by Henry Cecil
Roger felt much better at the end of the day, but on the way home he wondered what his mother and Joy and Sally had thought of him. He found a note from Sally when he got home.
Well done, [it said]. Can I come and see you?
She ought to have been doing the case, thought Roger. She’d have told Mrs Newent a thing or two if she’d spoken to her like that. But then Mrs Newent wouldn’t have spoken to her like that. There wouldn’t have been any need to.
‘You were simply perfect,’ said his mother. ‘I was so proud of you. You were quite the best-looking in the row.’
‘How did you think I got on though?’
‘Well, of course, darling, I don’t know anything about law, but the judge seemed to do all the talking really. I suppose that’s what he’s there for.’
‘I did say something, Mother, and, if you remember, the judge thanked me in the end.’
‘Yes, I thought the judge awfully nice. I really would have liked to ask him to tea.’
‘Mother,’ said Roger in horror. ‘You mustn’t do anything of the sort. Promise you won’t?’
‘Of course, I won’t, if you’d rather I didn’t. But I would just like to drop him a note to thank him for being so sweet to you.’
Roger was very, very fond of his mother and he would never have cheerfully throttled her, but it was about the last straw. That’s all she’d seen. The judge being sweet to him. And the worst of it was that it was no doubt true. The judge had been sweet to him and he looked like a schoolboy. All the good work done by Henry for a moment seemed to have been wasted. He was back where he started. But then he realized that his mother might write to the judge. So he had to say something.
‘Mother’, he said, ‘you must promise not to do that either. The case is still going on. It would be most improper. You might get sent to prison and I might get disbarred.’
Just for the moment the idea of getting disbarred didn’t seem too bad. He would go abroad and do whatever one does there.
‘I was only joking, darling,’ said his mother. ‘You mustn’t take everything so seriously. What a nice woman Mrs Newent seemed. I was so sorry for her.’
‘Mrs Newent,’ said Roger deliberately, ‘is a bitch.’
‘Roger!’ said his mother. ‘If that’s the sort of language you are going to be taught at the Bar, I’m not sure that it’s a good thing I let you start. Really, you quite took my breath away. It’s not at all a nice word to use.’
‘It’s the only word,’ said Roger, ‘with which to describe Mrs Newent.’
‘I can’t think why you say that,’ said his mother. ‘Of course I didn’t hear or understand half of what was said, but as far as I could make out, her husband had run off with one of the boarders. No, don’t try and explain it, darling, I hate these legal technicalities and the sordid things that some husbands do. Not like your father, Roger. He was a very fine man. I thought you looked just like his pictures as a boy when I saw you in Court.’
‘Thank you, darling,’ said Roger. ‘I’m so glad you were pleased. Now I must use the phone.’
He telephoned Joy.
‘Roger, Roger darling. I was so thrilled. You were wonderful. I want to come right round now and kiss you, I’m so pleased. I never dreamed you’d be anything like that. You were quite perfect. And the judge thanking you at the end and everything. I’m so happy for you, I just don’t know what to do. You’ll have people coming to you to do their cases for them from everywhere. I’m sure Uncle Alfred will be terribly bucked. Oh, Roger – you are so clever. How do you do it?’
Knowing in his heart what the truth of the matter was, Roger did not take as readily to this eulogy as a young man might have been expected to do.
‘Thank you very much, Joy. I don’t think it was as good as all that, really.’
‘Oh, but Roger, it was, it was. And, d’you know, the woman sitting next to me asked if I knew who you were. I said you were one of the most brilliant of the younger men.’
‘Oh, you shouldn’t have, Joy, really. What did she say?’
‘Well, I didn’t actually catch what she said. She had to speak awfully quietly, as you know, or we’d have been turned out. But I know she was impressed. Probably she’s got a case coming on and she might even bring it to you. She was quite good-looking, Roger – but I shan’t be jealous – not after last night.’
Oh, Lord! thought Roger. Last night. She hadn’t forgotten. No, she wouldn’t. But after all, I must be fair. She did get me the brief – this bloody, bloody brief, he suddenly said to himself. No, I must control myself. I wonder what Uncle Alfred thinks about it all.
