‘OK. D’you want me to summon him?’
‘Would you? Thanks.’ Caro put down the phone and set about explaining why she was going to leave the perfect lacy whiteness of the flat and the convalescence Jess had designed for her.
‘Well, Trish, this is it,’ Antony said, as they stood outside the court, in their gowns and wigs. ‘How d’you feel?’
‘Numb,’ she said, lying for once because to talk about how she felt would threaten her self-control. He looked so sceptical that she added, ‘Too much has happened in the last few weeks to be able to feel anything much.’
‘That’s my line,’ he said. ‘Cheer up. We’ve got a good chance. And you must look more confident for the clients, even if not for yourself.’
All thirty claimants were here today, most with their husbands or wives. Will had come alone. He’d already told Trish that Susannah had wanted to be with him, but he’d needed to do this on his own.
Trish knew he didn’t have much confidence in the outcome, and she wished he had someone to stop him taking failure too seriously. Without his sister, or any friends, she’d have to talk him down herself, however seriously he’d meant his warning to avoid him when he was angry.
Something spiked in her mind. How could she have let this case come to matter so much? It had started so lightheartedly. Looking back, she could hardly believe the casual teasing she and Antony had indulged in at the beginning.
‘It’s not that bad,’ he whispered. ‘Liz has decided she’s overreacted and has taken the kids back to Tuscany. I’m to join them next week. You and I can have a celebratory or consoling dinner tonight. It’s only a case, Trish.’
No, it isn’t, she thought. It’s Will’s life and my self-respect. She thought of her own advice to Colin and knew she’d fallen into a trap she should have been experienced enough to avoid.
The usher appeared and beckoned them in. The claimants formed an orderly procession and marched in behind their solicitor. Some looked as if they were facing a firing squad; others as though they were already in a victory parade. Trish and Antony followed them, side by side with Ferdy Aldham and his team.
Only Colin was absent, hard at work on the papers for his immigration case. It wouldn’t come to court until the beginning of next term, but he was determined to do everything he could to get the right verdict. Trish hoped he’d win, for his own sake as well as for the tortured doctor’s. After all, he had been completely law-abiding in his attempts to get into England, and he had suffered terribly.
The idea of them made her think of the guns Ron Flesker had been bringing into the country. She hoped Tim’s approach to the police meant they would go after Ron. They already had Bob Flesker, who would almost certainly be convicted for the two murders he’d committed, and he and Tim would probably have to answer charges for the meat smuggling, but that would be it. Responsibility for the most lucrative – and dangerous – kind of smuggling would dissolve.
Trish tried not to feel a failure for not having done anything to stop Ron getting away with it. That was the worst of crime: the biggest criminals escaped with their profits and left the little scruffy ones to do the time.
Everyone in court stood as Mr Justice Husking swept in through the private door behind the throne-like bench. The lawyers bowed their bewigged heads to the notion of justice rather than to the man himself. After all, he’d been the failure, the one who was never going to make the millions Antony and Ferdy pulled in every year. They’d never liked him, but he wasn’t worth the kind of war they fought between themselves, so they found it easy to be polite to him.
Feeling bolshier than she had for years, Trish straightened the fronts of her gown and settled down to concentrate on the judgment.
‘ … and Furbishers Foods contended that the claimants had ignored the inescapable fact that the oral contracts were on terms that had nothing to do with the longer-term relationship they were intending to set up,’ Husking was saying, as he began to unravel the evidence he had heard.
Trish heard someone in the claimants’ bench gasp. She hoped it wasn’t Will. She’d tried to warn him of what this would be like. ‘It’ll be as bad for you,’ he’d said, but she knew he was wrong. Unlike her, he didn’t know the jargon or the reasons for the long-winded synopsis of everything that had happened in the past weeks.
‘While the claimants held that Furbishers had never mentioned the fact that there were two distinct and different contracts being discussed.’
She turned her head to see Grant-Furbisher glaring at the bench. His red face had a faint sheen of sweat, but that had to come from the heat rather than from fear. What would it matter to him, how the verdict went? If he lost, his business would have to pay damages to the suppliers who’d been ripped off and Furbishers’ share price would fall a point or two tomorrow. But he’d lose nothing personally. His fortune, and his family’s, was so big that the dip in the value of their shares wouldn’t matter. He had so much that he gave millions to charity every year. Even if he’d had to pay the damages himself, he wouldn’t exactly go hungry. But he would lose face. Maybe, if you were as rich as he, and as ridiculous looking, that mattered.
‘This contention of the claimants would have carried more weight, had it not been for the alleged protest by Mr William Applewood after the first, oral, contract had been offered to him.’
Oh, shit, Trish thought. Here it comes. Husking is going with Furbishers.
She could only see the side of Ferdy Aldham’s face from where she sat, but she knew it would show neither fear nor excitement. Like Antony, he would be impassive. Husking began to speak again. Neither of the silks moved to recross their legs or arrange their gowns or wigs during the whole two hours of the painstaking assessment of the case for both sides.
Trish tried to keep her mind in the same kind of order, but she felt it swinging one way, then the other, with the judge’s summing up. She wasn’t used to feeling like this. She tried to hold on to her faith in the moments when Husking showed warmth towards the claimants, but there were all too many when his sympathies were clearly with the defendant.
