Part Thirty Two
The muttered cursing and swearing wafted upwards like the sulphurous gasses from a grumbling volcano in John Deed's chambers. The workman was crouching down in the corner of the room, his ratchet screwdriver trying to pull the ancient screws through the twisted bottom hinge out of John Deed's front door.
"Cup of tea?" John Deed nervously flitted about feeling like a spare part while the two workmen strained at the reported 'little repair job' due to a 'freak gust of wind that accidentally blew the door back' as was euphemistically described to them.
The other workman scraped out the dust from the hole where the impact of George's entry had driven the door handle into the wall.
"Funny things, gusts of winds, mate." He said. "You look at those fragile leaded light small windows in the landing which haven't got a scratch on them yet this door couldn't be more damaged if Arnold Schwartzenegger had charged at it himself."
"He's Governor of California now," as John Deed's grasp of facts still functioned despite his nervousness in getting the job done before it attracted further comment.
"It's no good, mate." The workman flung down his screwdriver, his wrist giving him agony. "It'll have to get done the quick, noisy way. And you can try and slap a conservation order on me to preserve this door if you like but we're in charge here." And he plugged in a drill to weaken the grip of the screws on the doorframe. They must have been fitted by some ancient eighteenth century craftsman with muscles of iron who had the clear intention that it should withstand the onslaught of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Regrettably, he had reckoned without a fairly slim built modern female barrister with a burning grudge on her mind.
A sharp edged drilling sound grated its way through the hushed respectful quiet of the chambers which made John Deed visibly wince. It was a sunny Saturday morning when he and his fellow judges were accustomed from time immemorial to catch up on their work. Not even Hitler's bombing raids a half century before had dared to drop as much as a firecracker in the vicinity of the judges chambers. The workman engaged in a life or death battle for control was committing the most appalling act of aural blasphemy with that diabolical machinery. To the workman, he was cutting a succession of holes angled in to the base of the screws to break their limpet like grip on the wood and was oblivious of the anxious crowd of spectators . In the meantime, his mate was smoothing out the plasterwork to cover the hole in the wall.
"Deed," Michael Niven once again appeared in the doorway."Some of us are trying to work, you know."
"If all of us can just calm down, calm down." John Deed urged, his very body language, agitated arm movements and heated tones conveyed the total and absolute opposite."Then this will be only a temporary disturbance."
Michael Niven shook his head in bewilderment. He had long had the dubious self-imposed burden of acting as go between for John Deed smoothing out rough edges of antagonisms but this was different. It was not unknown for there to be the occasional sounds of a rather plastered barrister roaming the corridors of learned judgement but, of course, Deed has to go one better than anyone else and has to set standards of whimsical eccentricity that no one in their right minds would dare to even emulate let alone surpass.
"Perhaps a little more application of sideways strength to the screwdriver would help", a rather naïve junior barrister spoke helpfully from behind Niven as others from neighbouring chambers gathered wondering what in hell was disturbing the peace. The workman snorted in contempt at this pathetic amateur.
"Ah there, Deed. Is this some kind of exhibitionist prank that you are playing," the would be hectoring tones of Sir Ian singally failed to act the headmaster.
"Yes, Ian. I was so bored out of my mind after your last endless stream of homilies were inflicted upon me that I thought that the best way to express my depth of my feelings on the subject was to smash my own front door down. And you would be well advised to think that if I have muscles of steel to inflict this sort of damage on the door, heaven help you if your idiotic ramblings cause me to lose my temper once and for all with both of you."
Sir Ian visibly flinched at the concentrated fury and sarcasm of John Deed's pent up exasperation, partly fuelled by an emotion rare to him, embarrassment.
"Yes, well, Deed. That is not what I really came to talk to you about. Your idiosyncratic behaviour is something I have come to expect from you and I would be slightly disappointed if on occasion it were not present." Sir Ian responded, trying to salvage his easily dented sense of dignity by patronising him instead. John Deed smiled to himself inwardly for the first time that day. For once in his life, their disapproval at one of the more colourful chapters in his life was directed at the one incident which he was entirely innocent of creating, well as innocent as much as his admittedly provocative attitude to George throughout the course of the trial.
In Sir Ian's world, the word 'idiosyncratic' expressed a point of view that put the object of the word beyond the pale and stigmatised him. In John Deed's world, the word rather suited his own self image and was a badge to be worn with pride, to be positively flaunted, that's another word that he liked and summed himself up.
"A rumour has been going round the Lord Chancellor's Department that you have added to your scandalous reputation by sending a distinguished barrister down to a common prisoner's cell for contempt of court. Just what signals are you giving out to the general public, not to mention the common people in the gallery."
