And then Bruce Hayward rose to his feet and looked around the court … There was a silence, while he appeared to be waiting for absolute attention. He always did that, Philip Gordon knew, for as long as he dared.
Finally then: “My lord, we are here today to consider the case of Shaw v. Shaw, and the matter of custody of Emmeline Shaw, aged six. This is necessitated by the ending of the marriage due to the admitted adultery of her mother, Elizabeth Shaw …”
It went on and on, the catalogue of Eliza’s wrongdoing, until …
“We now come to the night that Mr. Shaw describes as being the last of his marriage. Mrs. Shaw was in Scotland, working, for three days; Emmeline was left in the care of the nanny and her maternal grandmother. Mr. Shaw arrived home to find the child unwell; she became dramatically worse; the doctor was called and he advised she be taken to casualty. She was crying for her mother, crying to speak to her; Mr. Shaw phoned the hotel where his wife was staying and was put through to her room; a man answered the phone. The man with whom she was committing adultery. It was at that point, Mr. Shaw said, that he lost faith finally in Mrs. Shaw not only as a wife, but as a mother.
“I would submit, therefore, Your Honour, that Mrs. Shaw is clearly an unfit person to have charge of her child, and that sole custody be granted to Mr. Shaw.”
This was horrible. How could she bear it; how was she going to get through a week of this, of hearing these lies and innuendos and distortions of the facts? Toby had tried to warn her, but nothing could have prepared her for this … She looked at him across the court, sitting very still, very calm, studying papers, making notes, listening to Bruce Hayward with great attention, and felt a rush of rage that he could do that, not leap to his feet and her defence, saying, That is not so, not how it was; this is not true, most assuredly not true. Well, he had warned her, but he seemed a very different creature from the man who had made love to her only three days before …
“… Your Honour, I would now like to call Mr. Shaw …”
He looked very nervous, Eliza thought. He was really scared. Well … good.
“Mr. Shaw, perhaps you would like to tell us, in your own words, why you think you should have care, and indeed custody, of your daughter. You are, after all, a very busy man; you work long hours; why do you think she would be better off with you than her mother? Take your time.”
Matt cleared his throat.
“I have worked very long hours in the past; it’s true. But if I was to gain custody of Emmie—of my daughter—I would make sure that didn’t happen. I have a large company now, with many employees, and I am very well able to delegate all but the most complex tasks. I am already looking at adjusting my schedule to allow for me to be home very shortly after Emmie is back from school …”
“And while you were at work, and she was not at school, if she was ill or something like that?”
“I have already located a very competent nanny, a woman of mature years, Norland trained”—He’s learnt this off by heart, Eliza thought—“who would be available twenty-four hours a day, and would collect Emmie from school, and of course be with her full-time on the holidays. My mother, who has taken care of Emmie regularly from birth, would also be on call during the term time and would spend at least two days a week with Emmie on the holidays …”
“Yes, Mr. Gilmour?”
Toby rose to his feet. He smiled at Matt.
“Mr. Shaw, good morning. A question. Emmie already has a nanny, Miss Jennifer Grant, whom she knows and loves. Why would you not continue to employ her?”
“I think the woman I have decided upon—”
“You’ve already decided on her? Has Mrs. Shaw met her?”
“No, no, she hasn’t. But this person, in my opinion, is of a much higher calibre, more highly qualified, and would work for me—us—full-time. Miss Grant is a shared nanny.”
“Yes, I see. Thank you, Mr. Shaw.”
Matt was staring at his hands, seemingly silenced. The interruption had clearly rattled him. Bruce Hayward rose to his feet again.
“Mr. Shaw, the court would like to hear more about your plans for Emmie, and the more humdrum aspects of her care. In my experience, this is something we males find rather tedious.”
“Actually, I don’t find it that at all,” said Matt, and his voice suddenly became stronger, less defensive. “From the moment she was born I’ve enjoyed it, looking after her. And I was there that day—at her birth.”