At last he reached the end and allowed a small, grave smile to disturb the stiffness of his expression.
‘And so, I find in favour of the claimants.’
Trish couldn’t resist a quick look over her shoulder at Will. She wasn’t going to display unseemly triumph, but she wanted to share the moment with him. He beamed at her like a child on his birthday. Then he mouthed the words ‘thank you’.
She looked back towards the judge, quite satisfied.
Antony was on his feet as soon as Husking had awarded their clients every penny of the damages they’d claimed, with interest to be calculated from the date each had received his written contract. Husking nodded to Antony, who then formally asked for costs to be awarded against Furbishers.
As Ferdy got to his feet to protest, Trish hoped Will would understand that if the judge didn’t award costs against Furbishers, some of the damages would have to go in settling the claimants’ legal bills. Quite a lot, in fact. It could come as a whole new blow if Will were faced with vast fees to pay just as he believed himself free of all his debts.
She waited, directing all her attention at him to wake him out of his stupor of delight. Eventually he saw her and she watched as awareness dawned. Satisfied, she turned back just in time to watch the judge as he gave costs against Furbishers, as easily as though he’d always intended to do it. And not just standard costs either, but the so-called indemnity costs, which were awarded only when the court considered there had been improper conduct on the part of the paying party. That must be punishment for the long, fruitless, and quite unjustified procedural argument they’d launched, which had made the case overrun in the first place.
The hardness of the bench helped Trish to hold on to her assumption of calm. Not for her and Antony the exuberance of some of the clients, who were hugging each other. It was a point of honour to remain unmoved, whatever happened to the case. But when the judge
had retired, Antony did turn, elbow propped on the back of the bench, to nod briefly at her.
‘You did well, Trish. Thank you.’
She smiled. ‘It was fun. Not the last bit, but the rest.’
‘So, we have dinner tonight?’
‘I’m not sure. I ought to see Will.’
‘Be careful, Trish.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘He thought you were the only woman for him at the start of the case. Now we’ve won him the best part of three million pounds plus costs, you’re going to seem like the answer to all his prayers. You’d better tell him you’re dining with me.’
‘I’ll let you know. I have to see someone else between now and then. I’ll phone you.’
He nodded and turned to face Ferdy. Neither of them spoke, but there was a tightness about Ferdy’s full lips that said everything.
Trish and Will were sitting on a bench in the Temple garden. She still had her red brocade bag with her, stuffed with her gown and wig, and her black linen suit felt much too formal for this part of the day, and much too hot. Will had dumped his jacket in a bundle on the bench and he’d pulled down his tie and undone the top two buttons of his shirt. His plastered leg was stretched out in front of him.
‘And so now I can tell you, Trish. I love you. I need you in my life.’
‘Will, I …’
‘No, listen. I know I didn’t help myself by sleeping with poor Mandy, but it was a kind of aberration. All part of the horror of what was going on. I didn’t believe I’d got a chance of winning the case, so I didn’t think I could ask you out.’
‘But …’
‘Wait, Trish. And listen. For once it’s me that’s got to talk. Like I said, I need you, and you don’t hate me, do you?’
‘Of course I don’t, Will.’ It was the truth. ‘But …’
‘In fact I think it’s more than that. You see, you’ve always been sweet to me, even that night when you were frightened because you thought I’d killed Mandy. That made me see you might need me as much as I need you. So I thought we ought to make plans to see each other.’
Trish put a hand on his good arm, as though only by touching him could she make him hear her.
‘Will, you must listen. I like you a lot. I think you’ve had a hell of a time and borne up incredibly well. I think you’re kind and clever and brave. But I can’t go out with you.’
He turned his head away, swinging his functioning leg in a vicious kick at the side of the bench. ‘Is it because of what I did to my father?’
‘You mean telling Jamie Maxden about how your father disposed of diseased meat to the local authority up north? No, Will, that’s not why.’
He lifted his head as if he’d just heard a shot in the distance. ‘So you did know. I thought you did. When did you find out?’
‘When I was trying to discover whether Jamie could have killed himself. I stumbled on it by accident, but it made such sense that I believed it straight away, as it made sense of the fight you had with Jamie after you found him with Susannah.’
He stared up at the sky. She thought he was trying to keep tears inside his eyelids.
‘It was the worst thing I’ve ever done, including getting Mandy killed. I was so angry with him that I just handed Jamie all the information he’d wanted for so long. The deal was that he would never – ever – tell anyone it came from me. That night I thought he’d broken his promise. But he hadn’t. He stuck to it right to the end. Not many men would have. And you know what happened: it ruined his career. Indirectly it led to his death too.’
‘Did anyone ever know that you’d given Jamie the information?’
Will looked at her for a second. She’d never seen such misery in his eyes.
‘Only my father. God knows how he found out. Maybe it was just a guess. But he came rampaging into the farm office, where I was filling out some of those interminable ministry forms, and started yelling at me. That’s when he had the stroke. If I hadn’t done it, he’d probably still be alive.’
