The Namedropper

Twenty-One

Having steadfastly and successfully avoided any criminal proceedings so far in his life, Harvey Jordan had prepared himself for an understandable uncertainty at actually entering a court for the first time and was pleased – as well as relieved – that none came. On their way from the hotel Beckwith had talked expansively of courts being theatres in which people – lawyers particularly – performed but that wasn’t Jordan’s most positive impression, although he conceded that there could be some comparisons. There was certainly a formidable cast being assembled, their fixed expressions befitting impending drama.

As the appellants on that initial day, Jordan and his lawyer had the first table to the left of the court, just inside the separating rail. Directly behind that rail, in the public section, was George Abrahams, with whom Beckwith was at that moment hunched in head-bent, muttered conversation. The width of the entry gate through the rail separated Jordan from the position of Alfred Appleton and his lawyer, David Bartle. Beyond them, at another table, were Leanne Jefferies and Peter Wolfson. Behind the rail, on the right of the court, were a group of motionless, silent people among whom Jordan presumed to be the Boston venerealogists. Half turned in their direction as he was Jordan was instantly aware of the entry into the court of Alyce, Reid attentively at her arm. Alyce wore a neutral coloured, tailored suit and very little make-up and came through the court and the final gate looking directly ahead, to take her place at the separate table beside Jordan’s, on the far left of the court. As she finally sat Alyce looked at Jordan. But not as far as the opposite side of the court to her husband and his lover. Jordan smiled. Alyce didn’t, turning away.

Reid leaned towards Jordan and said, ‘You get in OK, avoiding the photographers?’

‘I think so. You?’

‘I’m sure we did.’

‘Alyce OK?’

‘It’s the first time she’s been near Appleton since it all began. She’s a mess.’

‘Tell her it’s OK.’ What on earth did that mean? Jordan wondered, as he said it. Alyce looked very pale.

‘I have already. She thought she’d be all right. She’s not.’

Beckwith returned through the gate and asked Jordan, ‘What was that about?’

‘Alyce is nervous.’

‘So am I,’ said Beckwith, jerking his head back towards the public area. ‘We’ve got a hell of a point to make. Choosing the moment to make it is the problem.’

‘What the…? started Jordan, to be overridden by the loudly demanded, ‘All rise!’

If this were theatre then Judge Hubert Pullinger was already wearing his costume for the role, thought Jordan, as the man upon whom so much depended entered the court. Pullinger’s raven-black gown hung shapelessly around a stick-thin, desiccated frame, an appearance denied by the scurrying quickness of his movements. The head came forward, though, when he sat, reminding Jordan of a carnivorous hunting bird, complete with the disease-whitened face Jordan remembered from a television documentary on vultures, ripped off flesh hanging from its beak. Halfway through the court clerk’s official litany identifying the hearing there was an impatient, head twitch towards Beckwith, an appropriately bird-like pecking gesture.

Beckwith hesitated until the clerk’s recitation ended before rising, with matching, head-nodding deference, to name himself, his client, and his purpose in making his application under the provisions of statute Section 1-52(5) of the North Carolina civil code.

‘Which I do, your honour, with some difficulty and trepidation,’ Beckwith added.

The pause was perfectly timed to allow Pullinger’s interception. ‘Both of which problems I can understand from having read the advanced case papers,’ said the man. The voice was not bird-like, but surprisingly strong from such a dried-out body.

‘Papers in which, in my submission, some of the facts are incomplete and because of which I am seeking the leniency of the court properly to provide,’ picked up Beckwith, no satisfaction at his timing in his voice.

‘This is a procedural hearing, on behalf of your client, for dismissal as I understand it of both the claims for alienation of affections and for criminal conversations,’ interrupted the judge, yet again. ‘Should I not hear and consider your applications before being asked to show leniency?’

Jordan’s concentration was more towards the right of the court than to the judge, at once alert to the half smiled, head-together exchange between Appleton and his lawyer to the judge’s persistent intercessions. Jordan acknowledged that despite the impression he’d earlier formed from photographs of the man, he had totally misjudged Appleton’s size and appearance. Appleton seemed much taller than the stated six foot three inches, the fleshy stature heightened by his overall, clothes-stretching heaviness. There was no longer anything of the sportsman Appleton had once been. The weight, oddly, appeared to bunch at his shoulders and neck, pushing his head forward, actually bison-like, over a belly bulged beneath a double breasted jacket opened to release its constraint and enable the man to sit, legs splayed, again for comfort. His face was red, mottled by what Jordan guessed to be blood pressure, the fading hair receded far more than it had seemed in the photographs. The marked difference in their appearance dictated that he restrict to the absolute minimum his personal visits to the banks in which he had opened accounts in Appleton’s name, Jordan reminded himself.

