by David Cooper
“Er…no, not at all, but what about the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth? Isn’t that what I’d be taking the oath to tell?”
“This is where the real world issues come in, Paul.” Squire leaned closer, as if to draw Craven into the sharing of a secret, his beaming smile still resplendent. “We all know that if you said Wayne drove a red car, when you knew he drove a blue car, you’d obviously be telling a blatant lie. But if you said you couldn’t really remember, that wouldn’t mean anyone had put a lie on the court record. It would just be a blank. And a blank’s exactly what would help Wayne. Do you see what I mean?”
“I think so. I suppose there’s no harm if it helps him. This isn’t anything to do with cars, is it?”
For once Squire was glad that Craven had come clean about his mental disability a few weeks earlier. He realised straight away that Craven had taken a point too literally.
“No, definitely not! Right, are we completely clear? I’ll tell Tony. He’ll be in touch later today or tomorrow.” Squire stood up. “I’m glad we’ve been able to have this conversation. I don’t like the thought that we might end up losing decent people because of petty misunderstandings. All we need to do is pull together as a team, in everything we do. Right, I’ve got some calls to make. I’ll see what I can do about new supervision arrangements as soon as time permits. OK?”
“OK.” Craven took his cue and hurried off. Squire resumed his seat and picked up his phone.
Half an hour later, Craven’s enthusiastic resumption of his client work was interrupted when his mobile phone rang.
“Hi Paul, remember me? It’s Wayne from Wave Recruitment. Just read your text. And before you ask, I’m absolutely delighted that you’re going to help me out in this court action. Really pleased.”
Craven had no appreciation of how Avery had managed to manipulate the conversation so easily.
“Er… that’s OK. Rufus Squire’s told me what it’s about. I obviously don’t know what the full background is, and I’d really like to have some idea…”
“I don’t think so. Need to know, Paul. Need to know. That’s the problem with these big disputes. The best witness is someone who keeps completely focused on what he’s been asked to confirm to the judge. No chance of confusion that way.”
Avery’s smooth talk prevailed, regardless of the lack of any substance in the point he had made.
“Fair enough. Whatever you say.”
“Now, your text. Do I get the feeling you’re wanting to start looking around again?”
“Well, I wonder if things might have changed a bit…”
“No worries. No worries at all. If that’s what you’d like to do, you know exactly where to find me. I’m totally discreet with candidates, and nothing will ever get back to their employer, even if they’re asking me to find a candidate for a vacancy at the same time. Can I just give you a quick piece of advice? Don’t even think of looking for greener grass until you’ve served at least three months. It’s a real blot on the CV if you do.”
“OK. I’d never thought of that. Thanks for telling me. Hopefully it’s going to work out here after all.”
“Best of luck. Must go. And I’ll see you in court, as the old catchphrase goes, but at least we’ll be on the same side. Bye.”
Craven thought nothing of the abrupt end to the call, feeling much more reassured about his future at BLH Solicitors and how Avery had shown his willingness to help him if anything was to go wrong. He would never know that Avery’s sole interest in ensuring that he did not resign, at least not before he had served three months, was personal. If Craven made it past the three month mark, Avery would be spared any need to refund part of the fee he had won from BLH as a result of the successful introduction. Nor would Craven know that Avery had already been given a brief from Squire to test the markets for his replacement.
Friday 7 th June
“Hi, Karen, it’s Lennie. Thought I’d tell you where we’re at.”
“Go right ahead.”
“First up, can you manage next Thursday afternoon at two o’clock, for a conference in chambers with Soraya?”
Karen looked at her diary to make sure she was free, knowing that she had already done her best to ensure that she had as few commitments as possible in the lead up to the trial.
“Yes, that’s OK.”
“Right, I’ll confirm that. Now for the Law Society. I’m afraid they’ve buried their heads in the sand.”
“How come?”
“I asked their professional ethics department, on a no names basis, whether it was proper for Squire to give evidence when Wagstaff was in charge of the case. The principle, in fairly broad terms, is that a solicitor who briefs a barrister for a trial shouldn’t have been involved in the factual background. It obviously catches Wagstaff. But we’ve no reason to believe Squire’s been involved in the nuts and bolts of the trial preparation. That would be completely beyond the pale for a solicitor who’s being put up as a witness.”
“OK, so where does that get us?”
“Unfortunately, not much further. Whoever was on the other end of the helpline just sat on the fence. I was trying to find out whether that principle might go further, and stop one partner in a firm putting up one of the other partners as a witness. Especially when it was as clear as daylight that I was talking about two partners in the same department. Even if it was two partners who’d only ended up together after their firms merged.”
“So I take it you were trying to find a way to get Squire’s evidence barred out? At the same time as Wagstaff was trying to persuade you to agree it and nod it through?”
