Conkers escorted Clara out of court, repeating as they went the judge’s warning about not discussing the case. ‘But of course, we can discuss anything else,’ he said, and waiting until they were in the icy, tiled corridor which held the chill and fear of centuries of trials, said pointedly to Rodolfo, ‘I take it this isn’t being too much of a strain.’ Clara rightly took this to be his way of circumventing the judge’s dictat while conveying approval for her performance. Realizing that he might also be hinting that he could speak openly to Rodolfo, who could then pass on his comments to his wife without any of them fearing breaching the judge’s interdict, Clara excused herself and went to the ladies’ room.
‘You can be proud of your wife,’ Conkers said as soon as she had walked off. ‘She’s acquitting herself admirably.’
‘It’s difficult for me to judge…but if you say so.’
‘It’s always a pleasure to look across a courtroom and see furrowed brows,’ Conkers said. ‘Did you see how the other side’s expressions became increasingly worried the deeper we probed into the Beneficial Ownership question?’
‘At one stage, it looked as if Sir Alfred wanted to throw his pitcher of water at his instructing solicitor,’ Adrian Clewth said with some amusement.
Conkers laughed. ‘That wouldn’t have gone down well with old Landsworth.’
‘I should say not,’ Adrian Clewth agreed, his face contorted with pleasure as the two men guffawed. The real reason for his disapproval was that Bianca’s instructing solicitor was none other than Mary Landsworth, a partner in the firm of Darter and Co, and the wife of Mr Justice Landsworth.
Clara rejoined the men while their banter continued. ‘I didn’t think it was a good idea for Mrs Antonescu to be poking Sir Alfred with a ruler to capture his attention,’ Adrian Clewth said, reminding Clara for all the world of a schoolboy speaking about his headmaster. ‘Especially when her solicitor was sitting right beside her and she’s meant to convey all instructions through him. I thought Mr Justice Landsworth was going to chew her head off.’
Conkers Coningby laughed. ‘He very nearly did,’ he said, mimicking him in adolescent fashion, ‘“Mrs Antonescu, will you please desist from paying such strict attention to Counsel’s sleeve and provide instructions in the conventional manner…”’
Just then, Bianca, Philippe and their legal teams stepped out of the courtroom into the passage. Sir Alfred led the way. He walked up to Conkers Coningby. ‘I say, old boy,’ he murmured. ‘Could we have a quiet word?’
‘Excuse me,’ Conkers said to Clara and Rodolfo and left them with Adrian Clewth. ‘They’re old chums,’ the latter explained for the benefit of these foreign clients who might consider it odd that their Silk was going to have a tête-à-tête with the opposition’s Silk. ‘Most likely they’re arranging a game of golf for the weekend or some such thing.’
‘As long as their friendship doesn’t affect Lord Ralph’s ability to prosecute my case, that’s fine,’ said Clara.
‘Heaven forbid,’ Adrian Clewth said. ‘All good barristers leave their personal feelings out of their cases. It’s the only way the system can work. That, and Chinese walls.’
‘Chinese walls?’ Rodolfo said.
‘Chinese walls. The system whereby each barrister erects a wall of probity around himself, so that no other barrister has access to him or his information, save those on the same side as himself. The British legal system couldn’t work without Chinese walls. Not when members of the same set of chambers are pitched against each other. It’s a question of integrity. Barristers have to be men of the utmost integrity.’
‘You mean barristers from the same chambers oppose each other?’ Clara said.
‘Absolutely. There’s nothing exceptional about Sir Alfred and Lord Ralph being from the same set of chambers.’
‘You mean that Lord Ralph and Sir Alfred share the same chambers?’ Clara said slowly and deliberately, hoping that by accentuating her foreignness she would conceal the degree of perturbation she was experiencing.
‘Absolutely. Nothing at all unusual about that.’
‘So who’s senior?’ Rodolfo asked, coming to Clara’s rescue.
‘Sir Alfred. It’s his chambers. Lord Ralph is second in order of precedence. Not that that means anything in terms of his success rate.’