The smiling, head-nodding David Bartle was a large man, too, although physically overwhelmed by his client. Bartle had the sun weathered face indicating that he, too, might have been a yachtsman, the colour emphasized by an unruly mop of prematurely white, unrestrained hair. It was not as long as Beckwith’s but it appeared to be because Beckwith had his held at the nape of his neck by a securing band. Apart from the restrained hair there was nothing of the Wild West imagery, either. Beckwith wore a conservatively striped suit, shoes and a striped club tie beneath the collar of a crisp white shirt.

There was a similar, although more subdued, reaction to the judge’s pressure from the furthermost table to the right of the court, at which Leanne Jefferies and her lawyer sat heads also tightly together. As close as she now was to him Jordan decided that the apparent similarity between Leanne and Alyce was misleading to the point of there being no resemblance at all, limited to the blondness of their hair colouring and the style in which both wore it. Leanne was much sharper featured and could not have risked the minimal make-up with which Alyce succeeded. Leanne wore a powdered base and darkly shadowed eye mascara and the redness of the lipstick was close to being too harsh: the woman looked every day of her five years seniority over Alyce, the age Jordan knew the woman to be from his sessions with Reid.

‘I fear I am inadequately expressing myself, your honour, for which I apologize most profusely,’ said Beckwith, without the slightest indication of apology in his voice. ‘The leniency I seek is not out of the expected sequence that would normally govern a dismissal submission?’

‘Why should I be expected to agree to any such course!’ Pullinger broke in once more and Jordan decided that his mental analogy of a constantly pecking, flesh ripping vulture was an apposite one.

‘To prevent yourself and this court, even at this early stage, progressing further with such preliminary evidence which is, in my contention, inadequate, and risks being misleading unless now addressed and which, if not addressed, seriously endangers the arguments I intend making on behalf of my client…’ Beckwith’s pause was clearly timed as an invitation for another interruption, which this time didn’t come, creating the silence that hung in the court like the belated rebuke that Jordan was sure Beckwith intended. There were no longer any satisfied expressions from the tables on the other side of the court, either.

‘Mr Beckwith?’ prompted Pullinger, finally.

‘Your honour, I seek your guidance,’ said Beckwith, refusing to expand, and Jordan felt a frisson of alarm that his lawyer was pushing his false humility too far, a concern that was almost immediately confirmed by Pullinger’s further silence.

Breaking it, as he had to do, Pullinger said, ‘Are you moving towards inviting this court to find impropriety, Mr Beckwith?’

‘I am asking this court to allow me to proceed in a way different from a normal submission of its type,’ avoided Beckwith, adeptly.

Pullinger went to the opposite side of his court. ‘Mr Bartle? Can you help me with this set of circumstances?’

The now serious-faced Bartle was on his feet before Pullinger finished the question. ‘Your honour, I am at as much a loss as I fear you are. I have not the slightest idea to what counsel is referring or alluding. Because of which I formally ask for the court’s protection.’

‘Mr Wolfson?’ switched the judge.

‘I am equally at as much of a loss as my colleague, your honour, and ask as anxiously as he for the protection of the court,’ responded Wolfson. He was a small man compared to those immediately adjacent to him, with a moustache and Van Dyke beard so immaculately trimmed that both looked artificially stuck to his lip and chin, furthering Beckwith’s earlier theatrical comparison.

Looking between the two lawyers, the judge said, ‘I give both of you the guarantee of such protection -’ coming around to Beckwith as he spoke – ‘and warn you, Mr Beckwith, of the irritation of this same court if the allowance you request emerges in any way whatsoever to be a frivolous manoeuvre.’

‘I am grateful for such an allowance, your honour,’ responded Beckwith, who had remained standing throughout the exchanges.

‘Remain extremely careful, Mr Beckwith,’ repeated the emaciated man. ‘Extremely careful indeed.’

‘Which is precisely what I hope you will find I am being at the end of this consideration,’ said Beckwith.