“Yes, got it in one. But all I had in return from the Law Society was a load of waffle about Chinese walls, and the need to be sure they were strong enough to prevent conflicts of interest when two firms had merged. The same corporate clichés that Wagstaff used on me when he was brushing it all aside. And they wouldn’t confirm any of it in writing either. Said it was contrary to policy. I think they just don’t want to be accountable. Not exactly what a helpline’s supposed to be there for.”
“Why don’t they call it a Hindrance Line and be done with it?” They both laughed at the lighter side of what was still a serious issue. “So where does that leave us?”
“Totally in the dark. We don’t know whether Wagstaff will have told Squire to keep his nose out every time he asked a question about the case, or if he was giving Squire a daily bulletin. All I’ve ever had back is the lecturing about Chinese walls. And unless Squire lets something slip out, we’d never be able to prove a thing.”
“OK.” Karen thought for a moment. “I suppose that means Squire might have shared chapter and verse with everybody else on their side about my little dalliance with him. Jesus Christ.”
“Best you don’t think about it. Remember he was the cheat. You weren’t. And we’re still supposed to be focusing on whether Avery breached his contract, not Squire’s personal moral standards. Or lack of them.”
“I suppose so. OK, I’ll speak to you next week. Not looking forward to the weekend that much.”
But Karen’s prediction was soon to be proved wrong, as her phone rang.
“Karen, remember me? It’s Edward Buckler.”
“Edward? Yes, of course I do. It’s really nice to hear from you…”
“I need to be quick, I’m afraid. I just wondered if you might be free for dinner tomorrow night? I was going to drive back home tonight for the weekend, but I’ve been put on standby. Possible emergency operation down here on Sunday afternoon. Hardly worth going home when there’s a full day’s work on Monday. One empty flat’s not much different to another.”
“Tell me about it! Yes, I haven’t any other plans…”
Karen knew only too well why she had anticipated a Saturday night at home alone. She had sensed that she would make a poor social companion for even the most patient of friends until the dispute with Avery had been resolved one way or the other. The intervention of a ne
w male acquaintance had scattered her fears to the winds.
* * * * *
“No, Paul, we don’t want that to go in. Too much detail. It’s fine as it is. You’ve already heard from Rufus what the game plan is, and nothing’s changed.” Wagstaff held the phone away from his ear, scarcely able to believe Craven’s naivety, and suppressed a groan. “The best way to help Wayne on this case is to confirm the plain fact that you received the letter and signed the start confirmation, and leave it there. As you’ve been told, there’s a party line to take on everything that might or might not have happened before the letter. And the party line is that you can’t really remember anything else. It’s really very simple.” Like you, Wagstaff thought to himself.
“OK.” Craven replied. “What do you want me to do about signing the final version? Do you want me to come up to the Edgbaston office?”
“No need. Just sign the last page and scan it over or put it in the internal mail.” Wagstaff paused for a moment. “You’ve just reminded me of something, Paul. You obviously need to keep Tuesday the eighteenth free, just in case the other side won’t agree your evidence, but are you available on the Monday to handle a client matter for me?”
“Yes, I am. I don’t have anything in the diary at all on the Monday.”
“Good. I’m obviously going to be in court all day, and it looks as if everyone else at my end has got other commitments of some kind. I’ll need you to take an expert witness through the amendments I’m suggesting he makes to a draft report. Frank Wharton’s his name. He’s a financial adviser, an absolute genius on investments and banking, and I’ve worked with him for years. The only twist is that he’s in a wheelchair. His office is within walking distance of mine, or perhaps I should say rolling distance. It’s a waste of time suggesting he gets himself down to the city centre, so you’ll need to come up here.”
“That’s OK.” Craven bit back his distaste at Wagstaff’s insensitive wisecrack about the disabled expert. “I take it that next week’s no good?”
“Got it in one. He’s on holiday. The deadline for serving the report’s the following Friday, the twenty first. So we need to deal with this on the Monday, otherwise we’d really be cutting it fine.”
“OK, thank you. What about reading into the file?”
“I’ll send you a summary next week. One of my PAs will deal with the arrangements. I’ll tell him straight away that you’ll be the one he’s going to be seeing, so don’t be surprised if he contacts you ahead of the meeting.”
Wagstaff hung up. Craven found Wagstaff’s brusque manner discouraging, but was pleased that Wagstaff had chosen to involve him on one of his client matters for the first time. He gave little further thought to the two page statement that he had been asked to contribute on Avery’s behalf, printing it off and signing it as Wagstaff had requested. Having put it through the scanner for Wagstaff’s immediate use, he took a photocopy for his own peace of mind before placing the signed original in the firm’s internal mailbox. Glancing at his watch, he hurried off for his weekly lunch with Jackie, knowing that he had so much to tell her about the last couple of days, and how he had miraculously been saved from the depths of despair.
Saturday 8 th June
“Are you sure you’re OK, Karen?”
“Yes, I’m fine. It’s just…”
Edward waited patiently. They had enjoyed a pleasant meal together, but Karen had hardly touched any of her wine, and had lapsed into silence more than once.