He shook his head from side to side, as though he couldn’t bear the weight of his memories. At last he looked back at her, with the tears sliding out of his eyes. ‘Maybe you’re right to have nothing to do with me. Three people have died because of me.’
‘It’s not that, Will.’ She touched his arm again, and felt the tendons as hard as they’d been on the day he had to give his evidence. ‘I have someone already.’
‘What?’
She couldn’t work out whether rage or surprise was making his voice so rough. She had to work hard not to edge away along the bench.
‘It’s true,’ she said gently. ‘He’s called George Henton, and we’ve been together for nearly six years now.’
‘But you don’t wear a ring. And there’s never been any sign of him in your flat. Or in the way you live. Everything about you announces your single status.’ He rounded to face her again. ‘It’s not fair, Trish. You let me fall in love with you.’
‘I’m sorry.’ It was all she could say as he fought for the right words to tell her what she’d done to him. They didn’t come so, as usual, she had to try to help.
‘Will, don’t look like that. You’ve won your case. You’ve been vindicated. Everything you did and said and felt about Furbishers has been publicly applauded. You and all the other claimants you brought together will be put back into the financial position you were in before Furbishers screwed you. That’s a huge thing to have achieved. You can start again, and this time you’ll know how to protect yourself better.’
‘But I won’t have you.’ He pushed and pulled himself up off the bench. She just caught the last words. ‘None of it’ll mean anything without that.’
She watched him hobble away, wishing she’d been able to help. But he wouldn’t have been able to hear anything she said at the moment, and she had to get her mind clear so that she could talk to Kim.
*
Trish had avoided lunch. She didn’t want her mind fogged with food or drink when she came to talk to Kim, but emptiness was making her stomach rumble. She hoped it wouldn’t worry the child.
At exactly half past four the door to the interview room opened and Kim appeared with Mrs Critch. They were still not holding hands. Trish smiled at the woman, who sat down near the door, leaving Kim standing in her neat red dungarees and red-and-white striped shirt.
‘Hello, Kim. D’you remember me? I’m Trish Maguire.’
The blonde head bowed in silent acknowledgement. She didn’t look any different from the last time they’d met. There were still dark-violet crescents under her eyes.
‘Come and sit down.’
‘D’you want me to do a painting?’ Kim asked in a whisper.
‘Not this time,’ Trish said quietly.
When they were sitting opposite each other at the small, scarred table, Trish put her hands on the surface, balancing her wrists on the edge. Kim kept hers in her lap.
‘Kim, I need some help.’
The child didn’t look at her.
‘I am trying to save your mum.’
Kim’s eyelids flew up. Her lips remained tightly closed.
‘What happened to her when you made a noise in the night?’
Kim’s face crumpled, but she held on, breathing hard through her nose.
‘I know you’re frightened that something even worse will happen if you talk to us, but we can’t help her unless we know everything. Do you understand that, Kim?’
Kim shook her head. Tears flew out of her eyes. Still she didn’t speak.
‘You said that Daniel made you stand on the box after you’d been screaming in the night. Is that right?’
She nodded.
‘Was there more than that, Kim? Did something else happen?’
The tight, chewed lips didn’t open.
‘What did he say when he first told you to stand on the box?’
‘That if I couldn’t go to sleep without screaming when I had a bad dream, then I’d better not s
leep at all.’
‘So he made you take off your nightie and stand on the box to make you stay awake?’ This wasn’t a leading question, only confirmation of what Kim had already told her.
‘Yes. With the window open behind me.’
‘So you got cold?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you sometimes go to sleep anyway?’
‘Yes.’
‘What happened then, Kim?’
She looked across the tiny table, her eyes imploring Trish to stop.
‘Kim, we have to know what happened so that we can help. And we can help. I promise you.’
‘He said he’d kill her if I told.’
Trish held in her reactions and her fury with all her strength. It felt like the most enormous physical effort she had ever made. If Daniel Crossman had been standing in front of her, she might not have been able to keep her hands off him.
‘Who, Kim? Who did he say he was going to kill?’
‘My mum.’
‘Did he say how?’
‘With the knife.’ Tears were sliding out of her eyes now. She wiped the backs of both hands against her face.
‘Which knife, Kim?’
‘The vinyl one,’ she whispered, ‘with the red handle. He keeps it in the drawer by his bed.’
The stillness in the room was absolute. Trish had never known anything that took so much self-control.
‘Have you seen it?’
Kim’s eyelids lifted again. Through her tears, she looked at Trish as if she were a fool.
‘Of course. It’s what he uses when I fall off the box.’
‘When you go to sleep?’
‘Yes.’
‘How does he use it?’
The silence lasted for nearly five minutes. It felt like eternity. Trish knew she mustn’t ask anything else or offer any more reassurance; Kim had to do this on her own.
‘When I go to sleep and fall off the box,’ she said at last in a tiny voice, ‘he makes me watch while he cuts my mum.’
Trish fought to get herself and her voice back in order. No wonder Kim had twice run away from home. That must have seemed like the only way to save her mother since she couldn’t stop herself falling asleep, even naked in the cold blast from an opened window. No wonder she hadn’t told anyone about what happened.
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