by J M Gregson
The Sapphire Unit, accustomed to such distressing but inevitable situations, warned her not to engage in any argument with Cullis. She was to treat him with distant politeness and to avoid seeing him except for the unavoidable exchanges of the working day. Above all, she was to avoid being left with him in a one-to-one situation.
This kind of phoney war was easier to engineer than she had thought it would be, principally because Cullis’s lawyers had advised him to pursue exactly the same course. After an initial attempt to pretend that she had completely distorted the incidents of that fateful evening, Cullis left her alone. For many days, they did not speak to each other at all. Some of the people who worked closely with Priscilla Godwin noticed the cooling of her relationship with the boss, but thought little of it. Priscilla was by temperament a little withdrawn, a woman who did not easily reveal her emotional state. No one felt inclined to pry and no one was given any encouragement to do so.
The canteen preferred lighter themes at lunchtime, and there was much talk during September of the first Gloucester Chemicals Golf Day. What had at first been a plan for an outing by a few friends had now received the official imprimatur. More important, the company had decided to finance the enterprise and a free outing always stimulates enthusiasm. Even people whose golfing experience was minimal and sporadic emerged from obscure comers of the firm to take up this exciting opportunity.
In more private situations, some of the golfers had crises to negotiate.
Richard Cullis and his wife had spoken increasingly little over the last few weeks. This might be an opportunity to get at least a little closer. Richard, eating one of his infrequent evening meals with his wife, said, ‘The company is running a golf day in October. I think you should come and play.’
‘So that the Director of Research and Development can play happy families and present a cosy picture of domestic bliss to the firm at large? I don’t think so.’
As she did much too often for his comfort, Alison had identified the idea behind his offer. Richard said uneasily, ‘It wouldn’t do any harm from that point of view, I suppose. I was thinking rather that it would be nice for us to do something together.’
‘I see. Something together, but in the public eye. Something which might help to allay the rumours that my sainted husband is shagging everywhere except at home. Is that it?’ She enjoyed the coarseness, which he found more disturbing because it was uncharacteristic of her.
‘Do you have to be so bitter?’
‘And do you have to be such a shit? What did the police want to talk to you about?’
‘Nothing. Routine stuff about work.’ Richard had been hoping that she’d forgotten about that: he tried to evoke an area where he deserved sympathy. ‘They’re still trying to catch the All God’s Creatures man who held a knife at my throat.’
‘One of many who would like to do that. Me included. I want a divorce.’ She relished the sudden brutality of that announcement.
‘Alison, you know your Church doesn’t allow that.’ The Catholics had always saved him in the past.
‘Maybe not, but that doesn’t matter to me any more. I should have started to make my own decisions a long time ago.’ She thought of the high-roofed church with the scent of stale incense and the priest who had told her she could not do these things, and congratulated herself again on her belated emancipation from Church dogma.
‘It wouldn’t do me any good at work. I know you don’t give a damn about that, but you should. It’s where the money comes from. You can’t just pretend such considerations don’t exist.’
‘I can tell you to stop giving me such shit. Half the company directors in the land are divorced. It would probably get you sympathy and allow you to play the field with a free hand.’
And it would give you a settlement which I can’t and won’t afford, Richard thought. He reached across and put his hand on top of hers. ‘I’m still very fond of you, Alison. I think you know that. I freely admit that most of the faults are on my side. I think we should put the past behind us and make a real attempt to make a go of our marriage.’
His touch made her realize how much she now hated him. She slid her hand from beneath his warm palm. ‘That might be more convincing if I hadn’t heard it too many times before.’
He didn’t want this talk of divorce now, especially with the prospect of a rape case hanging over him. He said stubbornly, ‘We need to think about this, about what we’d both be giving up. Then we could discuss it again.’
She smiled, enjoying having the upper hand. ‘We’ll do that. I doubt whether my own feelings will change, but hopefully you’ll get a better grip on reality. In the meantime, yes, I’ll attend your precious golf day.’
