At the Dark Hour

by John Wilson

  The cross-examination was winding down. Novak appeared to be unbowed and, if anything, a little pleased with himself. Preston sat down and Novak transferred his gaze to Blytheway, answering a couple of perfunctory questions. Then he was being escorted back to the cells, his eyes fixed on the dock as he was taken out and down. That was the end of the case for the defence, then, and Preston began rising to his feet to make his closing address to the jury. Suddenly his head jerked round in the direction of Blytheway. He stood for about half a minute before sitting down again. Adam could sense his irritation.

  Blytheway was on his feet and addressing the judge. He spoke for about two minutes before Mr Justice Sherdley turned to the jury and, plainly, asked them to leave the court room. When the jury box had been vacated Blytheway stood again and continued to address the judge. Mr Justice Sherdley betrayed first impatience, then irritation and finally resignation. Blytheway sat down and Mr Justice Sherdley turned to Preston. Leading Counsel for the prosecution was plainly even more irritated than the judge. He was shouting again, gesticulating furiously and shooting angry glances in Blytheway’s direction. Blytheway had returned to filing his nails. When Preston had finished Roly stood up briefly to reply. Mr Justice Sherdley gave a brief judgment on the issue and then stood and bowed to counsel, who stood and bowed in return. It was four thirty. The court was rising for the day and would resume on Friday. Adam decided to make himself scarce.

  Chapter Eighty-one

  (Thursday 3rd April 1941)

  Adam let himself into Blytheway’s room. A clerk was busy putting the blackout shades in place, lighting his electric fire and switching on the Tiffany lamps. He looked up as Adam entered and asked whether he would like a cup of tea. Adam nodded and the clerk left, returning fifteen minutes later carrying a tray with a pot, two cups and a little jug of milk. Adam helped himself and then looked around the room that he had first seen as a client. On one wall was a complete leather-bound collection of the English Reports. Beneath these were the recently launched All England Reports. There were first editions of Sir Edward Coke’s Institutes of the Lawes of England and Sir William Blackstone’s Commentaries on the Laws of England. Blytheway’s active cases were laid out neatly on another shelf. Adam rifled through them and found his own case about three from the top. He undid the pink ribbon and leafed through the pages of the brief. Remarkably, it was devoid of any pen or pencil marks: no underlining, no comments in the margins. He tied up the brief, took a seat on the client side of the desk and waited. Blytheway would be back before the tea went cold.

  The door opened as he was lifting the cup to his lips.

  – I thought I might find you here.

  Blytheway hung his red bag and his overcoat on the coat stand.

  – Tea.

  he said, and went over to pour himself a cup. Then he took his place behind his desk and looked quizzically at Adam.

  – So, what was going on today?

  – I would have thought that fairly obvious.

  – Why didn’t you tell me it was happening?

  – You have enough to worry about, sweetheart.

  – But I could have helped you …

  – Oh, I don’t think so, dear boy. It was better that you stayed as far away as possible. I was pleased to see that you had disappeared before Preston came out of court. He was not in a good mood.

  – Why? What happened?

  – Well, strictly of course I shouldn’t tell you as we were all obliged to sign the Official Secrets Act before the trial could continue in camera. But you know so much of the story anyway and I am sure I can count on your discretion.

  – The court went into camera because of that stuff about secret codes I suppose?

  – Yes. That was inevitable. It started on Wednesday actually.

  – That’s why the public gallery had been cleared when I arrived?

  – Precisely. Do you remember, last time around, how aerated Preston had become when I asked how it was that the police were able to target Novak’s floorboards? We got around that last time by soft-pedalling. This time around I made great play of the fact that no explanation had been proffered. No jury likes being kept in the dark.

  – And Preston went for it?

  – Hook, line and sinker. He sought permission to call someone from Military Intelligence on the basis that we all, jury included, would have to sign the Official Secrets Act.

  – And you were happy to go along with it?

  – Of course. There’s no point in preparing a trap and then warning someone to step around it.

  – A trap?

  – Preston wanted to adduce the “top secret” evidence about how our code-breakers had intercepted enemy messages identifying these plans. I, on the other hand, wanted to have an opportunity to ask this man from Military … “Intelligence” what they knew about Katya Hoffer beyond this.

  – That must have made you popular!

  – Not particularly. The judge was very irritated and Preston was very cross – although it’s hard to know. He hasn’t spoken a civil word to me at any stage during this trial. In fairness, he hasn’t spoken an uncivil word.

  – Did it work?

  – I was able to suggest to our man from “Intelligence” that Katya was no more than a tethered goat. Unfortunately for him he agreed. “Tethered goat.” I may use that in my closing submissions.

  – What happened just before the end of the day?

  – Well, Preston wanted to get on with his closing submissions there and then. I was able to persuade our judge that, at 4.30 in the afternoon, it was unfair on the jury. It would be far better if closing submissions from prosecution and defence – and our judge’s summing up – were heard tomorrow. Mrs Hoffer is facing the death penalty and the matter should be considered with proper decorum and respect for her rights. The judge ultimately agreed, although Preston was less than happy. I think he has become too used to quick and easy convictions. Perhaps he had a lunch party arranged for tomorrow? Furthermore, Preston knows she’s innocent. I am fairly clear in my mind about that. He’s just far more concerned with his wretched success rate. Two losses in a row would make him extremely unhappy.

