All She Ever Wished For

by Claudia Carroll

  ‘Can you elaborate further for us?’ prompts Hilda.

  ‘Should the painting be awarded to me,’ says Kate softly, ‘I would donate the painting to the Hugh Lane Gallery in Dublin, as it’s now my firm belief that that’s where it should have been all this time.’

  ‘No further questions, Your Honour.’

  I look around the court and see Damien King and Oliver deep in hurried conversation and then my eye falls on Mo Kennedy, that friend of Kate’s who gave testimony yesterday. She gives Kate a wink and a tiny thumbs-up and Kate doesn’t just smile back at her, she actually beams. Like a woman who’s just had a vast load lifted from those skinny, bony shoulders.

  Predictably, Oliver Daniels is up on his feet to cross-question.

  ‘Mrs King,’ he begins, ‘in consideration that there’s not a single shred of concrete evidence to connect the painting with Sir Hugh Lane’s passage on the Lusitania, we’ll glide over that for now.’

  ‘Objection, Your Honour,’ says Hilda, straight up onto her feet. ‘An expert witness has just told us that it’s his considered opinion that was the case.’

  ‘Rephrase your question,’ Judge Simmonds says to Oliver.

  He sighs, before continuing.

  ‘It is not my business to engage in speculation and conjecture, Mrs King. However, there is one important question that still remains unanswered.’

  Kate looks quizzically back at him while just feet away her ex-husband sits back with his arms folded, just like the rest of us, listening intently.

  ‘Where is the painting right now?’

  ‘It’s perfectly safe, I can assure you, Mr Daniels,’ Kate tells him calmly.

  ‘I repeat the question,’ says Oliver, raising his voice so the question actually sounds like a threat now.

  ‘Very well,’ says Kate as we all hang on what she’s about to say next. ‘At this moment in time, A Lady of Letters is hanging in the home of Mrs Mo Kennedy, who has been a great friend to me throughout this whole ordeal. Who is, in fact, my best friend. And my prayer is that it’ll remain there until such time as I have the pleasure of returning it to its rightful place. Which is, and always should have been, at the Hugh Lane Gallery.’

  *

  It’s the strangest and most surreal thing. Whereas a lot of testimony in this case almost seemed to move at a snail’s pace, now suddenly there’s almost an urgency to it. As though both Defence and Prosecution have laid out their stalls for us and just want to get a verdict in as quickly as possible.

  So now it’s over to Judge Simmonds for a brief summing up.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,’ she says, addressing us directly. ‘Over the past week, you’ve had to digest a great deal of testimony from both parties. On one hand, you have the Prosecution who doubtless have a rightful claim to the painting in dispute. Damien King bought it in good faith and also in the name of the King family trust. His intentions towards the painting are, as you know, to tour it across the United States under the donorship of that family trust. These are noble motivations indeed and for such, the Prosecution can only be commended.

  ‘However, the Defence raise an interesting case too. It’s Mrs Kate King’s contention that she was gifted the portrait and if you’re to believe this, then this matter should never have come to court in the first place. Indeed, had Defence and Prosecution been on more amiable terms, then perhaps the need for this expensive court case might have been side-stepped altogether. However, such was not the case, and now it falls to you to decide on an outcome.

  ‘Nor do I envy you your task,’ Judge Simmonds goes on. ‘Just this morning alone, the Defence have raised no doubt valid points concerning the painting’s rightful provenance. It is not for the jury to speculate as to whether or not the painting – along with others – was indeed looted from the wreck of the Lusitania. Of course it has been rumoured for some time now that many such lootings did in fact take place in the years following the sinking. As Mr Jasper Adams told us, the Lusitania sank a mere few nautical miles from the coastline. Who knows what might have happened to the wreck in the years that immediately followed? It is certainly not the work of the jury to decide.

  ‘All I charge you to do is to bear in mind that Mrs King now also offers a noble reason for so wanting the painting declared to be in her possession. So that it may be donated to the Hugh Lane Gallery, and displayed there to be enjoyed by everyone. However, and I must stress this, it’s natural that your decision may be swayed by what will ultimately happen to such an important piece of art. But please remember that your primary duty is to award the painting to whomever you feel is the rightful owner, regardless of their ultimate intentions towards it.

  ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen,’ she says, getting up to rise. ‘You will shortly be escorted to the jury room to begin your deliberations. This court is adjourned until you’ve reached a unanimous verdict.’

  ‘All rise!’ says Sandra the Court Registrar as Judge Simmonds sweeps back to her chambers and now – for better or for worse – it’s over to us.

  KATE

  Castletown House, June 2014

  ‘Stockpile.’

  Those had been Mo’s exact words to Kate that night they lay holed up in the library at Castletown House, and this time, she wasn’t taking no for an answer.

  ‘Now just listen to me,’ she’d gone on to say, with an urgency in her voice. ‘It’s past eleven now, my babysitter will have put the kids to bed and Joe is away in New York for a big Globtech conference tomorrow. So it’s now or never, babes. We’ve got to act fast.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Kate, looking at her, wondering if Mo had momentarily lost her reason.

  ‘What I’m trying to say is that right now we’ve got this whole house to ourselves,’ Mo said, ‘and there’s no time like the present.’

  ‘So … what do you mean?’

  ‘I’m saying that this ridiculous pre-nup that you were practically strong-armed into signing leaves you with next to nothing. And I know you say you don’t care about money—’

  ‘And I don’t, as it happens,’ Kate said firmly.

  ‘But you may well change your mind, and in the very near future too. So why don’t we just put by a little pension plan for you? Just for a rainy day, that’s all. A little bit of security, just in case you ever should need to fall back on it.’

  ‘What are you thinking of?’

  ‘Well for a start, how about that ridiculous monstrosity that Damien gave you for your birthday? It’s your property after all, so what are you doing wrong?’

  What indeed, Kate thought.

  *

  A Lady of Letters was a dead weight, and it took both women puffing and panting to haul it all the way down the hallway at Castletown and out into the boot of Mo’s Jeep. It was just coming up to midnight when half an hour later, they pulled up at Mo’s home, swished through the security gates and pulled up at a discreet side door that led directly into the utility rooms.

  ‘Mo, are you sure about this?’ Kate asked worriedly, as the pair of them shuffled down the back hallway, out of breath from the effort of lifting the painting. ‘Supposing Joe finds it and tells Damien?’

  ‘Trust me, he’ll be doing no such thing,’ Mo said bluntly.

  ‘But how do you know for certain?’

  ‘Because we’re going to leave this baby in the only room in the house he never, ever goes into.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The laundry room,’ Mo said, with a conspiratorial wink. ‘If I gave Joe a map of this house, he still wouldn’t be able to find it. In fact, I doubt he even knows that we have a laundry room at all.’

  Kate put down the painting for a moment so she could rest, and in spite of herself she smiled. And even through the dimly lit hallway, Mo was grinning right back at her.

  TESS

  Friday, 11 a.m.

  We don’t get off to a very good start. After we’re led off to, or rather shoved into, the jury room by Mona, we’re given clea
r instructions that we’re not allowed to leave the room till the end of the day. Till then, if there’s anything we need, all we need do is ask for it.

  ‘In that case,’ says Ian cheekily, ‘I’ll have a pint of Heineken with a packet of salt and vinegar on the side.’

  ‘And a Margarita straight up for me!’ says Daphne cheerily, before hissing to the rest of us, ‘I haven’t a clue what that is, but I’ve always wanted to try one.’

  Cackles around the room at that as we all gravitate towards seats around the huge, round conference table. Will and I lock eyes and there’s a moment of will we/won’t we confusion as to just how far apart we can sit, but in the end he sorts it out for me by pulling out a chair for me right in between Edith and Minnie.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say to him.

  ‘No problem,’ he says with a tiny half-smile. First actual words we’ve spoken to each other all morning. ‘So how are you today?’ he adds, a bit formally.

  ‘Ehh … very well, thank you,’ I answer stiffly.

  Christ, I think. Last time we were together, we were snogging the faces off each other on a street corner. It was hot and sexy as hell and if I’d not somehow peeled myself away in time, God knows where things might have led. And now we sound like two characters from a regency novel, all over-politeness and reserve as we neatly side-step each other.

