk about is a rather sensitive issue.”
He gulped down the contents of the glass and then promptly refilled it. “Sure you won’t have one?” he asked.
Brakespeare shook his head.
“Suit yourself.” He suddenly put his glass down and leaned across the desk. “Haven’t heard from you for a bit.”
“No, we’ve been evidence gathering as you asked.”
“And?”
“And I think that we’ve got enough evidence to guarantee getting the case chucked out at a preliminary application.”
Breezie studied him, and then lurched back into his chair.
“I’ve been talking to Geoff Blaker about all this. He was asking when we were having a consultation with him. I explained that you wanted a quick end to all this.”
“As does the client,” Brakespeare reminded him.
Breezie made a gesture which indicated that the Client was an irrelevancy.
“I don’t think that you have quite latched on to this game, Jonny. Look let me put the cards on the table. Why are we doing this?”
Brakespeare looked puzzled. “To get the charges against Newberry dismissed.”
Breezie shook his head, and then frowned as if he regretted the movement.
“No, I mean why are you working as a solicitor, and why am I working as a barrister.”
“I don’t understand.”
“For the money you nitwit.” Breezie shouted, losing his temper. “For the fucking money.” He paused and looked at Brakespeare as if he were from outer space. “What do you think pays for all this, eh” and he gestured about him with his hands. “We do this job because it earns us money, no?”
Brakespeare started thinking rapidly; wondering where the conversation was going to lead. He decided not to answer.
“Jesus H. Christ” said Breezie. “God give me strength. You sure that you haven’t been shagging the Tart and that she hasn’t sapped more than your scrotal fluid. Look.” and he banged on the table to emphasise his points as he spoke.
“This fucking case is a godsend. It’s not every day that a lawyer gets the chance to work on a paper rich fraud case like this. If it goes to a Jury it’ll take a couple of months – possibly more to run. That my boy, is good honest filthy lucre, win or lose. If we make a submission before the Judge it’ll take 2 or 3 days at the most. That’s peanuts.”
Brakespeare had to think hard to be sure that he was hearing Breezie correctly. Was the man really more interested in his fees than Newberry’s best interests? He decided to test Breezie.
“If we were to let it go to trial, what do you think the chances of success are.”
“Bloody good from what I’ve seen.”
“So they’ll be equally bloody good if we make a submission.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I’ve gathered that. Is that why you didn’t want Newberry here, so that you could have this private conversation with him well out of earshot.”
Breezie smiled an inebriated oily smile.
“Bang on, old bean, bang on.”
“And what you’re asking me to do is to advise Newberry that we have to let the case run to trial?”
“And we’ll all make a damn sight more out of it than we stand to do now. Win the case and the taxpayer will pay our fees.”
Brakespeare hesitated as a thought came into his head.
“What would Gordon have done?”
Breezie shrugged and pointed to the floor. “Gordon’s not here, he’s down there.”
“He wouldn’t have agreed, would he?”
Breezie didn’t answer, but refilled his glass.”
“Don’t know, never asked him.” He looked up at Brakespeare almost impertinently.
“Never dared ask him, more likely.”
Breezie slumped in his chair. The Cava seemed to be taking hold of him now.
“I feel tired.”
“And I’m tired of you”, said Brakespeare. “So fucking tired, I’m giving you the push. You’re out of this case.” He shot out of his chair and went round to Breezie. Grapping his shirt front he pulled him up in his chair and shook him. “You’re fucking fired, you understand. Fired.”
A wild look came over Breezie’s face; his jaw opened, but only the sound of escaping air came from his mouth. Brakespeare let go his hold, and Breezie fell back. Brakespeare stated at him with contempt and picking up the nearly empty bottle of Cava, poured it over Breezie’s head. The barrister closed his eyes and fell unconscious.
chapter twenty nine
“Now I’ve burnt my bridges.” Brakespeare thought as he marched out of the room, but he knew what he had to do.
Whatever the look on his face, it killed the conversation as he re-entered the dining room.
“Where’s Philip?” asked Annette chirpily. She had been talking to a dowdy looking lady of her own age who looked at Brakespeare as if she knew him, but said nothing.
“Having a sleep.”
“Oh dear”, she tittered “He’s having too good a funeral”, and laughed at her own joke.
“I’m afraid I have to go.” Brakespeare was cold politeness as he walked over to where Annette was standing. “Thank you so much for inviting me, I hope that we’ll meet again soon.”
“So do I” replied Annette, and then “don’t forget Lisa.”
She looked pointedly at him as she said it. Brakespeare turned to where Lisa had been engaged in animated conversation with Margaret, glass in her hand. As she caught his eye a worried look spread acros
s her face.
“I’m going to see David”, Brakespeare announced. Lisa took her cue.
“Then I’d better come with you. Excuse me” she said to the gathering at large, and then went over to Annette and air kissed her.
Annette smiled a knowing smile and put her head on one side. “Thank you for coming. I know Gordon would have wanted it.”
“Er, everything Okay, Jonny?” Mortimer with Ridley in tow sidled up to him.
“No, not really,” replied Brakespeare with a false smile. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
“Why are we going to see David?” Lisa asked as soon as they were in the Fiat.
“Because I’ve just sacked his brief” Brakespeare replied.
“You did what?” Lisa turned in her seat and stared at him.
“I think you heard.”
He then explained. Lisa was silent.
“So did I do the right thing?” asked Brakespeare.
“I don’t think that you did enough. You should have smashed the bottle over his head. I knew he didn’t like me. Not sure why. It’s not just because Annette is his sister. Did you see his wife?”
Brakespeare thought. “Funnily enough, I didn’t. At least no-one was introduced as his wife.”
“There isn’t one.”
“What?”
“He lives all alone in that big house – except when he’s entertaining. Mainly young men.”
“You mean he bats for the other side?”
“That’s one way of putting it. You see, I always thought that he had a crush on Gordon himself. In fact I asked Gordon about it once,” she laughed. “he got quite prickly about it ,and told me not to be so imaginative.”
“What you mean that Breezie saw you as a competitor for Gordon’s affections!”
They both burst out laughing.
“This place gets weirder and weirder.” said Brakespeare.
The conversation died down as Brakespeare tried to navigate his way to Malvern. Shuthonger appeared to be as difficult to escape from as to find until Brakespeare eventually realised that the village was on the A38, and he headed north to Worcester.
“I’m not a tart, am I.” asked Lisa.
Brakespeare quickly lanced across at her. “Without trying to be funny, I don’t think that that’s for me to answer. I don’t know anything much about your personal life.”