Clara saw Conkers Coningby heading jauntily back towards them, a smile on his face. ‘Thanks for putting us straight on your fascinating legal system,’ she said, wrapping up the conversation before her Silk had a chance to overhear what they were speaking about.
‘Did Sir Alfred have any settlement offers to make?’ Clara said.
‘We should be so lucky,’ Conkers said. ‘We’re in for the long haul here.’
‘He made that clear?’ Clara said.
‘With people like Sir Alfred, it’s not what they say so much as how they say it. He’s a master of inference. I don’t know if that answers your question. He certainly didn’t actually say it, but one can read between the lines. Tomorrow’s another day, though, so why don’t we all get a good night’s sleep and meet at nine-thirty in the cafeteria for some coffee and a conference? My Clerk knows where it is. He’ll meet you on the pavement and escort you in, won’t you, Rowbotham?’ With that, Conkers Coningsby led the way downstairs, robes billowing magisterially.
Clara knew she was being reassured, and she hoped that her failure to be fully mollified by the reassurance was simply over-scepticism, but she had a nagging feeling that something was going on which she did not understand. She would see how correct her intuition had been the following morning.
Conkers Coningsby and Adrian Clewth were already ensconced upon opposing wooden benches when Rowbotham escorted Rodolfo and Clara to the Formica table where they had scattered their papers, Styrofoam cups of very bad coffee and paper plates holding Danish pastries that looked as if they were left over from the Viking invasions.
Conkers and Adrian stood up as the Silk greeted them. ‘So sorry you can’t partake until you’ve finished your evidence, Marchesa,’ he said. ‘But the Marchese can join us if you don’t mind sitting over there.’ He pointed to an adjoining table. ‘Here, have some coffee and pastry. We’re already stuck in. This promises to be a sticky day.’ Where his conduct had inspired confidence yesterday, it now created anxiety.
Once more dogged by doubt, Clara sat down and tried as best she could to follow the legal complexities that Conkers was addressing supposedly out of earshot. ‘What I don’t understand,’ Rodolfo said, ‘is how the Beneficial Ownership is such a problem now, yet it wasn’t last Thursday when we had that conference at Henry Spencer’s Chambers, nor was it yesterday afternoon outside Court when you thought it was plain sailing.’
‘Good point, Rodolfo,’ Clara thought, smiling to herself.
‘I’m afraid we can’t speak about this in front of your wife,’ Conkers replied.
‘I’ll go and sit down over there, then,’ Clara said, pointing to a table at the opposite end of the room.
‘Capital idea,’ Conkers said and waited while Clara walked off. ‘The thing about cases is that they develop in unexpected ways,’ he continued. ‘What you don’t think is going to be a problem can suddenly become one, while what you anticipate as being a difficulty, doesn’t materialize as such.’
Having concluding his rather patronizing discourse, Conkers returned his gaze to Adrian Clewth, and continued to preach about the choppy seas ahead, making a great show of flipping through one massive legal textbook after another.
Seeing the futility of staying with them, Rodolfo rose from his seat. ‘I think I’ll join my wife,’ he said.
I do apologize not to be able to give you more of my attention,’ Conkers replied, ‘but as you can see, we’re pretty busy.’
Rodolfo nodded his head politely.
‘I wish I could shake off the feeling that something’s going on behind the scenes that we’re not privy to,’ Clara said as soon as he slipped in beside her.
‘Ma
ybe he’s trying to justify his vast fees,’ Rodolfo said. ‘Men often make things seem more difficult than they are to confuse ladies into thinking they’re working harder than they are.’
‘Maybe,’ Clara said. ‘This sort of production doesn’t inspire confidence, though.’
When court reassembled at ten-thirty, she re-entered the witness box.
Mr Justice Landsworth leaned over and said smilingly: ‘Marchesa, you will remember that you are still under oath.’
‘Thank you, My Lord,’ Clara said and turned to face Conkers.