  ‘Hmm,’ says Edith from beside me, the beady blue eyes taking in this innocent little exchange. And I swear you can almost see her putting two and two together and coming up with about a zillion.

  First job is to elect a jury foreman and already there’s a row. Will throws his hat into the ring, but Barney is hot on his heels.

  ‘In fairness now, I’ve a lot more life experience under my belt than you, son,’ he says. ‘Plus I’ve a whole mine of case information I’ve studied that I can draw on to help us. Can you say the same?’

  ‘In that case, please go ahead,’ says Will pleasantly.

  ‘Hang on a minute, why does it have to be a man?’ says Jane. ‘Even the phrase ‘jury foreman’ is pejorative. Won’t any of the ladies put themselves forward?’

  ‘Well I would,’ says Mai, ‘if I thought I might get paid or something.’

  ‘Doesn’t work like that, you eejit,’ Minnie nudges her.

  ‘If it’ll shut you all up,’ says Daphne, ‘then go on, stick me down for it. Only I have to warn you, I’m inclined to be a bit forgetful these days. I mean, I remember all the testimony we heard this morning, but ask me to go back further and I’m worse than useless.’

  ‘Tess, you volunteer for it for us, there’s a good girl,’ says Minnie.

  ‘Ehh … sorry?’ I say, miles away, but then I’d kind of tuned out a bit till they got this sorted between them.

  ‘Yes, that’s a great idea,’ says Edith, ‘I vote for Tess!’

  ‘Seconded,’ says Will as we lock eyes again. He gives me a little nod of encouragement.

  ‘Well, OK, then,’ I say reluctantly, ‘if it’ll get us all out of here that bit quicker—’

  ‘Ah, now hang on a minute, what about me?’ says Barney to muted groans around the table. He then spends the next half hour – I kid you not – extolling the reasons why he’s the best choice by far, so to shut him up more than anything else really, we all vote him in.

  ‘Sweet Mother of Divine,’ mutters Daphne, ‘will we ever hear the last from that aul’ windbag?’

  ‘That man could bore for Ireland.’

  Apparently we’re not allowed to leave the jury room once deliberations have started, so lunch is brought to us by Moany Mona via a trolley with ‘Keane Katering’, written across it. Tomato soup, chicken or cheese sambos and a fresh-fruit platter, which everyone immediately ducks and dives into.

  At least it’s a vast improvement on the Ebola Arms, I think, picking at an apple, which is pretty much all I’ve got an appetite for. We’re allowed a ‘brief recess’ to eat, as Moany Mona bills it, and everyone is milling around the catering trolley, giving out about Barney being such a timewaster mostly, from what I can discern over in my little perch by the window.

  Then Will ambles over, two mugs of coffee in his hands.

  ‘Thought you could use one of these,’ he says, handing one over.

  ‘Oh thank you, that’s really kind,’ I say, again, sounding reserved and over-correct.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he says.

  Then a pause while in the background all we can hear is Mai and Barney arguing over who should get the last of the cheese and pickle sandwiches.

  ‘I was just …’ I begin, to fill the awkward silence more than anything else.

  ‘You were just what?’ Will asks, looking at me quizzically.

  ‘Oh … erm … you know. Just … ehh … looking out the window and wondering if it’ll rain,’ I say inanely.

  ‘Ah, right. The weather. Sure. Yeah. Rain.’

  ‘And of course it’s a lovely view too.’

  ‘Tess, we’re overlooking a car park,’ he says with a crooked little smile.

  ‘Oh. Yeah. I mean … it’s nice that we’re not locked away in some airless dungeon for this. Well, it’s something anyway.’

  ‘Your break is now over and all jurors are requested to resume deliberations,’ shrieks Moany Mona from the top of the room as everyone scuttles back to their seats.

  ‘Well, we’d better …’ Will says.

  ‘Yes. Yes indeed.’

  Jesus. There were less stilted conversations in Jane Austen’s Persuasion. All I’m short of is a bonnet, a corset and a bout of TB.

  I slip back into my seat and Edith, who’s already in situ, seems to have overheard everything.