Jason Dimmock, in contrast to his boss, did not want his wife to attend the golf day.
‘It’s a company jamboree. There’ll be lots of noisy hilarity and free booze. Not your sort of thing, really.’
Marital psychology being what it is, Lucy Dimmock’s interest was immediately aroused. She pursed her lips, pretended to think about this. ‘It would be a chance to meet some of your colleagues again. I might quite like that.’
‘I’d be on unofficial company duty, I should think, having to talk to lots of people from other divisions, not able to give my attractive wife the attention she deserves. You’d be left with people you hardly know exchanging noisy in-jokes about work. Not a situation you normally enjoy, is it?’
‘You don’t want me to meet him again, do you?’
He tried not to be thrown by her abruptness. ‘It’s not that at all. I hadn’t even thought of that aspect.’
Jason had never been a good liar. That was one of the better things about him, Lucy thought. ‘He’ll be there, won’t he?’ She noticed with wry amusement that neither of them was prepared to mention his name.
‘I expect he will, yes. He plays golf and as a company director he’d be expected to show the flag.’
‘I’m over him, you know. I’ve told you that often enough.’
‘I know you have. And I accept it.’ But he didn’t, really. Couldn’t, although he dearly wanted to.
‘I think I’ll come, just to show you that your ridiculous jealousy is totally unwarranted.’
‘There’s no need for you to demonstrate that. I have to go, but you don’t.’ He sought desperately for some unemotional argument. ‘You haven’t been playing much golf lately.’
‘Enough. In any case, I’ll make sure I get a couple of games in before the October date.’ Lucy smiled grimly. ‘I shouldn’t like to let you down.’
Jason smiled determinedly, recognizing that he was not going to change her mind. ‘You could never do that, Lucy.’ He wished as soon as he had said it that he could snatch the words back. She had let him down, in a big way, or they wouldn’t be having this conversation.
Lucy Dimmock knew exactly what he was thinking, as she often did. ‘Let’s not go down that road. But I’ll do my best not to make you ashamed of my golf.’
In another household on the same evening, a reluctant golfer was being pressurized to participate in the company outing.
Debbie Young said firmly, ‘You’re still an employee of the firm. You’re entitled to be there.’
Her husband shook his head. ‘I’m serving out my notice. I may even have done my last day’s work and finished with the place by the time of the golf meeting - I’ve got some holiday allocation left and I’m sure both sides will be happy for me to take it.’
‘I think in an ideal world you would turn up and win. Show the bastards they can’t grind you down.’
Paul Young smiled. ‘This is not an ideal world, love. I doubt my golf’s up to winning anything. And I’m not sure that many men who’ve been sacked would want to parade themselves in front of those still working for the firm.’
‘Most people won’t even know you’ve been sacked.’
‘It gets around, faster than you’d think. Lots of people have offered sympathy to my face. Lots of people will b
e having a quiet gloat behind my back.’
‘I don’t think that’s true. Even if it was, it would be all the more reason to tum up and show the bastards they can’t grind you down.’
They both knew they were going round in circles. Paul tried something more optimistic. ‘I might not even be available by that time. I might have found myself a new job!’
Both of them knew that was most unlikely.
Scott Kennedy was never charged with causing an affray or with assault. Thanks to prompt police intervention at the hunt starting point, no one had actually been hurt. Even Lord Elton who was initially anxious to see the saboteur prosecuted, was eventually persuaded that he would lose face by an appearance in court in pursuit of so insignificant a quarry.
Kennedy endured an uncomfortable interview before this decision was reached. He quickly found that the comfortably-built, avuncular-looking DS Hook was not the soft touch he anticipated. Scott leaned forward, trying to introduce a cosy democratic intimacy into the sterile confines of the small, square interview room. ‘Those toffs deserve all they get. They think they can ride roughshod over everyone. It’s the job of us sabs to show them that they can’t do that.’