“This damned court case. It’s really getting me down.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Edward had heard the occasional comment about the dispute over the previous two hours, but Karen had not gone into detail, and he had judged it best not to pry. “Can I help at all? No harm in a second opinion from someone who hasn’t been involved.”
The waiter arrived with their coffee. Once he had left, Karen finally decided to throw caution to the winds and give Edward the full story.
“So that’s what I’m looking at. If I’d sat back and done nothing, I probably wouldn’t have a business to run by now. If I don’t get the injunction, I might end up with a few peanuts in damages for those piddling paralegals, and that’s not going to be any comfort. Especially when that treacherous little creep would be blanket bombing all my clients the very next day after the trial, and making out I’m the loser. And if I do come away with anything better, he probably won’t be good for any big money award. So as the old story goes, the only winners will be the lawyers. It’s not much fun trying to pick the lesser evil out of that lot.”
Karen finally reached for the half empty wine bottle and topped up her glass.
“Not that I’ve got anything against my lawyers, I hasten to add. Lennie’s been fantastic. Always there when I need him, always prepared to go out of his way and put that little bit of extra effort in. And Soraya’s so much better than that pompous old fool who lost my first hearing. I just hope she’s going to be tough enough when she’s up against Avery and his cronies…”
Karen could not bring herself to mention Squire outright, or to tell Edward anything about that particular dark episode from her private life.
“You’re preaching to the converted, Karen. I did my absolute best to make my divorce as painless as I could. My wife and I had just drifted apart. Nothing in common any longer. Should have been an easy clean break, especially with Jason all set up for his university course. But you wouldn’t believe the complications…”
“There but for the grace of God go I! Sorry, I suppose I shouldn’t say things like that. It never happened for me. Ever since I finished my degree, my whole life revolved round work and politics. Then I jacked in the politics and it’s been nothing but work. Anyway, I’d probably have made such a screw up of getting married in my twenties that I’d have been divorced and unwanted in my thirties. Instead of single and unwanted.”
As she drained her glass, Karen made a dismissive gesture, hoping to avoid showing any emotion or weakness. Once more Edward chose to steer clear.
“You shouldn’t say things like that. But anyway, this court case. Isn’t there at least some chance that you could do a deal and stop it going all the way?”
“I very much doubt it. I can’t settle for anything that doesn’t include the injunction. He’s not likely to offer it, so I’ve got to do whatever I can to protect the business.”
“OK. I get the point. But if there’s anything I can do at all, just say. You never know when it might help to bring in an intermediary. Someone who doesn’t have any personal axe to grind. Someone who might be able to open doors.”
“That’s kind. Trouble is, Wayne would probably send one of his paralegal cronies in his place. And the door would probably be the entrance to some grotty pub near the Villa ground!”
Edward insisted on paying for the meal and would not hear of splitting the bill. Karen promised to keep in touch, but left it at that, and Edward realised that it would make sense to let their new friendship rest there. He made a careful note of the trial dates.
Monday 10 th June
When Craven arrived for the start of another working week, he noticed that his office door was ajar, and put it down to an oversight on the cleaners’ part once he had checked that his rubbish bin was empty. Although he had expected little more than a routine Monday morning, he soon found his spirits rising when he saw a message in his inbox titled ‘URGENT – New Matter’. He was even more excited to see ‘Michael Stephens’ named as sender, recognising the name straight away as the firm’s managing partner, whom he had last heard of when Jackie had told him the news of her promotion meeting.
He quickly clicked on the message to open it, and looked immediately to the bottom of the page. The standard form e-signature details were plainly those of one of the most powerful figures in the firm. His excitement grew as he read the message.
‘Paul, Please play the attached file ASAP and make sure you have thoroughly understood it. Further details to follow. Regards.’
Without warning, a crashing volley of guitar chords burst forth from Craven’s computer speakers, quickly followed by a half shouted vocal introduction to what was unmistakably a song of some kind. Craven had little personal interest for music, and took an instant dislike to what he was hearing. The volume was almost intolerably loud, despite the low speaker levels he had set only a few days earlier for a continuing education broadcast, and he was caught in a dilemma between pausing and carrying on. Although he was troubled by the thought that someone might have tampered with his sound settings, he chose the latter.
A thunderous pounding of drums gave way to what Craven worked out to be an opening verse. He could find nothing meaningful in the raucous lyrics, and the singer’s screeching tone and accent only compounded his confusion. He put down his pen and tried frantically to work out what was behind the managing partner’s instructions.
As the verse led in turn to what was obviously a chorus, with no respite from the relentless driving beat, Craven thought he might be gaining a glimmer of understanding. There was a constant refrain about smoking. And in the last line of the chorus, unless he was completely mistaken, a warning about smoking not being allowed in school.
Is this something to do with that business on the fire escape stairs?
As the next verse began, Craven’s door opened, and in hurried Roger Blake, looking anxious.
“Paul, what on earth…”
Craven glanced quickly in his direction.
