Law and Peace

by Tim Kevan

  Ethel smiled and Arthur’s face lifted as if he’d just thought of something and he said, ‘You know what, I think you need to meet my friend TheColonel. Next time you’ve got a case in the West Country, you must tell me.’

  Monday 9 June 2008

  Year 2 (week 37): JudgeFetish

  So Friday evening went ahead as planned and I went along as Smutton’s date to a very swanky drinks party in Holland Park; all high ceilings, waiters and girls on their gap years serving canapés. Well, girls on their gap years and er . . . Worrier. I saw her coming out of the kitchen carrying a tray and when she saw me she not only blushed but dropped the tray in shock. I helped her pick the food up.

  ‘Oh, BabyB. I was so hoping I wouldn’t see anyone I knew.’

  ‘But why are you waitressing?’ I asked. ‘I thought you were working for some firm of solicitors?’

  ‘I am, BabyB. But I’m still re-training and they’re hardly paying me anything. Which on top of all the debts I racked up last year means that I’ve got to do a bit of moonlighting to make ends meet. Someone at work told me about this posh waitressing racket.’

  ‘Well, I bet you get a few stories to tell with this job,’ I commented cheerfully, hoping I’d help to calm her down.

  She brightened up at that and said, ‘Oh, BabyB, you’d never believe some of the things I’ve seen.’

  Her wide eyes were even wider than usual and she looked really quite pleased with herself to have experienced such things, albeit vicariously. Before I could hear more I caught an irritated look from Smutton and I jumped to attention, wished Worrier the best and went back to her side. Next minute and she was swishing me over to the other side of the room (after a little grope of my bottom) and introducing me (with a sharp elbow in the ribs) to SugarBaby, a lovely looking lady in her mid-twenties.

  ‘Er, hello,’ I said rather lamely. ‘I’m BabyBarista.’

  ‘Hello,’ she answered. ‘I’m Susie. How lovely to see someone my own age.’

  As we both looked around the room I realised it was full of very grown-up banker and private equity types with their equally grown-up WAGs in tow. Well, I say WAGs but there were also plenty of banker women with their own partners in tow, though there doesn’t seem to be any equivalent term for them. Maybe HATs: husbands and toyboys. The judge thankfully wasn’t around this evening, which made things far easier. Actually, I was just relieved not to be standing around talking about how interesting it must be to be a barrister and listening to people asking how we manage to defend people we know are guilty. (After all, what do you expect? The guilty ones tend to pay more. It’s far harder to defend someone you know is actually innocent.)

  SugarBaby actually proved to be extremely good company, all the more so given the alternatives, and by the end of the evening we were still engrossed in not talking to the bankers. However, the trouble was that the more drunk I got the more I started to talk about Claire and about how I had lost any chance with her. This didn’t actually go down as badly as it might have done, because SugarBaby then started to tell me all about her current beau, although as she said early on, ‘I can’t really tell you very much, BabyB, because he’s married.’

  Well I knew that already, of course, not that I was going to tell her. But I did start to wonder whether, if this was all the revelation I was going to get out of her, then perhaps the evening was going to prove somewhat fruitless. But as the party went on, more details about our judge started to emerge, albeit somewhat organically. Perhaps the juiciest of these was:

  ‘You know, BabyB, it’s weird but he’s got a thing for shoes and underwear.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ I replied drunkenly, ‘don’t we all?’

  ‘No. I mean he really has a thing for it. For Myla underwear, even if it’s just a hint of it, and Christian Louboutin shoes. That little red Louboutin sole sends him wild.’ She gave a twirl of her ankle and looking down I caught a glimpse of polished leather above a scarlet sole. ‘It’s a complete fetish. Drives him absolutely crazy.’

  Oh.

  As I looked at SugarBaby’s shoes I was beginning to see that JudgeFetish might have a point, and by the end of the evening there was only one place I was heading and it wasn’t to Smutton’s. Mind you, whilst she was busy fooling around with yours truly, SugarBaby continued to ramble on about how good her sugar daddy was to her, keeping up a constant, whispered refrain of ‘this can’t lead anywhere’.