Jordan thought, Shut the fuck up! Don’t gloat at having got what you wanted.

Dr Abrahams was at the rail gate before Beckwith completed the summons, not needing the prompt from the usher to complete the oath. The man was equally well prepared listing his qualifications, but Beckwith stopped him halfway through the recital, taking him back to identify in full every acronym, particularly Abrahams’ qualification as a veneralogist. That established, Beckwith went with the man’s impatience to record the length of his experience and the extent of his microbiological specialization.

‘Qualified as you are as a microbiologist also means that you are equally qualified and practised as a serologist?’

‘It does,’ replied Abrahams, in his clipped, formal manner.

‘For the benefit of the laymen among us in the court, what is serology?’

There was the vaguest sigh from the man. ‘Technically the study of serum. In practise the study of the blood to identify bacteria and viruses, in effect, identifying antibodies and antigens prevalent in communicable diseases and infections.’

‘Continuing in laymen’s terms, infections caused by bacteria?’

‘Not always, but predominantly.’

‘Virally created infections?’

‘Yes.’

‘What are antibodies? And antigens?’

‘Bodies that form in the blood to resist a toxin.’

‘Formed how? By what?’

‘I am sure the court is fascinated by this expedition into the mysteries of microbiology and serology,’ broke in Bartle, noisily grating back his chair as he stood. ‘But is there to be a practical point to emerge from this dissertation?’

‘A question that was beginning to exercise my mind,’ said the judge. ‘Mr Beckwith?’

‘A very practical and relevant point indeed, your honour,’ responded Beckwith, at once. ‘It is to establish the importance of the

…’ The pause was intentional, a verbal marker as all the man’s other theatrical hesitations had been. ‘… omissions to which I wish to draw the court’s attention.’

‘My patience is limited, Mr Beckwith,’ reminded the judge.

‘And will not be stretched much further,’ promised Beckwith. Going back to Abrahams the lawyer said, ‘You were about to help the court with an explanation of antibodies and antigens.’

‘Both are traceably formed – created – within the blood by a patient’s natural immunity or resistance to a disease or infection, as well as by the induced resistance of antibiotics,’ said Abrahams.

There was a lot of movement now – sufficient to attract the judge’s frowned attention – between the two lawyers to the right of the court and the people directly behind them, Bartle finally getting up from where he sat to lean over the rail for closer consultation.

As aware of the activity as Jordan, Beckwith stopped his examination, looking between the animated groups and the judge and said, ‘Your honour, does the court require a recess here?’

‘I do not intend a recess but I might very well require an explanation,’ said the judge.

Bartle turned, startled, back into the court, standing fully. ‘I apologize if I have caused the court inconvenience, your honour.’

‘You have and it will not be tolerated again,’ snapped Pullinger, the redness of his irritation pricking out on his bloodless cheeks. ‘Any more than I will tolerate ill-prepared cases being prematurely brought before me or much more deviation from expected presentations. You will precede, Mr Beckwith, with the limitations of my patience in the forefront of your mind.’

‘Dr Abrahams,’ resumed Beckwith. ‘If an infection is resisted – defeated – by natural immunity or medication, do such antibodies or antigens remain traceable within a patient’s blood?’

‘For a time,’ replied the doctor. ‘That length of time depends, understandably, upon the type of infection or disease and the treatment to defeat it.’

‘Let us come to sexually transmitted diseases and infections,’ invited Beckwith.

For the first time the lawyer’s pause was for breath, not to tempt the judge’s impatience but Pullinger seized it. ‘Not a moment too soon, Mr Beckwith.’

‘Observing, as always, your honour’s guidance,’ responded Beckwith, just as swiftly. To the doctor the lawyer continued, ‘You have extensive experience of the identification and treatment of sexually transmitted disease, do you not, Dr Abrahams?’

‘I do.’

‘Is the manifestation of antibodies and antigens that you have described applicable in sexually transmitted diseases?’

‘Yes.’

‘In syphilis?’

‘Yes.’

‘In gonorrhoea?’

‘Yes.’

‘What about chlamydia or to use its more accurate clinical name, Chlamydia trachomatis?’

‘Yes.’

‘Within the last month you examined the man I represent in court today, Harvey William Jordan, for venereal infection, specifically Chlamydia trachomatis, did you not?’

‘I did. I also extended that examination to include syphilis and gonorrhoea.’