"I agree, Sir Ian. The dignity of the judiciary of the country should not be dragged down to the level of a trashy television situation comedy show. Especially by a circuit judge who has a daughter who has ambitions to become a lawyer."Lawrence James's harsh tone echoed His Master's Voice.
He must have heard it from Neil Houghton who in turn heard it from George, John Deed concluded. I never thought Ian and his abominable sidekick would have their positive uses but they have one. Perhaps, I really need the Lawrence Jameses of the world to kick against. If they weren't around, would I still have this exhibitionist fix? The last thing he was worrying about was Charlie phoning him up to express her displeasure, when she had temporarily dragged herself from her active social life.
"I have an acute distaste for the language of management consultants as well you know, Ian," John Deed replied in languid tones," but not even barristers or, dare I say it, officials of the Lord Chancellor's Department, are above the law. If the general public has this perception of us, then so much the better. Don't you agree, Mr. James." John Deed smiled meaningfully at Lawrence James.
In turn, a living nightmare relived itself before Lawrence James's eyes of the utter humiliation when he, an authority on high of the Lord Chancellor's Department, was led down to a squalid cell by two common underlings who slammed the cell door on him. Still more nightmarish were the anguished tones of abject humility that had been forced out of him when his first two stiff necked versions weren't good enough for Deed.
"I couldn't possibly express an opinion on the matter." Lawrence James sheepishly and untypically replied, looking down at his expensively shined shoes.
"Coy really doesn't suit you, Mr. James." John deed smiled wickedly.
"Look out, Gov." the workman yelled.
A creaking sound of rending wood announced that the door was toppling over sideways into the corridor. Sir Ian had to do a ballerina like pirouette to avoid the heavy oak door from landing on him. Trust the man to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"Did you sent one of those pompous barristers down to the slammer?" came the approving voice of the workmen from behind them. "I take it all back, sir. I would be very much obliged if I could have your autograph."
"Certainly." John Deed replied civilly and Sir Ian and Lawrence James saw with hatred that this insufferable man was acting like a pop star as he reached for a pen and notepad and signed it with a flourish. Did the man have no shame or dignity?
"John Deed, is it? And what really happened to cause this damage? You can tell us." The man smiled knowingly at John Deed. This was as good an incident as when he'd seen the replay on television of John Prescott landing one on that guy who threw an egg at him.
"I had an argument with my ex wife, the barrister who I had jailed for contempt of court."
The man grinned at that one while Sir Ian and Lawrence James glared daggers at his shameless lack of discretion, seeing in front of their eyes tomorrow's tabloid headlines. How else can the reputation of this countries hallowed institutions be preserved with dangerous madmen like that Deed fellow around?
"Mr. James, you are, as yet, a married man. I would urge a word or two of caution on you never to have a fall out with your wife or the same could happen to you one day. Likewise, Ian, Lady Rochester might well turn up unexpectedly on your front doorstep one night. George is, as you are aware, slightly built and look at what she's done. Never underestimate the strength and force of a woman who feels slighted or aggrieved. You never know what hurricane force you may unleash."
"We have other business to attend to, Deed." And Sir Ian pushed Lawrence James and they scurried down the corridor and back to the normality of their office at the Lord Chancellor's Department.
John Deed was beginning to feel that this latest escapade pleasingly enhanced his scandalous reputation and one that he would later laugh about over a drink. He resolved that he must phone Charlie about it later on.
"Can my mate have an autograph, too? We'll run this door to the workshop today and have it back in no time. And we'll keep what you said under our hats." The man winked at John Deed as a man of the world who smiled back with equal understanding." You don't mind working in the open for a bit, do you?"
"I have been used to working in the open all my life." John Deed very truthfully replied.
The muttered cursing and swearing wafted upwards like the sulphurous gasses from a grumbling volcano in John Deed's chambers. The workman was crouching down in the corner of the room, his ratchet screwdriver trying to pull the ancient screws through the twisted bottom hinge out of John Deed's front door.
"Cup of tea?" John Deed nervously flitted about feeling like a spare part while the two workmen strained at the reported 'little repair job' due to a 'freak gust of wind that accidentally blew the door back' as was euphemistically described to them.
The other workman scraped out the dust from the hole where the impact of George's entry had driven the door handle into the wall.
"Funny things, gusts of winds, mate." He said. "You look at those fragile leaded light small windows in the landing which haven't got a scratch on them yet this door couldn't be more damaged if Arnold Schwartzenegger had charged at it himself."
"He's Governor of California now," as John Deed's grasp of facts still functioned despite his nervousness in getting the job done before it attracted further comment.