‘Now, Marchesa,’ he began, his thumbs stuck in the sides of his black gown. ‘Yesterday you were telling us about how the Beneficial Ownership papers came to be signed.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Am I right in thinking that a consideration would have been Foreign Exchange Control Regulations?’
Clara could barely believe what she had just heard. What business did her own Silk have bringing up the fact that she, her mother and her late brother might have been circumventing foreign exchange control regulations? Surely he had to realize that you do not prosecute a case by stating that your client might be bending inconvenient laws for her own financial benefit?
‘I don’t understand the question,’ Clara said, stalling for time while she thought up an answer.
Conkers looked rather irritated, as if his prey were avoiding his trap.
‘That’s perfectly all right. We understand that English is not your native tongue, so I’ll repeat myself:were you and your mother and brother trying to get around various countries’ Foreign Exchange Controls by establishing a series of interlocking Nominee and Beneficial Ownership Agreements for your family companies?’
‘Is this man crazy?’ she asked herself. ‘Just who is he representing? Me or Bianca and Philippe?’
Clara, however, never buckled under pressure. Instead she felt a sense of calm settle over her. ‘Lord Ralph,’ she said icily, ‘my mother, my brother and I were each other’s Nominees and were the Beneficial Owners of our family companies because they were family companies. They were owned by all of us. My brother and I had equal shares. We took the very best legal advice available and allowed ourselves to be guided by those experts, some of whom, I venture to say, might even be your colleagues.’
‘Thank you, Marchesa,’ Conkers said, looking mollified. ‘That will be all from me. But please remain standing as Sir Alfred would doubtless like the opportunity of asking you one or two questions.’
With that, Conkers sat down and busied himself with his papers, once more behaving in a manner that suggested to Clara that she was now on her own. Sir Alfred stood up. He was a short, amiable-looking man with a complexion that proclaimed a love of port. ‘Marchesa d’Offolo, you’ve told this court that the documents relating to Beneficial Ownership confirm that you owned an equal share of Calorblanco and Banco Imperiale with your brother and that your mother owns a share equal to that of your late brother. Is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘The documents also show that you were your brother’s Nominee and he was yours. That is correct too, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, in the event of the demise of one, the other’s share fell into the lap of the remaining sibling?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is not such an arrangement unorthodox?’
‘I don’t know what you mean by “unorthodox”. When you’re dealing with multinational companies, you can’t have parochial arrangements. As I said to Lord Ralph, we took top legal advice. Everything we did was in accordance with the laws of the countries in which we function.’
‘You are aware that it is our client’s case that the system of Nominees was purely a device to avoid Foreign Exchange Controls in case one of you got in trouble as you moved money from country to country without the permission of the states involved, and that the system of Nominees was never intended to indicate true ownership?’
‘You’re very naïve if you think we could’ve moved large sums of money from country to country undetected and without the knowledge of the said countries’ banks.’
‘Of course, you would say that, wouldn’t you? The fact is, the system of Nominees could just as easily be read as your brother being the true beneficial owner of the companies. The paperwork, to the contrary, is nothing but a dodge concocted by dishonest business people to subvert the laws of various governments and to deprive a devoted widow of her rightful inheritance.’
In response, Clara just stared at Sir Alfred.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ he said with vicious glee. ‘Well, I can understand your reluctance to reply. You don’t have very much sympathy for your sister-in-law, do you?’
‘No, I don’t suppose I do.’
‘Don’t you think that someone who has lost her husband in the awful way your sister-in-law did would warrant sympathy from her unfortunate husband’s only sibling?’
‘I think any sister would find it very difficult to sympathize with a sister-in-law who cleared out the house of all staff so that her brother would be there alone, only to be discovered an hour or so later with two bullet holes through his heart.’
‘Your dissatisfaction is not really about money, isn’t it?’
‘It’s really about how my brother died. Money plays a part, a small part, but the larger issue, so far as I’m concerned, is how my brother can be said to have committed suicide in circumstances which make it clear that he could not have killed himself.’