‘Can you describe, as simply as possible for the court’s benefit, how you conducted those examinations?’

‘I took invasive urogenital swabs, as well as those from the throat and rectum. I also took blood and urine samples.’

‘What were your findings?’

‘Negative, to every test for every possible infection.’

‘Specifically in the case of chlamydia, the tests are clinically referred to as polymerase chain reaction, PCP, or ligase chain reaction, LCR, a sensitive detection method for chlamydia DNA?’

‘Yes.’

‘Which were negative?’

‘Your expert witness has already attested to that,’ came in Pullinger.

‘I am anxious that there should be no doubt whatsoever of the findings, your honour,’ said Beckwith.

‘You have established that to my satisfaction, Mr Beckwith. I am still waiting to discover the other point you have promised me.’

‘Dr Abrahams,’ returned Beckwith, ‘had my client, Harvey Jordan, suffered any venereal infection that required medical treatment would the antibodies or antigens resulting from that treatment have been evident in his blood, even though he had been successfully cured by treatment from a doctor or specialist other than yourself of which you had been unaware.’

‘Yes, in the case of syphilis and HIV, possibly in the case of chlamydia’

‘Were there any such antibodies or antigens?

‘No.’

‘What is the irrefutable medical conclusions from the absence of any antibodies or antigens from the blood of Harvey Jordan?’

‘That he has never suffered or contracted a venereal infection.’

‘Which is very specifically spelled out and made clear in Dr Abrahams’ medical report already supplied to this court!’ exploded the now very visibly flushed Mr Justice Pullinger.

‘But not in any other medical report laid before this court, those of Alfred Appleton and Leanne Jefferies, both of which were delayed until the very last possible moment for presentation before your honour,’ Beckwith pointed out, finally sitting beside Jordan.

Pullinger did recess the court, from which Bartle and Wolfson hurried out, trailed by their respective clients and the two venerealogists. Beckwith went through the rail for another, although brief, consultation with Abrahams.

Reid crossed from his table when Beckwith returned and said, ‘That was brilliant.’

‘I was flying by the seat of my pants from the conversation I had with Dr Abrahams,’ admitted Beckwith.

‘Even more brilliant,’ insisted Reid.

‘I’d only heard of Pullinger by reputation,’ said Beckwith. ‘I didn’t imagine he’d really be such a son of a bitch.’

‘You think there’s something to be found in the medical reports of the other side?’ prodded Jordan.

‘That’s the way Abrahams told me to go,’ said Beckwith. ‘I’m going to press as hard as I can to find out.’

‘And I’m going to risk trying an application about Sharon Borowski: as many applications as I can, while I think Pullinger will be favouring us,’ disclosed Reid. ‘If he slaps me down, he slaps me down.’

Jordan saw that Alyce was still staring straight ahead, ignoring everybody. When he pushed his chair back Beckwith said, ‘Where are you going?’

‘Stretch my legs. Say hello to Alyce. No reason why I shouldn’t, now that we’re in court, is there?’

Beckwith shrugged.

Reid said, ‘Keep it brief.’

Alyce didn’t look in his direction as Jordan approached and there was a hesitation even when he reached her table and said, ‘Hi!’

‘Hello.’

‘How are you?’

‘Hating every moment of it! I was looking forward to it – facing him down – but now I’m here I feel… ashamed, I suppose. We had to sneak in… There were television cameras… It was awful.’

‘Did they get photographs of you?’

‘Bob doesn’t think so.’ She looked across at the two remaining lawyers. ‘What’s going on… I don’t understand what Dan is doing?’

‘The medical reports on your husband and the woman are incomplete.’

‘Does it matter?’

‘It could, quiet a lot,’ said Jordan, carefully.

‘Is it to do with what Bob said about you?’

‘What did Bob say about me?’ said Jordan, only just keeping the demand out of his voice.

‘That you were clever and that you’d found something that helped me… about what I was telling him.’

‘It could be. Let’s see how the rest of the day goes.’

‘I don’t want to see how the rest of the day goes. I want to run away and hide and not come out for a long time.’

‘That’s…’ started Jordan but stopped.

‘That’s what?’