  – Is there any way I can get into court with you tomorrow, as your junior or something?

  – Absolutely not! I am playing a dangerous game, Adam, and a young woman’s life is at stake. However, come and meet me in the Bar Mess at around 2 p.m. I suspect that all speeches will by then be over and the jury will have retired. We can have a nice chat then. Would you mind organising some more tea?

  Adam slipped out and down to the Clerks’ Room. Blytheway was silent whilst they waited for the tea to arrive. He stared moodily into the bottom of his cup and swilled the tea leaves around as he thought.

  – There’s another thing.

  – Yes?

  – Preston was the one who took Pemberton to the Café de Paris that night. He was there when they came across her body being freighted out from the basement. From all accounts it was a terrible sight. I have seen some horrible things in my time but I’m glad that I didn’t have to witness that. To see the effect on Pemberton. I’m not surprised that it rather unhinged him. But we must not lose sight of the effect it must have had on poor Preston. After all, as I understand it he was the one who said it was the safest place in London. Pemberton lashed out at him and blamed him for Jenny’s death – which I think was hardly fair. However, it was no less fair that he has blamed me and you.

  – Us?

  – So I have heard. If we hadn’t given Preston such a hard time in the Novak trial he might have warned Pemberton of the approaching raid – I am convinced that he has access to the secret codes and messages; and if Pemberton had not been so preoccupied with the upcoming petition, which of course we are both involved in, he may have been more careful of his daughter’s interests, of her life.

  – But that’s absurd!

  – But I think it is true. I confess to feeling some shreds of pity for Preston. Not that I
would let that interfere with my professional duties.

  Chapter Eighty-two

  (Friday 4th April 1941)

  Adam left Lamb Building at about 12.30 and headed down Fleet Street towards the Old Bailey. By one o’clock he was ordering sausage and potatoes in the Bar Mess. (Blytheway had said two o’clock, but he was impatient.) By five past one barristers, wrapped in their gowns, some with their wigs in their hands, were filing in. Suddenly Adam felt vulnerable. Blytheway had suggested two o’clock for a reason. If the speeches and summing up had ended by one – and even if they hadn’t – it would be Blytheway’s duty to go down to the cells and speak with Katya. Preston, on the other hand, had no such obligation. It was inevitable, therefore, that Preston would enter the Mess first. Cutting up his potatoes with one eye on the door, he felt suddenly cold.

  He was swiping half a potato around his plate, mopping up the thin gravy, when he saw Preston enter. He was carrying his wig and a copy of Archbold in one hand and his papers in the other. His hair had been smeared across his scalp by the wig and he looked harassed. He spotted Adam, sitting in his suit, almost as he entered. Adam suddenly realised how he must have stuck out; he was not wearing a robe or bands. Preston’s eyes widened and he hesitated before turning on his heel and leaving the room. It was almost fifteen minutes before he returned.

  Preston now queued up with his tray and, having obtained a plate of food, looked carefully around the Mess before making his decision. He headed towards Adam with a look of suppressed fury on his face. Adam noticed sweat trickling down his cheek before staring down at his empty plate and reaching for his glass of water. He heard the scrape of the chair opposite him and the rattle of cutlery as Preston dumped his tray opposite him.

  – You’ve got a bloody nerve coming here!

  – I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m entitled to eat here if I choose to.

  – I hope Blytheway hasn’t been spilling any secrets to you?

  – You’re going to lose again, aren’t you?

  – I knew it! That man’s a disgrace.

  – I was watching you yesterday through the door. I didn’t need to know any secrets to know that it was going badly for you. So, no, Blytheway hasn’t told me anything he shouldn’t. I know a little about this case anyway, remember?

  Preston harrumphed and concentrated on his lunch. Adam watched him as he ate. He seemed somehow diminished. When he had finished Adam cleared his throat and spoke again.

  – Look, Preston. I heard about Jenny. That you were there when she was found. I’m really sorry.

  Preston started and pushed his tray away. Then he looked straight into Adam’s eyes for what seemed to be a long time. Adam stared back, fascinated. He saw an inner dialogue unfolding. Preston registered anger, horror, what seemed to be remorse, and then horror again. His shoulders slumped slightly.

  – It was terrible.

  His voice was low and quavering. There was another long silence as Preston’s eyes bored into him. Eventually Adam bowed his head and looked down at the table.

  – I can’t imagine how terrible it was. I am very sorry.

  – And people like you and Blytheway are prepared to take the shilling and defend the criminals who are doing this to our country … to our friends and families!

  Adam remembered what Roly had said the previous evening: that Katya was a tethered goat and that Preston knew she was innocent of the charges made against her. He thought of his prescience about upcoming raids.

  – You know more about these codes and messages than you’re letting on, don’t you?

  – Keep your voice down!

  – You do though?

  – I know no more than I am entitled to know. I’ve signed the Act. And as far as I am concerned my conscience is clear. I have done nothing dishonourable.