‘By appearing on the scene with offensive weapons, causing a breach of the peace, and trying to collect yourself a charge of actual bodily harm? Come off it, lad. Get real!’
‘They were off hunting foxes, breaking the law you lot pretend to be so concerned about.’
Bert smiled. The tape wasn’t on. He knew that Kennedy was going to be released with a caution, but the unshaven young man in the anorak wasn’t aware of it yet and Bert saw no reason to enlighten him. ‘You’re a daft young bugger who’s going to get himself into serious trouble before long, Scott Kennedy. You should check your facts, lad. The scent for the drag hunt had been laid. That’s the one the hounds and the horses followed. There’s no evidence at all that the law was going to be broken. You and your mates wasted a lot of police time. And if it wasn’t for our lads being sharp on the job and arresting you when they did you’d be facing very serious charges.’
‘Which I’m not. So let me out of the pigsty, copper.
Bert controlled his anger easily: it was a part of the job he had learned long ago, in a less violent world. He saw in this intense twenty-three-year-old a mistaken idealism and a love of drama which were dangerous but not wholly bad. This might be his own son in a few years’ time, if the boy took a wrong turning in adolescence. He sighed dismissively. ‘We’ve proper villains to attend to. You’ll get off with a caution: I just hope you realize how lucky you are to do that. You and your friends are small fry, Kennedy. Go away and keep your nose clean.’
‘That wasn’t what the bloke from Gloucester Chemicals said!’ It was bravado, pique at being treated so disdainfully by this man with the village-bobby exterior who had the temerity to call himself a detective sergeant. As soon as he had said it, Scott knew that his tongue had lured him into a disastrous error.
Bert Hook, who had been standing up to leave, signalled to the uniformed constable who was opening the door to sit down again. ‘We may have a serious charge here after all,’ he said with satisfaction. He set the cassette running in the tape recorder, announced that DS Hook and PC Gordon were present at this interview with Scott Alfred Kennedy, which was beginning at three fifteen p.m.
‘Now, tell us about your abduction of Mr Cullis,’ Bert Hook said with pleasant anticipation.
Priscilla Godwin decided she did not need counselling.
In the days following her rape, she kept in touch with Sergeant Fox at the Sapphire Unit in Oldford. It was from her that she learned that the photographs of her injuries taken by Dr Haslam had come out well: ‘Full range of glorious technicolour for the bruises and cuts. They came out a treat, m’dear!’ In three days, she heard that Cullis had been interviewed to obtain his story of the incident, in four that the evidence had been passed to the Crown Prosecution Service, with a firm recommendation from the Sapphire Unit for a rape action.
Priscilla got used to skirting Richard Cullis at work, with each covertly observing the other whilst pretending not to be aware of their presence at all. She did her best to resume the life she had enjoyed before that fateful night. She signed up for the golf day, even went out with a friend to play nine holes after work in preparation. She was glad she had done that: fresh air, exercise, and a calm autumn twilight in the Wye Valley were good therapy.
Priscilla felt the absence of a close friend, a confidante to whom she could reveal the full horrors of her ordeal, but her oldest friend was now living in Leeds and this wasn’t something you could talk about on the phone. She said nothing to her mother: it wasn’t fair to burden an ageing lady with an experience which would only give her nightmares and make her anxious for her daughter’s welfare whenever she went out in the future.
It was a week after she had been raped that Sergeant Fox rang Priscilla Godwin at work and arranged to see her that evening. The physical presence of the big black woman with the comforting voice was as reassuring as ever, but she refused both coffee and a stronger drink. She sat on the edge of the armchair opposite Priscilla and seemed for the first time in the younger woman’s experience ill at ease.
Sergeant Fox hated the news she had to give, hated her own part in it, hated her inability to break things gently. She said, ‘It isn’t good news, Pris.’
‘They want more evidence from me? But I was quite open. I told you everything I-‘
‘It’s worse than that. Those cowards at the CPS have decided they haven’t got a case worth taking to court.’