At that moment Uncle Alfred, that is, Alfred Merivale, senior partner in Thornton, Merivale & Co, was having a word with his managing clerk, Mr Smith, who had been in Court with Roger.
‘Don’t make such a fuss, George,’ he was saying. ‘We’ll just take in a leader next time.’
‘Who’s going to pay for it, sir?’
‘Well, you aren’t. So why should you worry?’
‘Mrs Newent won’t. She’s livid, sir. Says it’s our fault.’
‘You are a miserable devil, George. I don’t know how I’ve stood you for so long. Still we’ve got to have someone with a long face in the office. It’s good for funerals and people drawing wills, I suppose. How d’you say the young man did?’
‘He was quite hopeless, sir. I’ve seen some pretty good messes made of cases in the past, but that beat anything. My sympathies were all with the client, I can tell you. If I’d had someone appearing for me like that I think I’d have gone mad.’
‘No one is appearing for you, George. And the case isn’t over, anyway. Has he got a good presence, d’you think? You can’t expect him to say anything yet.’
‘Really, sir,’ said George. ‘I do think you ought to study the client a bit more. That case might have been lost today.’
‘Well, it wasn’t, George, it wasn’t. I believe you’d have been pleased if it had been. No, I think I did make a slight mistake, but fortunately it’s not too late to mend. We ought to have had someone to lead him in the first instance. After all, it was a discretion case and occasionally they go wrong. Yes, I ought to have thought of that. But it’s so seldom, that I’m afraid I took a chance on it. And no harm’s been done, George, no harm at all. On the contrary, I’ve learned a lesson. We must give him someone to lead him each time to begin with.’
‘Why on earth d’you want to have him at all, sir?’ grumbled George.
‘If a very old great-uncle chooses to pander to his very sweet little great-niece – at his own expense, George – at his own expense, what the devil does it matter to you? It won’t cost the client a penny more and the young man will get a nice lot of experience and quite a few guineas.’ He paused for a moment and thought. ‘Yes, George,’ he went on, ‘you’re quite right to be down on me for taking a chance with this case, but all’s well that ends well and only good has come of it. He’s very young at the moment. D’you think we’ll ever be able to send him into Court by himself?’
‘He’s quite well built,’ said George. ‘He could carry the books if the clerk’s missing.’
Meantime, Joy was continuing to compliment Roger on his magnificent performance and she went on so long and so ecstatically that in the end Roger almost began to wonder if he had been so bad after all.
‘I can’t manage just now, Joy, dear – but could we meet for a drink or a walk or something about nine?’
‘Where, darling?’
‘The Pot-hole?’
‘I’ll be there, darling. Oh, Roger, I am so happy for you.’
A few minutes later he telephoned Sally.
‘Thank you for your note, Sally. It was very sweet of you. Could I come and see you?’
‘Of course. Mother’s out at present. Excellent opportunity.’
He went round at once. She opened the door to him.
‘Glad you’re still in one piece,’ she said.
‘What d’you mean?’ s
aid Roger. He was still under the influence of Joy’s remarks.
‘Well, you did have a pretty rough time, didn’t you? I thought you took it very well. I’d have wanted to run away.’
‘You think I was rotten, I suppose,’ said Roger, a trifle sulkily.
‘Oh, Roger, don’t be silly. I tell you, I don’t know how you stood there at all. It was dreadful for you. Personally, I don’t think it should be allowed.’
The spell was broken.
‘That’s what Henry says,’ said Roger.
‘Who’s Henry?’
‘Henry Blagrove. A chap in Grimes’ chambers. I’ve told you about him, surely?’
‘Oh, that one, the nice one. Yes, you have. Well, I’m glad someone else agrees with me. I shall get quite swollen-headed soon.’
‘You mean about what the judge said?’
‘I must say I was rather pleased, after our little talk. But really, Roger, I thought you took it splendidly. I thought you were going to break down once, but you didn’t.’
‘Really, Sally, there is a limit, you know.’