  ‘Something happened between you pair, didn’t it?’ she asks, the beady blue eyes locking onto mine.

  ‘Edith!’ I hiss, ‘will you keep your voice down?’

  ‘Ooh now, does he have a big willy?’ whispers Daphne from the other side of me, innocent as you like. ‘I’ll bet he does.’

  ‘Will you keep it down?’

  ‘Well, does he or not?’

  ‘Just shhhhh! Please!’

  ‘That means she slept with him,’ nods Daphne. ‘Always does. I know because that’s the exact same way my granddaughters go on.’

  ‘Well?’ says Edith.

  ‘Nothing happened,’ I whisper back, only thankful that Will is at the other end of the table, so the chances of his hearing are slim. I hope. ‘Now can we please drop this?’

  ‘That’s a lie, I know by the look of you. And I know by the way the pair of you have been skirting around each other all morning. Something definitely happened, I can smell it a mile off.’

  ‘OK then!’ I hiss back, more to shut the pair of them up than anything else really. ‘Let’s just say for the sake of argument that something very minor happened between us. Now can we just let it go?’

  ‘Minor like what? Kissing?’

  ‘A bit of above-the-bra action?’

  I do not know where this pair get their ideas about modern day sexuality from, all I know is that I have to stop this in its tracks right now.

  ‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘Now for the love of God, let’s get back to the case.’

  ‘Sticks out a mile that something happened between you and Will,’ Edith says softly, sounding genuinely concerned now. ‘But I’ll say this much to you, missy. You do realise that you’re playing with fire?’

  *

  Just as it’s coming up to 5 p.m., urged on by Barney, we take a vote. Five of us are in favour of Damien King, six for Kate and one undecided. Which is Will, as it happens. I’m Team Kate, as I just feel so sorry for the woman. And since this morning’s evidence, all the more so. Despite the fact that all of the Team Damien jurors have spent the last hour yabbering on about the King family trust and its iron-clad hold on the painting, I’m unswayed by any of it. In spite of the fact we’re not supposed to care what happens to the painting after the case closes, I do care.

  There’s just something about knowing that the painting
would be restored to the Hugh Lane Gallery that feels so right to me. And besides, I happen to remember a lonely and emotional woman crying her eyes out on a bridge, one dark, rainy night a long, long time ago. A woman who I now think, in spite of the public perception of her, got a pretty raw deal in life. And while it’s in my limited power, I’d love nothing more than to right that wrong, in my own small little way.

  Moany Mona hammers on the door, and Barney pompously informs her that, ‘the jury have so far failed to reach a unanimous verdict.’

  ‘In that case,’ sniffs Mona, ‘Judge Simmonds has dismissed you for the weekend. Back at 10 a.m. promptly on Monday morning to resume deliberations.’

  I can feel Will’s eyes on me as I pack up my bag in silence. But I don’t give him or anyone else the chance to say a word to me. The minute I hear the word ‘dismissed’, I’m out of there like a bullet and straight home to face the music.

  KATE

  Friday, 6.15 p.m.

  As usual, Kate lingered a good half-hour after the day’s court hearing until she felt brave enough to chance leaving the building. But if she thought that she could slip into her waiting taxi unnoticed, she was wrong. If anything there were even more reporters and cameras than usual and as she battled her way down the steps, sure enough, they surrounded her.

  ‘Kate! Over here, Kate! Can we just get a few words with you?’

  ‘Kate! Just turn this way, just a quick shot, please!’

  ‘Mrs King,’ said one reporter, who Kate recognised, he dogged her footsteps so often. ‘After today’s sensational developments in court, would you care to comment about—’

  ‘Actually,’ Kate said, turning to face him square on, ‘there is just one small thing that I would like to say, if I may.’

  At that, all the clamour and jostling instantly quietened down and a hush descended, broken only by the noise of the rush hour traffic running along the quays beside them.

  ‘What’s that, Mrs King?’ said the reporter, shoving a microphone into her face.

  ‘I’ve decided to revert back to my maiden name,’ she said, simply and clearly. ‘So from now on – for the first time in over fifteen years – I’m Kate Lee once again.’