“You were there?” said Bruce Hayward. “How very … unusual.”
“Yes, of course I was there. I wanted to be, I felt”—his voice shook slightly—“I felt it was probably the most important day of my life …”
He means it, thought Eliza; you can tell; this is not rehearsed emotion. And she felt, in spite of everything, a lump rising in her throat, and looked at Matt through a blur of tears.
“I see. Well, I have to tell you I am very impressed.”
“Well … I thought it was important for all three of us, my wife, the child, and me. And it was an amazing experience. It changed my life. And I think my relationship with Emmie has always been closer as a result. I was the first person to hold her, apart from the midwife who delivered her …”
“And would you say this has formed your attitude to the more intimate aspects of her care?”
“Yes, I would, if you mean things like changing nappies, looking after her when she was … well, throwing up, you know. I’ve never minded it at all.”
“Most admirable.”
“Mr. Shaw.” Toby was playing this very skilfully, Philip thought, very calm, almost laid-back, a rather charming contrast to the foxy Hayward.
“I too am impressed. I have not been blessed with fatherhood, but I have always found babies rather messy, smelly objects. I applaud your strong stomach along with your devotion.”
Matt looked at him warily.
“However … you have never done it on a daily basis, have you? Seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year. It is a kind of recreational duty, wouldn’t you say? After a long, tough day on the building site or in the boardroom, it is probably quite attractive to come back to something completely different.”
“I’ve never been able to do it seven days a week,” said Matt. “Obviously I’ve had to earn the money to finance it all; I couldn’t just stay at home; everything would fall apart—”
“Of course. I just wanted to make the point that, impressive as your record is, it is based on a slightly romantic model. You have always known that at the end of that night or that weekend, you will be returning to the nice, clean, adult world of your office. You don’t have to continue looking after the … er, puking kid.”
“Well … I explained why not.”
“Of course. I merely wanted to make the point.”
Point well made, thought Philip Gordon.
“I also found my wife’s attitude towards motherhood difficult to understand,” said Matt. “She wanted to go back to work when Emmie was really still very young. I couldn’t understand it. A child needs its mother. And looking after a child is surely the most important job there is. Even working part-time, which was what she was talking about—it just seemed wrong to me.”
“But she did not take a job?” inquired Toby Gilmour, his voice honey-sweet. “Why was that?”
“Well … I was very opposed to it. Which she knew.”
“And she acquiesced to that?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds quite accommodating to me.”
Matt became silent again; he had clearly had this planned, but not rehearsed.
Bruce Hayward stood up.
“Mr. Shaw, there was another chapter in the story, wasn’t there? Which we have only touched upon so far. Tell us about that, Mr. Shaw, about the … the other child.”
“Yes. We had a … a tragedy. Another child, a boy, born three months premature. Who … who died. My wife became very depressed …”
“Not surprisingly.”
“No
, of course not.”
“And what was your role then, did you feel?”
“Well … to try to … to cheer her up, support her. And, of course, to get things back to normal. But … she was very … very down. She wasn’t sleeping; she cried all the time—”
“Would you say this had a bad effect on your relationship, Mr. Shaw?” Toby Gilmour had stood up again.
“No. No, of course not.”
“You were able to continue to support her? Even though obviously you went back to work. Of necessity.”
“Yes. But …”
“But?”
“She didn’t seem to want me to do that. To support her. She … avoided me. Wouldn’t spend time with me. She was quite … hostile.”
“And—forgive me, Mr. Shaw—had intimate relations between you ceased at this time?”
“Objection, Your Honour.”
“No, I think it is relevant. Mr. Shaw, answer the question, please.”
Eliza had not thought to feel a shred of sympathy for Matt ever again; she did now, as he looked down, clearly going through the tortures of the damned, remembering her constant rejections, his hurt, forced to this public admission of failure; she felt again a lurch of her heart … and looked thoughtfully at Toby, remembering his words and indeed the situation in which he spoke them: You may not like me very much as the week goes on …
“Er … yes,” Matt said finally. “At that time.”