Jordan’s first thought had been to describe it as childish. Instead he said, ‘Giving up, with no reason to give up.’ His mind butterflying beyond his conversation with Alyce, Jordan thought it was difficult to conceive how someone like her could have gone to bed – had grunting on top of her – someone as heavy and animal-like as the man he’d just seen for the first time in court. Beckwith and Reid were properly listening to what he said now – despising him as well for being a smartass and he didn’t give a damn about that – and he’d go on pushing if he had to until what he’d read, but obviously not expertly understood, from the venereal case notes of Alfred Appleton and Leanne Jefferies was explained. But what if the case notes didn’t mean anything? Everything would rebound back upon them. Like Beckwith, Jordan hadn’t believed that the judge could be such a cantankerous old bastard.

‘What’s she like?’

‘Who?’ said Jordan, momentarily lost in his own thoughts.

‘The woman he fucked, Leanne?’

‘I don’t believe you haven’t looked at her!’

‘I haven’t looked… don’t want to look.’

Jordan still didn’t believe her. ‘Much older than she really is, compared to you. Doesn’t compare at all – as well – with you…’

‘Perhaps she does things I wouldn’t.’

‘After France I can’t imagine what that might have been.’

Alyce shook her head, dismissing the memory. ‘I’m going to ask Bob if it’s absolutely necessary for me to be in court.’

‘Would that be a good idea?’

‘That’s what I want. Why shouldn’t it be all right?’

‘It could look to the judge – and the jury, when it’s eventually convened – as if you’re the guiltier party. Which you aren’t.’

‘I don’t care what it looks like.’

‘Don’t you care who’s proved to be guilty: if you’re branded as the slut that he’s trying to make you out to be?’

‘Not really.’

‘I don’t believe that.’

‘I don’t care what you…’

‘Believe?’ Jordan finished for her.

‘I don’t want us to fight.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘Then let’s not.’

Jordan turned at the sound of Reid’s returning approach and saw that two of the men who had remained beyond the rail behind Appleton’s table were starring at him and Alyce. When Reid reached his table the lawyer said, ‘I told you to keep it brief.’

‘Why don’t you worry more about the strain on Alyce than our simply talking together!’ said Jordan, aware as he spoke of the opposition entourage re-entering the court.

‘I fear there has been created the possibility of a severe misunderstanding which I wish -’ Bartle turned to indicate the next table – ‘as well as my colleague, Mr Wolfson wishes, to make clear I am most anxious to correct-’

‘And which I am even more anxious to have explained to me,’ predictably broke in Pullinger.

‘It is fortunate, your honour, that present in this court today are the two medical experts who conducted the required examinations upon my client and that of Ms Leanne Jefferies, who is enjoined in this matter.’

‘How did that come about, that they should be present?’ persisted the judge.

Bartle lowered his head, not immediately replying, which Jordan decided to be in frustration at the constant intrusion. Beside him he saw Beckwith was scribbling a soldiers’ battalion of exclamation marks on his yellow legal pad.

‘I was obliged, as was my fellow attorney, Mr Wolfson, to have been alerted prior to today’s hearing by Mr Beckwith that there was some disparity between the required medical assessments.’

‘You had the evidence of Mr Beckwith’s expert witness in your required pre-hearing presentations,’ reminded Pullinger. ‘Why weren’t the omissions from your side corrected before today, so that this whole matter could have been resolved without the time-wasting disruption to which it has been subjected?’

Bartle turned pointedly to where Beckwith sat. ‘I regret, your honour, that neither myself nor Mr Wolfson were specifically advised what the challenge was going to be. Had we been, then this court would not have been caused the delay to which you are quiet rightly drawing attention. My request, sir – with which my colleague, Mr Wolfson, is in full agreement, to prevent any further delay in the proceedings – is that this session be adjourned until tomorrow to enable the apparent discrepancies to be rectified, with our deep and respectful apologies.’

Pullinger kept the lawyer standing for what seemed to be an age in the completely hushed court, irritably waving the man back into his seat when the uncertain Wolfson made as if to get to his feet, imagining that the judged wanted a supporting request.

Instead Pullinger turned to where Jordan sat with his lawyer and said, ‘Mr Beckwith?’

‘I am, as always, at your honour’s disposal and would not seek any further to delay the progress of my submission or anything else that might be brought before the court,’ said Beckwith. ‘But I would draw your honour’s attention to the fact that had the omission not been brought to your honour’s early attention this entire case might have proceeded with insufficient evidence at the court’s disposal, which I am sure you would deplore. A re-presentation of the medical reports will, I hope, rectify that problem, but I would respectfully request that your honour gives me the opportunity, upon such re-presentation, to explore the matter further if those re-presentations are applicable to the submission that I have not yet had the opportunity to pursue.’