  All of which worked for me and it was mid-Saturday morning when I finally made the walk of shame home from her little judge-funded flat in West Kensington. I texted Smutton to organise a meeting with her this afternoon.

  Tuesday 10 June 2008

  Year 2 (week 37): First blush

  Before we go any further, let me explain how I feel about older women. Or at least how I’ve recently started feeling about older women since Sarah Palin was first touted as a Vice-Presidential nominee in the States. I don’t know whether it’s the glasses or the Lois Lane-type appeal but she’s definitely got something and it’s certainly not her policies. Given that she’s over twenty years older than me, this is beginning to give me cause for concern. Not only because I’ve inexplicably developed a crush on a politician but also, more worryingly, because she seems to have awakened what has presumably been a latent interest in older women more generally. OK, I admit that in the past JudgeJewellery has caused me to blush, but I figured that she was just a one-off, particularly as I’d been so horrified when UpTights tried it on last year. But now SoccerMum Sarah and her sexy little pair of glasses have taken it to a whole new level.

  Thus I found myself in a particularly vulnerable state yesterday afternoon when I arrived for my meeting with Smutton, an older woman who puts even TheVamp in the shade when it comes both to glamour and flirtation, not least because I knew that the conversation was likely to veer on to sex and women’s underwear.

  ‘Ah, if it isn’t BabyCasanova himself,’ she purred. ‘First it was TopFlirt I hear and now SugarBaby. Good work, BabyB. You really are a very talented little barrister who I’m sure will go very far indeed.’

  She raised an eyebrow as if to smirk ‘all the way in fact’ without actually saying it. I blushed because although neither ‘conquest’ had been part of a grand sordid plan of seduction, she was merely stating the facts.

  Then she added, ‘I hope some day I might get the chance to experience first hand just how good your skills really are.’

  ‘My advocacy skills, clearly,’ I said.

  ‘Well, I was certainly thinking that your oral abilities would have a part to play . . .’

  She moved over to the sofa and sat down. ‘Have a seat,’ she said, motioning to a chair opposite, which I sank into.

  ‘Anyway, my little horsehair love machine,’ she continued. ‘Tell me what you found out.’

  ‘He’s got a thing for Myla and Christian Louboutins,’ I said nonchalantly, as if I had in-depth knowledge of both.

  ‘Ah-ha, and don’t tell me, you’ve followed up that discovery with a little online research of your own?’ she smiled. ‘I bet you spent a little more time “researching” Myla than you did finding out about the shoes.’

  ‘Anyway,’ I said, ploughing on, ‘it’s more than just a small thing for him.’

  ‘I bet it is,’ said Smutton. ‘At least when SugarBaby’s around anyway.’

  ‘More like a full-on fetish if she’s to be believed,’ I said.

  ‘Not as rare as you might imagine, BabyB,’ mused Smutton. ‘Particularly when it comes to Her Majesty’s judiciary.’

  ‘Well, I was thinking that we might be able to use it in some way. I don’t know,’ I paused and shifted uncomfortably. ‘Maybe you and TheVamp might perhaps, ahem, bear his preferences in mind when you dress to come to court?’

  ‘BabyB. For one who plays such a worldly game, you’re very naïve sometimes.’

  I looked at her, uncomprehending.

  ‘It’s long been considered a simple matter of professional good practice,’ sh
e explained as if giving a lecture on the law of trusts, ‘for female lawyers to dress in exactly the way you suggest for any court hearing involving a male judge.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Sarah Palin was starting to loom dangerously in my mind as Smutton leant back a little on the sofa and crossed her legs, revealing in the process a tantalising glimpse of suspender belt through the slit in her skirt.

  ‘Er, so have you and TheVamp been dressing to please the judge all along?’ I asked, my voice slightly raised.

  ‘Of course we have. Didn’t you notice? Every young man worth his salt should recognise the Christian Louboutin shoes.’ She lifted her foot in the air to reveal the distinguishing red sole underneath.