“But … not permanently?”
“No.”
He pulled out a handkerchief, wiped his forehead.
“And then Mrs. Shaw saw this psychiatrist, I believe?” Bruce Hayward’s tone was thoughtful.
“Yes, yes, she did.”
“Who diagnosed depression?”
“Yes. And her behaviour towards Emmie became very … very erratic. She was short-tempered, shouted at her a lot, often took her late to school. I was anxious for Emmie; I felt she wasn’t safe.”
“Mr. Gilmour?”
“Mr. Shaw, I believe the strictly accurate diagnosis was of postnatal depression.”
“Yes, it was.”
“I don’t see the relevance of this, Your Honour.”
“I simply wanted, my lord, to make it clear that it was not an ongoing problem for Mrs. Shaw. She is not a depressive personality; this was a reactive depression, not an endogenous one; there is a difference, as I am sure your lordship would appreciate …”
“Point taken, Mr. Gilmour. Proceed, Mr. Shaw.”
“There isn’t very much more to say. I have come to believe that from that time my wife has simply not been a reliable person, not suited to take care of Emmie. Emmie is my first priority in life, and I … I love her very much; I want to see her happy and safe. I think I can make her and keep her so. That’s … that’s all.”
“Thank you, Mr. Shaw. Time for a break, I think.”
“Want any lunch?”
Eliza shook her head; she was numb with misery. It was so clearly so hopeless; she was being completely pilloried, as Toby had said she would be. She wanted to run and run, to go to Summercourt, stay there, hidden where no one could find her …
“Let’s go to my rooms,” said Toby Gilmour. “Come along, Eliza; that was the very, very worst part over. As Winston Churchill might have said, the end of the beginning.”
“Why didn’t you argue more; why didn’t you ask more questions?”
“I asked what was pertinent for the moment. We have plenty of time, and I shall ask plenty of questions … Try to trust me.”
“I would like to call my first witness.” Bruce Hayward looked as if he had enjoyed his lunch: almost lit up with adrenaline, his eyes sparkling, his color high. “Miss Louise Mullen …”
She looked marvellous, Eliza thought, dressed in cream gabardine, cool, calm, very composed. She must be very fond of Matt to be doing this, and especially after they had had that very ugly professional split … Very good of her, very good of her indeed.
Bit of a funny choice for a first witness, Philip Gordon thought, someone who knew Matt only professionally, and Toby Gilmour thought the same, that clearly this was the other side’s weakest ground, the defence of Matt as prospective sole parent …
“Miss Mullen, you’ve worked with Mr. Shaw for … how long?”
“Many years. From when he first founded his company.”
“And Mr. Shaw was not then married to Mrs. Shaw?”
“No. He wasn’t even going out with her. He was … well, he was married to the firm.”
Whoops, Louise. Mistake. That’s not going to help at all.
“But it was very early days; it was necessary for him, for all of us, to work round the clock.”
“Of course. But these days?”
“Well … he does work very hard. Of course. But the company is very successful; he employs a lot of people; he can afford to work a much shorter day.”
“And … in your opinion, is Mr. Shaw capable of making a good home for his daughter, of acting as both father and mother?”
She hesitated; then she said, “I do think so, yes. If … well, if devotion has anything to do with it. He is quite exceptionally devoted to Emmie. He has always adored her from the day she was born; I shall always remember him coming in straight from the hospital, high as a kite. He said he felt as if he could have flown out of the window. He said he felt”—she hesitated, looked over at Matt—“immortal.”
“I see. And … did this devotion continue?”
“Yes, it did. He was always coming back from lunch with presents for her, dresses, toys, books to read to her when he got home; we”—she smiled briefly here—“we, the others in the office and I, had to listen at great length to her accomplishments, how advanced she was, and if Mr. Shaw had to work late, he would always ring her up, say good night to her on the phone, sometimes even read to her, sitting there at his desk.”