‘Marchesa,’ Sir Alfred said, ‘am I right in thinking that the Mexican police investigated your brother’s death?’
‘Yes.’
‘What was their conclusion?’
‘That he had committed suicide, but this was preposterous since no right-handed human being can shoot himself once, much less twice, through the heart with his left hand.’
‘Of course we all sympathize with the distress of a sister whose brother died in horrific circumstances,’ Sir Alfred said, trotting out the odious hypocrisy for which the British legal profession is so famous, ‘but the death certificate clearly states that your brother died by his own hand, doesn’t it?’
Clara remained silent.
‘I’ve asked you a question,’ he barked. ‘You are obliged to answer it. What is your answer?’
‘Yes,’ Clara said, her expression one of supreme distaste for the man who was asking her these questions.
‘Incidentally, Marchesa,’ he said, as if he had just remembered something, ‘your correct title is Marchesa d’Offolo, is it not?’
‘That’s correct,’ Clara said.
‘You’re quite sure?’ Sir Alfred said.
‘Yes.’
‘Your husband is a marchese?’
‘Yes.’
‘“Marchese” is Italian for what we would call a marquis in Britain, I believe.’
‘Yes,’ Clara said, seeing where Sir Alfred is heading.
‘You would have this court believe you are a woman of credibility, I take it?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You wouldn’t claim to be something you’re not, would you?’
‘Obviously not, Sir Alfred.’
‘You are not a marchesa in your own right, are you?’
‘No.’
‘I take it that the reason why you are Marchesa d’Offolo is because you married the Marchese d’Offolo.’
‘That’s right.’
Looking triumphant, Sir Alfred waved a piece of paper. ‘How very peculiar, then,’ he continued, pressing home his point, ‘that the Italian authorities state that there is no citizen of Italy by the name of Rodolfo d’Offolo who is a marchese and that you are nothing but Signora d’Offolo. It would appear that even your claim to being the Marchesa d’Offolo is without merit. That will be all, Mrs d’Offolo.’
Smiling dismissively, Sir Arthur looked over at Conkers to see whether he wished to re-examine his witness.
Conkers got to his feet. ‘I know this is diff
icult for you, so I’ll limit myself to one question only. Why do you believe that Madame Antonescu is entitled to only a minority share of your family’s assets?’
‘Because that’s the way my father set up the companies. That’s the way my brother and I ran the companies. And that’s the way it is, both morally and legally.’
‘Thank you,’ Conkers said, smiling wanly at Clara as he turned to the judge to dismiss Clara. Realizing that he had no intention of addressing the issue of her title and that he was therefore prepared to allow the judge to accept Sir Alfred’s contention that she was a phoney, she said: ‘Before you sit down, Lord Ralph, possibly you, as an aristocrat who presumably knows something about the way titles work here and elsewhere, will give me the opportunity of explaining to the court that there are Papal titles and Italian titles. The Vatican is a sovereign state, and the Pope is the elected monarch of that state. As such, all Papal titles have as much force and validity as any other title granted by a monarchy. I don’t suppose Sir Alfred considers himself a fraud when he’s in Italy just because his title is English, and what applies to him applies to me. My husband is a Papal marchese. His title has as much official recognition as Sir Alfred’s, or indeed, yours. While it is true that Italy voted to become a republic in 1946, and it withdrew official recognition of all Italian titles at that time, it did not abolish foreign titles. I trust this addresses the issue of my correct style and title.’
‘Thank you for that explanation, Marchesa. You have saved me the task of asking you a question upon which I had no instructions, but which I would have liked to have addressed myself,’ Conkers said smoothly and, turning to the judge, bowed his head and said: ‘That will be all, My Lord.’
‘Thank you, Marchesa. You are excused,’ said Mr Justice Landsworth, looking at the clock obsessively as Clara stepped out of the witness box.
‘And now, if it’s agreeable with Counsel, I suggest we break now and return at ten-thirty tomorrow morning.’
Empress Bianca Page 30