  ‘Oh.’

  Except that’s not all she revealed. After – as Smutton had correctly surmised – my extensive internet research, her Myla underwear was, let’s just say, very easy to recognise.

  ‘As for the underwear—’

  ‘Yes, well, quite,’ I interrupted. By this point my face was beginning to resemble a beetroot.

  ‘BabyB. How sweet. You blush rather easily it seems.’

  ‘Er, well, anyway.’

  Tongue-tied was not a phrase I wanted to hand her at this stage of the conversation and so I gave up trying to find my words.

  ‘And for what it’s worth, according to TheVamp, even your oh-so-innocent little friend Claire isn’t quite as clean-cut as you might imagine. TheVamp certainly spotted her out in Louboutin shoes the other evening and well, I’m sure you could enlighten me further as to her choice of underwear.’

  Oh.

  She continued, ‘But looking beyond that, BabyB, you’ve actually given me another idea and it’s one we need to pass by BrainWasher in the next couple of days.’

  After which she brought the meeting to an abrupt end and I pretty much fled for the door.

  Wednesday 11 June 2008

  Year 2 (week 37): WhistleBlown out of the water

  ‘Yes, I do have one or two questions for the witness,’ said UpTights in court this morning.

  Rather to our surprise, WhistleBlower had arrived on time and with no tales of having been threatened off the case, which immediately made me worry that we might have missed something. UpTights’s tone as she started her cross-examination this morning did nothing to allay those fears.

  ‘Is it correct to say that in the past you have had problems with drugs?’ asked UpTights.

  ‘My Lord,’ interrupted OldSmoothie, ‘my learned friend has presented no evidence in support of such an assertion.’

  ‘My Lord, the witness is under a duty to tell the truth and I do not therefore anticipate the need to produce such evidence. But if she denies the suggestion then, of course, such evidence will be forthcoming.’

  ‘This is an outrage, my Lord. Trying to spring such an allegation without any warning.’

  ‘My Lord, the huffing and puffing of my learned friend only suggests that he has concerns himself about this issue. Perhaps he might like to wait for the witness to answer before he jumps to any more sweeping conclusions.’

  UpTights was completely wiping the floor with OldSmoothie and all he could do was ‘Harrumph’ and say, ‘Well I don’t exactly see that the question has any relevance at all, but if my learned friend insists on wasting valuable court time with such matters then so be it.’

  UpTights savoured the moment and rose very slowly to her feet, smiling over at OldSmoothie before carefully saying, ‘I’m sorry for that little interruption. I’ll repeat my question. Is it correct to say that in the past you have had problems with drugs?’

  WhistleBlower looked at the judge and said, ‘Does this have any relevance? I thought I’d only have to answer questions about the documents.’

  The judge looked down at WhistleBlower and said, ‘I’m afraid that very much depends upon your answer, my dear. I think Ms UpTights here is attempting to question your credibility as a witness. So it might be a help if you simply answered the question that is being asked.’

  Having heard the threat of further evidence being produced, WhistleBlower looked in no mood to argue the point and she answered, ‘Yes, it’s true, but I’ve been clean now for over ten years.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said UpTights. ‘And is it also the case that you suffer from clinical depression?’

  WhistleBlower again looked at the judge who nodded rather kindly at her, a bit like a hangman smiling at his next victim on the gallows. ‘It’s true that I am a sufferer. However, I take medication that keeps the symptoms under control.’

  ‘Most of the time,’ said UpTights. ‘Though you have taken a number of days off work in the last few years as a result of your condition.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Is it also right that you recently had your employment terminated with the defendant company?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And that since then you have made a claim through your solicitors for unfair dismissal?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Strangely UpTights looked a little awkward after this answer, even for her. This raised my suspicions, particularly when her next question didn’t even follow up on what she had elicited: ‘Moving on to the documents that you leaked. Are they original documents or copies?’

  ‘Photocopies.’

  ‘Did you ever see the originals?’

  ‘Er, no.’

  So the copies you leaked were in fact photocopies of copies?’