‘No.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid. We’re still arguing with them about indecent assault, but-‘
‘I don’t want that. I was raped.’
‘You know that. We know that. He knows that. I think even our officers who interviewed him feel that they know that. But he’s a clever bugger, your Mr Cullis. He’s convinced the CPS that he’d make a good impression in court. Probably he would, especially with a predominantly male jury, even though we know he’s as guilty as hell. And he’d have the best brief available, of course, a smooth sod from a London chambers who’s built up a reputation as the defence counsel in rape cases and become a very rich man as a result. They won’t admit it, of course, but I think they’re frightened of his lawyers.’
‘I was raped.’ Priscilla repeated it dully, as if she could change the decision by her resolution.
‘It’s the drink factor. I told you, it always complicates things. The defence will argue that you were half-pissed and gave your consent at the time, even if it was against your better judgement.’
‘He forced me. You could see that from my injuries. You said the photographs were good.’
‘They were.’ Fox reached out a hand towards the forlorn woman three feet away from her, then thought better of it. ‘But they’re not conclusive, m’dear, unfortunately. A lot of women as well as men like violent sex nowadays and minor bruises and scratches occur in the course of it. The brief would argue in court that there was nothing conclusive about what we have to show. No doubt Richard bloody Cullis would smirk and say that you enjoyed a bit of rough.’
Fox stood up. She could think of no consolation to offer to the woman in front of her. There was no point in prolonging this. ‘Will you be all right on your own? I can stay a while if you like, but I’ll quite understand if-‘
‘I’ll be all right. It’s bad news, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting this.’ Priscilla spoke like one in a dream. ‘I’ll deal with it, once I’ve accepted that this is what’s going to happen.’
Fox made as if to say something, to conjure up some phrases of consolation, but found that there was nothing she could offer. She stepped forward impulsively and put her arms round Priscilla, hugging the younger woman against her own much ampler frame, holding her until the first tearless sobs shook the slim body. The rule book didn’t allow you to touch people these days, whatever the circumstances. Bugger the rules!
‘Bloody lawyers!’ she said. She gave Priscilla a final smile as she released her, but did not speak another word before she left.
Priscilla Godwin sat absolutely still in her armchair for a long time after her visitor had gone. The law had let her down. She would have to take her own measures against the man who had violated her.
Ten
After indifferent weather through most of July and August, the country enjoyed an Indian summer of settled dry days as the year drifted into autumn.
Gloucestershire and Herefordshire are splendid places to be in such weather. They have some of the finest trees in Britain. They tower not just in the Forest of Dean but in the soft and fertile valleys which are a feature of the area. The country’s longest river, the Severn, which can be a source of major floods in other conditions, flows amiably through rich meadows and ancient cities in settled spells such as this. Its tributary the Wye is fringed by steeper sides and presents more dramatic reaches, as it runs towards the high-stoned ruin of Tintern Abbey and its confluence with the Severn beneath the cliffs of Chepstow.
This is generally a quiet area now, but the ancient cathedrals and abbeys, with their tombs of kings and dusty medieval power brokers, remind us of the importance of the area in those times when powerful barons struggled with kings for the control of the country. Quiet towns like Tewkesbury are more famous now for flood plains than power struggles, yet the turf here was soaked with blood, not water, in the bloodiest battle of the War of the Roses.
The warm but shortening days stretched themselves unhurriedly into October, with still no sign of a break in the high-pressure zone over the south of Britain. The eighty-four golfers from Gloucester Chemicals watched the skies, congratulated themselves on their luck, and came to a course beside one of the loveliest reaches of the River Wye, some two miles above the ancient cathedral city of Hereford.
They took over Belmont Golf Club and all of its facilities for the day. The manager welcomed their trade with eager, professional enthusiasm. He was delighted that the splendid weather had held: good golfing conditions always made things easier for him. Parties were always less grumpy, more prepared to accept any minor glitches in the course of their day, when the sun shone steadily and there was no need for waterproofs or umbrellas.