‘Be honest, Roger. Didn’t you feel like dropping your brief and running for it?’
Roger laughed.
‘Why are you always so right, Sally? I’ve never known anyone like you – not any girl, anyway. Henry’s rather like you as a matter of fact – except – except–’
He didn’t finish the sentence.
‘Except what, Roger?’
‘Oh, nothing – forget it.’
‘Except that he’s kinder, Roger? Was that it?’
Roger said nothing. She was right again.
‘But you see, Roger,’ said Sally rather sadly, ‘Henry doesn’t happen to be in love with you.’
‘Oh, Sally,’ said Roger, ‘I wish I knew if I loved you, I really do. Why don’t you tell me if I do? You’re always right. I’ll believe you if you tell me.’
‘I don’t want to be right this time, Roger,’ said Sally.
Neither of them spoke for a time after that. Roger broke the silence with: ‘D’you think I’ll ever improve, Sally?’
‘D’you want to know what I really think?’
‘Yes, of course,’ he said quickly and then: ‘No – I’m not sure if I do.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Better get it over,’ he went on, ‘let’s have it. I can always sort football coupons.’
‘Roger,’ said Sally slowly, ‘I think you’re going to be a great man.’
‘Sally, you don’t, you don’t really?’ he said, fantastically excited, and then he suddenly choked. He’d have wept if he’d tried to say another word.
‘But,’ Sally went on quite calmly, ‘there’s a long way to go yet and you’ll have to work terribly hard. You’ll have a lot of disappointments, particularly because you’re so young and don’t understand anything yet. But you will, you will – and, barring accidents, you’ll go to the top. I shall be quite pleased I once knew you.’
‘Oh, Sally,’ he said and burst into tears.
He went down on his knees and put his head in her lap. She stroked it gently.
‘I love you, Sally, I love you. I know I do.’
‘You don’t, Roger, dear, though I love to hear you say it – and I’ll always remember that you did–’ She stopped for a moment as though deliberately pigeon-holing the memory – then she went on. ‘Roger dear, dearest Roger, you don’t love anyone at the moment – except Roger.’
They remained for a little while in silence.
‘Am I as bad as that?’ he asked eventually. ‘Just a selfish cad not minding who I hurt?’
‘No, of course not,’ she said more brightly. ‘But you’re young and ambitious and you like a good time too. And that’s all there is to it. And why shouldn’t you be like that? It’s perfectly natural. Now, dry your eyes and give me a nice kiss. I won’t read anything into it.’
Chapter Twelve
Conference with Mr Merivale
The next day Mr Merivale himself made an appointment to see Roger.
‘Good morning, young man,’ he said after they had been introduced. ‘I’m very grateful to you for all the work you’ve put into this rather troublesome little case of Newent.’
‘Oh, thank you, Mr Merivale. I haven’t done much good at present, I’m afraid.’
‘Well,’ said Mr Merivale, ‘he’s a difficult judge, she’s a difficult client and it’s not as simple a matter as I once thought. That’s my fault, not yours. Quite frankly, young man, I think it was unfair of me to ask you to take the responsibility.’
‘Oh, not at all. It was very good of you to send me the brief. I’m sorry I haven’t done better with it. I imagine you’d like to give it to someone else now.’
‘By no means,’ said Mr Merivale, ‘by no manner of means at all. I cannot think what could have put such an idea into your head.’ He hesitated a moment and then said: ‘You didn’t see my clerk after the first hearing, I suppose?’
‘No, I’m afraid I left in rather a hurry. Mrs Newent was rather offensive to me.’
‘Well, that’s all right then – I mean, I suppose she was a bit excited, but she shouldn’t have been rude. But that’s quite all right now. She quite understands the position and of course she wants you to go on with the case, of course she does. Be a fool if she didn’t. I hear from my clerk that you put up a very stout performance – “for the ashes of your fathers and the temples of your gods.”’
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Roger.
‘Horatius, my boy. “And how can man die better than facing fearful odds – for the ashes of his fathers, etc, etc.” Not that I’m suggesting you died, my boy. Far from it. Put up an excellent performance, excellent. Wish I’d been there to see it myself. I’ll come next time, though, I really will.’