‘I certainly will wish to examine most carefully what is provided to this court tomorrow,’ said Pullinger. ‘And give you now the undertaking that you will be allowed to do the same, as all three expert witnesses are present in court and as it is my wish that they so remain until the court decides otherwise.’ The vulture’s head swivelled. ‘I expect to be provided by 9 a.m. tomorrow with the redrafted medical report upon your client, Mr Bartle, and yours, Mr Wolfson. And I will say, at this point, that I will not tolerate another single instance of expected court protocol being inadequately complied with.’

‘It wouldn’t have been right for me to have interceded,’ declared Reid. ‘You’d won the point, hands down. If I had tried to add on more applications it would have defused everything.’

‘I know. Thank you,’ said Beckwith.

They’d gathered in Reid’s Raleigh office, after the local lawyer had smuggled Alyce out of the court and into a waiting car.

‘I will do, tomorrow, if it all goes well,’ persisted Reid, defensively.

‘You did the right thing,’ assured Beckwith. ‘I said I’m grateful.’

‘Any trouble getting Alyce away?’ asked Jordan.

‘I don’t think so. I didn’t see any cameras.’ Reid nodded to his telephone console. ‘There’ve been four or five media enquiries, asking me to call back. I’m not sure that I will.’

‘Alyce told me she doesn’t want to be in court,’ said Jordan.

Reid’s face tightened, irritably, at Jordan’s awareness. ‘She told me the same thing. She wants the judge to excuse her.’

‘You going to go to Pullinger with that?’ asked Beckwith.

‘Certainly not before the case has even properly started,’ said Reid.

‘I don’t think it would be a wise application to make at any stage,’ said Beckwith.

‘You think she’s up to it: sitting through everything that’s going to be said, all the details likely to come out?’ asked Jordan.

Reid shrugged, uncertainly. ‘Apparently there’s a lot of family pressure building up, disgrace and shame to the established dynasty, that sort of shit.’

‘Being excused court, to which I can’t imagine Pullinger agreeing in the first place, isn’t going to help, is it?’ said Beckwith. ‘Alyce is involved in a divorce action, simple as that. She’s got to hope you get Pullinger’s agreement to a closed hearing. That’ll give her the best protection she can hope for.’

‘And each day she’s got to scuttle about like a cornered animal to avoid being photographed,’ said Jordan.

‘Harvey! The media have got enough stock photographs of Alyce to open a picture gallery. If Bob gets a closed hearing the media pressure will relax after a couple of days and she’ll settle down to the reality of what she’s in and that’ll be that.’

‘Medical reports are the focus of the moment,’ said Jordan, looking between the two lawyers but stopping at Reid. ‘You’ve still got to get Pullinger’s order to try to get those of Sharon Borowski. Why can’t you get a doctor’s request for Alyce to be excused on the grounds of mental and physical stress?’

‘Hey! Hey! Hey!’ protested Beckwith, loudly. ‘Where the fuck are we going here? You appointing yourself Alyce’s champion, defending her against all the woes of a collapsed marriage in which you are very much the exposed defendant! You’re still in the shit right up to your chin and if what we started today doesn’t work out in our favour, sinking down even further. Let’s you and I worry about you and me and let Bob worry about Alyce and the reputation of her

famous family, OK?’

‘She doesn’t deserve to have to go through all this!’ insisted Jordan. ‘Did you look at Appleton today? See what he looked like!’

‘We haven’t sat through all the evidence yet: don’t know what Alyce deserves or doesn’t deserve to go through,’ refused Beckwith. ‘You’ve got to come back on course – on board – to why and how you’re here, what it could cost you and has already cost you and worry about your own ass, nobody else’s. Not even an ass as cute as Alyce’s. You hearing what I’m telling you, Harvey? Or are you going soft on me?’

Jesus Harry Christ! thought Jordan. Did he really need to hear what his lawyer was telling him! It was as if… He didn’t want or need to know what it was. What he needed – as Beckwith had just told him – was to remember where he was, why he was there and how much in the end it was likely to cost him. ‘I was just trying to be fair,’ he said, lamely.

‘Fairness has got nothing to do with anything,’ said Beckwith. ‘Start getting your priorities in order, OK?’