  Neither of them heard Blytheway gliding over to join them until he set down his tray.

  – My dear Preston. How good it is to see you speaking with Adam!

  – I don’t want to talk with you!

  – Oh, sweetheart! Why ever not?

  Adam noticed that Blytheway had visited the robing room and spruced up his hair before joining them. There was a faint smell of pomade.

  – Sausage and potatoes! Delicious!

  – I was telling Preston how sorry I was about Jenny.

  Blytheway put down his knife and fork and looked at Preston. He raised a hand towards him and stroked his shoulder. Preston flinched.

  – No one should have to witness what you were obliged to see.

  – And yet you defend these people?!

  – Surely it has occurred to you, my friend, that if we allow our legal system to be corrupted by this war then we will be the losers. We shall have handed them an unnecessary victory on a plate. I am so glad that we are speaking again, even in this rather antagonistic context.

  – Your problem is that you cannot take anything seriously. You’re irredeemably frivolous, Blytheway!

  – On the contrary. You should know by now that I am deadly serious about things that matter – about things that I can affect. The trouble is that there is very little that I – or you for that matter – can actually affect.

  – Whilst I accept that you, as junior counsel and a fire watcher, which I acknowledge is obviously useful, have little influence, my position is entirely different. Being one of His Majesty’s Counsel brings all sorts of access that you would not have any awareness of. And my job in the Ministry in my (limited) spare time does allow me to make a real difference.

  – A low blow, if you don’t mind me saying. But it is so good that we can have a chance to chat whilst we’re waiting for the jury to come back. I expect we’ll have most of the afternoon to catch up.

  Preston was about to reply when a black-suited usher approached them to say that they were wanted in Court Six. The jury had a verdict and it was unanimous. Preston and Blytheway rose to leave.

  – That was quick. Stay here, Adam, I want to speak with you after it’s over.

  – Yes, Falling. Stay here. I think it is where you are meant to be.

  With slightly forced courtesies they made for the exit. Adam went and got himself a cup of tea. Was an early verdict good or bad for Katya? He didn’t know but he would find out soon enough. As he regained his seat and lifted the cup to his lips the door to the Mess opened and Pemberton stormed in, looking in all directions until he saw Adam. Adam’s day had suddenly got worse.

  ****

  – Where’s the diary, Falling?

  – I have no idea. How did you know I would be here?

  – Preston called me after he saw you. Where is it?

  – Ask Julia. I certainly haven’t got it.

  Adam looked at Pemberton. He was standing over him, his arms braced against the table, and he had not sat down. He was thinner still than the last time he had seen him but his eyes were clear. There was a heavy whiff of after-shave. Adam remembered that the last time he had seen him was when they were rolling round in the dust punching one another. There was no scent of alcohol this time.

  – It belongs to me! I’m her father!

  – She’s dead, Pemberton.

  Pemberton punched him hard on the side of the face. The Mess was almost empty again as everyone, apart from those waiting for a jury to return, had gone back to their courts. Those that remained looked up at the sound of the blow. Adam suddenly remembered that he and Pemberton were notorious. He cupped his hand around his jaw and felt the beginnings of a swelling under the warmth of the pain.

  – No one wanted her to die, Pemberton. I’m really sorry.

  – Rot in hell! It’s all your fault that this has happened!

  – I thought she was lovely.

  – You’re going to suffer, Falling.

  – What are you talking about?

  Pemberton eased himself down into the seat opposite.

  – You’re a failure, Falling. You don’t have a clue about what is going on around you. If I had been he
ad of chambers all those years ago I would have made sure you didn’t get a space with us.

  – It’s taken you a long time to say that.

  – Finest traditions of the Bar and all that. I was stuck with you and had to make the best of it.

  – I’ve been far happier since I left.

  – Of course you are! Sleeping with that amoral reprobate Blytheway!

  – I beg your pardon?

  – Well, there can’t be any other reason for it, can there? He can’t possibly be impressed by your mind.

  – This is outrageous!

  The few heads remaining in the Mess were now turned in their direction.

  – He’s corrupt! And so, evidently, are you.

  – So you think that I slept with your wife and then moved on and slept with Blytheway?

  – You know that you slept with her. I’m going to prove that, Falling. And damn the pair of you! Damn Blytheway as well.

  – You’re mad. I haven’t slept with Julia. And I certainly haven’t slept with Blytheway!

  – When this is over I intend to institute criminal proceedings against you and him. If necessary it will be a private prosecution.

  – That’s why you want the diary, isn’t it? It shows that you’re talking nonsense.

  – We’ll see, Falling, we’ll see. But in less than four weeks you and I will be facing each other across a court. Bateman is as guilty as sin and only an idiot could persuade him to carry on with defending that petition. Fortunately for me he is being represented by an idiot. I’m going to humiliate you, Falling. And then, the following week, I’m going to humiliate you again.

  – We’ll see.

  – And the best thing about it is that in the first trial I’m going to be well paid for my efforts and Bateman will have to fork out. And in the second trial you will have to pay my costs and pay me damages on top.