The tribute went on: about Matt studying horse care, so that he could get involved with the whole pony thing, how he had sometimes come in looking quite exhausted, having been up with Emmie in the small hours. “I remember when she had measles, it went on for night after night …”
“Where was her mother?” asked Bruce Hayward. “Asleep?”
“I object to the tone, my lord,” said Gilmour.
“I agree. Please continue, Miss Mullen.”
“Eliza was there too, of course, but they did it in shifts, apparently. Except once, when she was very ill, when they both sat up, he told me, one on either side of the bed.”
“Right. That all sounds most exemplary,” said Bruce Hayward. “No one could fail to be impressed by Mr. Shaw’s commitment to his daughter.”
“No, they couldn’t,” said Louise, “and I’m very impressed by the way he has everything planned, how he is going to arrange his life around her—”
“Yes, yes, we’ve heard about that from Mr. Shaw. Any more questions, Mr. Hayward?”
“No, my lord.”
“Mr. Gilmour?”
“Yes, thank you. Miss Mullen, clearly you and Mr. Shaw had a very good working relationship. I understand you are no longer business partners.”
“No, that’s right.”
“Could you tell us why?”
“Yes, we had a … a disagreement. I resigned.”
“Of a personal nature?”
That was … mean, Eliza thought and then:
“No, of a business nature.”
“I see. So your relationship is purely a business one; is that correct?”
“Yes, it is.”
“There is nothing personal between you?”
“Absolutely not.”
“But you are clearly friends? You want to help him.”
“Yes,” said Louise steadily, “we are friends and I want to help him.”
“I see. Well, you are a good friend, Miss Mullen. I hope he appreciates you.”
Could there be more between them? Could there?
“Did you admire Mr. Shaw as a businessman?”
/>
“Yes, very much. He built up the company from nothing.”
“He was one hundred per cent committed to it, I imagine? How do you think he will adjust to a slightly more … detached role?”
“I think it will be hard for him. Very hard. But he’s prepared to do it, and I think that shows the extent of his love for Emmie.”
“Have you spent much time with Mr. and Mrs. Shaw and Emmie?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“So you’re not really very well equipped to comment on his parenting skills? Beyond what you have already told us? I just want to put your … testimonial, passionate as it is, in proportion.”
Louise met his eyes very steadily.
“No. No, I’m not. But I am equipped to comment on his personal ones, and he is a very determined person, and whatever it is he puts his mind to, he will see it through. And right now, he’s put his mind to being the main figure in Emmie’s life. He even said to me that he would be prepared to sell the company in order to care for her full-time. If it became apparent that was necessary. And he loves that company; it would be like selling part of himself. One day Emmie will be very proud of her father.”
“I see. Thank you, Miss Mullen.”
She was amazing, thought Matt. Completely amazing. Standing up there, beating the drum for him, putting herself through this, when there was absolutely no need, just because she wanted to help him.
He watched her, cool and calm, and so bloody clearheaded and articulate, so impressive, and he felt a sudden thud of … God, he’d thought it was gratitude, but actually it was something a bit … a bit different.
“I would now call my next witness, Mrs. Sandra Shaw.”
Well, she’d be predictable … and she was … wonderful son … wonderful father … wonderful family man …
“Mrs. Shaw—”
Toby Gilmour had stood up very slowly; he smiled at Sandra Shaw.
“Mrs. Shaw. Could you tell us what sort of mother you consider your daughter-in-law to be? Remember you are under oath.”
“I … I think she has been a good mother. In the early days, yes.”
“How would you define ‘good mother’?”
“Well … she looked after her very well. She seemed to love her. Emmie was certainly very well cared for. And Eliza used to work very hard at keeping her amused: take her to visit her friends, things like that. She used to bring her over to see me quite often, because she knew I liked that.”
More Than You Know Page 59