‘I’m glad Mr Smith was pleased,’ said Roger.
‘Mr Smith was very pleased indeed,’ said Mr Merivale. ‘And I may tell you, young man, that Mr Smith is not a man who is easily pleased. Far, from it. Far from it. Particularly where counsel are concerned. No, I had a long talk with Mr Smith about you and I hope that in consequence we’re going to see a lot more of you, my boy. We need young men like you these days. Fighters, that’s what we want. Like your Mr Grimes, for instance. There are not many of them today. And there’s a fighter for you. Never knows when he’s beaten. D’you know, I’ve seen that man stand up in the Court of Appeal with the whole Court against him – all three of them – and battle with them for days. Another man would have sat down the first day.’
‘And did he win, Mr Merivale?’
‘No, my boy, I can’t say that he won that particular case. But he went on three days and no one could have done more. Birkenhead himself couldn’t have won it. Yes, that’s the man for my money – my client’s money, that is – a man who’ll stand up to it, a man who’s not frightened to tell the whole Court they’re wrong – courteously, of course. But firmly and definitely and again and again, if necessary, until they almost have to throw him out by force. If a man’s a fighter, I’ll back him to the end. But they’re very difficult to find today. Look at Marshall Hall, now, my boy. There was a fighter for you. Hardly knew a scrap of law, but it didn’t matter. He’d thunder at the jury until they daren’t convict his client. He’d never give up until the verdict had been returned. And, as often as not, it was in his client’s favour. Of course, he couldn’t win all his cases – no one could. Don’t forget that, my boy, when you lose some. But fight, my boy, fight all the time. You don’t mind an old man giving you a bit of advice, my boy?’
‘I’m most grateful. I think it’s very kind of you to take the trouble.’
‘Now look,’ went on Mr Merivale. ‘This case of Newent. Between you and me, it’s a tough ’un. It was bad of me not to realize it before. But we all make mistakes. That’s how we learn. Now, I want you to do me a favour, my boy, a personal favour.’
‘Why, certainly, Mr Merivale, of course I will.’
‘It’s just this. Newent’s a case where in my cons
idered opinion – my considered opinion, and of course I’ve been at it now for a good many years – Newent’s a case where I think two heads will be better than one. I remember the late Lord Atkin saying that to me in his junior days – we used to brief him, you know – yes, and Mr Scrutton, as he then was – oh, yes, and others too. I flatter myself I’ve always known how to choose counsel – that’s why I was so pleased to hear of you, my boy. I remember Atkin saying: “Merivale,” he said, “two of these,” and he tapped his head, “are better than one.”
‘“Mr Atkin,” I said, “there aren’t two like yours in the world.”
‘“Well, then,” he said, “get a leader with one as like it as you can find.” He was a great man, a very great man, but d’you see, he decided in that particular case that two heads were better than one. You’d never have thought it possible that a man with his brain could want help from anyone, but, “this is a case for a leader, Mr Merivale,” he said, and so a leader we had. And I’m going to make so bold in this case, young man, although I haven’t the head of an Atkin – but just a few more years of experience than you perhaps, eh? I’m going to make so bold as to suggest that we have a leader in this case. Now, sir,’ he added, ‘now, sir, would you have any serious objections to our taking that course? If you have, say so, and it shan’t be done. Mr Smith and I have absolute confidence in you, sir, absolute confidence. Those in fact were Mr Smith’s very words. “Would you trust him again in Court, Mr Smith?” I asked. “I would,” said Mr Smith, and he added – and mark this – “with something very heavy indeed.” One doesn’t often get remarks like that out of Mr Smith, I can tell you. And I don’t mind adding, I was pleased, my boy, because I hadn’t heard you myself. Now, what d’you say, my boy – you’ve only to say the word and we’ll drop the idea altogether – but would you take a very old man’s advice and – just as a favour to him – we get conceited, we old men, you know, and we like to think we’re always right – would you, just to tickle my vanity – would you agree to our taking in a leader?’