  ‘Er, yes.’

  ‘And where did you find them?’

  ‘They appeared on my desk one day.’

  ‘So is it at all possible that these documents could have been forged and put on your desk by someone wanting to harm the defendant company?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is possible.’ She looked at her feet a little shiftily as she said this and I suddenly started to wonder whether she had in some way been forced to change her tune.

  ‘Thank you, Ms WhistleBlower. You have been most . . .’ she turned to OldSmoothie as she said this and smiled maliciously, ‘. . . helpful. My Lord, I have no more questions.’

  As she sat down, TopFirst passed me a note across the bench that said, ‘Hope you’ve been practising your coffee skills.’

  I poked OldSmoothie’s back to get his attention and when he turned around I whispered, ‘Ask her what happened to the employment claim.’

  ‘I’m not going to ask her a question I don’t know the answer to.’

  ‘Look, it can’t be any worse than what we’ve got so far. Come on, have a stab in the dark.’

  He raised his eyebrows and, shrugging his shoulders, turned back to WhistleBlower. ‘Ms WhistleBlower. It was mentioned that you recently made a claim for unfair dismissal. What has happened to that claim?’

  WhistleBlower looked distinctly uncomfortable at this question and OldSmoothie quickly followed it up with, ‘Let me put it another way. Has it recently settled?’

  ‘Er, well, er . . .’

  Again she looked at the judge and again he gave her the hangman’s smile.

  ‘Er, yes, it did settle actually.’

  ‘And what were the terms of that settlement?’

  I smirked at TopFirst who was not looking quite so smug now. UpTights got to her feet to object.

  ‘My Lord, the terms of that settlement were strictly confidential and the witness is under no obligation in this court to breach that settlement contract now.’

  ‘Yes, quite,’ said the judge. ‘Thank you, Ms UpTights.’

  The judge looked at WhistleBlower and gave her a reprieve. ‘You don’t need to answer that.’

  ‘But, my Lord,’ said OldSmoothie indignantly, ‘I’d like to investigate the possibility that this witness has been paid off.’

  This would have meant OldSmoothie having to declare that he suddenly wanted to treat her as what they call a hostile witness and therefore try and get permission to cross-examine her.

  ‘I’m afraid you’re somewhat hoisted by your own petard on that one, w
ouldn’t you say? Even if you were to declare this witness to be hostile, you still wouldn’t have any evidence to support such a suggestion, a point you were taking only a little while ago against the other side’s new allegation.’

  The judge beamed at OldSmoothie with great satisfaction. With no jury to play to, all OldSmoothie could do was answer through gritted teeth and with a resigned sigh, ‘Of course, my Lord.’

  Then UpTights gratuitously leapt to her feet and said with a manic cackle, ‘I have a client who is an Everest mountaineer and he was telling me the other day that they have a term for people who experience feelings of utter dejectedness as a symptom of high-altitude sickness. You know, that feeling of defeat, when all ambition is spent and, more than anything in the world, all you want to do is just to go home. It’s called “crump”, my Lord.’

  Then her mania became tinged with madness. ‘Crump, crump, crump, my Lord. That’s what it is. Now perhaps my most learned of friends might care to descend to the lower and more hospitable grounds of litigation with which he is far more familiar and where I’m certain he’ll be much more comfortable.’

  As she sat down, TopFirst looked over at me and made a gesture to indicate that he’d like a coffee and mouthed, ‘White, one sugar.’

  Thursday 12 June 2008

  Year 2 (week 37): Hypnotism

  ‘After yesterday’s fiasco we really need to start upping the ante on our, er, other litigation strategies.’

  I was in Smutton’s office, sitting on the sofa with BrainWasher as she held court. She turned her gaze to him. ‘Now, BabyB here might already have explained about our judge’s little predilection for certain types of clothing. But it inspired me to think of taking your brainwashing to a whole new level. What do you think about hypnotism?’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ I said before BrainWasher had a chance to answer. ‘So, I’ll get out the stopwatch and start telling him he’s falling asleep, shall I?’