"It's no good, mate." The workman flung down his screwdriver, his wrist giving him agony. "It'll have to get done the quick, noisy way. And you can try and slap a conservation order on me to preserve this door if you like but we're in charge here." And he plugged in a drill to weaken the grip of the screws on the doorframe. They must have been fitted by some ancient eighteenth century craftsman with muscles of iron who had the clear intention that it should withstand the onslaught of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Regrettably, he had reckoned without a fairly slim built modern female barrister with a burning grudge on her mind.
A sharp edged drilling sound grated its way through the hushed respectful quiet of the chambers which made John Deed visibly wince. It was a sunny Saturday morning when he and his fellow judges were accustomed from time immemorial to catch up on their work. Not even Hitler's bombing raids a half century before had dared to drop as much as a firecracker in the vicinity of the judges chambers. The workman engaged in a life or death battle for control was committing the most appalling act of aural blasphemy with that diabolical machinery. To the workman, he was cutting a succession of holes angled in to the base of the screws to break their limpet like grip on the wood and was oblivious of the anxious crowd of spectators . In the meantime, his mate was smoothing out the plasterwork to cover the hole in the wall.
"Deed," Michael Niven once again appeared in the doorway."Some of us are trying to work, you know."
"If all of us can just calm down, calm down." John Deed urged, his very body language, agitated arm movements and heated tones conveyed the total and absolute opposite."Then this will be only a temporary disturbance."
Michael Niven shook his head in bewilderment. He had long had the dubious self-imposed burden of acting as go between for John Deed smoothing out rough edges of antagonisms but this was different. It was not unknown for there to be the occasional sounds of a rather plastered barrister roaming the corridors of learned judgement but, of course, Deed has to go one better than anyone else and has to set standards of whimsical eccentricity that no one in their right minds would dare to even emulate let alone surpass.
"Perhaps a little more application of sideways strength to the screwdriver would help", a rather naïve junior barrister spoke helpfully from behind Niven as others from neighbouring chambers gathered wondering what in hell was disturbing the peace. The workman snorted in contempt at this pathetic amateur.
"Ah there, Deed. Is this some kind of exhibitionist prank that you are playing," the would be hectoring tones of Sir Ian singally failed to act the headmaster.
"Yes, Ian. I was so bored out of my mind after your last endless stream of homilies were inflicted upon me that I thought that the best way to express my depth of my feelings on the subject was to smash my own front door down. And you would be well advised to think that if I have muscles of steel to inflict this sort of damage on the door, heaven help you if your idiotic ramblings cause me to lose my temper once and for all with both of you."
Sir Ian visibly flinched at the concentrated fury and sarcasm of John Deed's pent up exasperation, partly fuelled by an emotion rare to him, embarrassment.
"Yes, well, Deed. That is not what I really came to talk to you about. Your idiosyncratic behaviour is something I have come to expect from you and I would be slightly disappointed if on occasion it were not present." Sir Ian responded, trying to salvage his easily dented sense of dignity by patronising him instead. John Deed smiled to himself inwardly for the first time that day. For once in his life, their disapproval at one of the more colourful chapters in his life was directed at the one incident which he was entirely innocent of creating, well as innocent as much as his admittedly provocative attitude to George throughout the course of the trial.
In Sir Ian's world, the word 'idiosyncratic' expressed a point of view that put the object of the word beyond the pale and stigmatised him. In John Deed's world, the word rather suited his own self image and was a badge to be worn with pride, to be positively flaunted, that's another word that he liked and summed himself up.
"A rumour has been going round the Lord Chancellor's Department that you have added to your scandalous reputation by sending a distinguished barrister down to a common prisoner's cell for contempt of court. Just what signals are you giving out to the general public, not to mention the common people in the gallery."
"I agree, Sir Ian. The dignity of the judiciary of the country should not be dragged down to the level of a trashy television situation comedy show. Especially by a circuit judge who has a daughter who has ambitions to become a lawyer."Lawrence James's harsh tone echoed His Master's Voice.
He must have heard it from Neil Houghton who in turn heard it from George, John Deed concluded. I never thought Ian and his abominable sidekick would have their positive uses but they have one. Perhaps, I really need the Lawrence Jameses of the world to kick against. If they weren't around, would I still have this exhibitionist fix? The last thing he was worrying about was Charlie phoning him up to express her displeasure, when she had temporarily dragged herself from her active social life.
"I have an acute distaste for the language of management consultants as well you know, Ian," John Deed replied in languid tones," but not even barristers or, dare I say it, officials of the Lord Chancellor's Department, are above the law. If the general public has this perception of us, then so much the better. Don't you agree, Mr. James." John Deed smiled meaningfully at Lawrence James.
In turn, a living nightmare relived itself before Lawrence James's eyes of the utter humiliation when he, an authority on high of the Lord Chancellor's Department, was led down to a squalid cell by two common underlings who slammed the cell door on him. Still more nightmarish were the anguished tones of abject humility that had been forced out of him when his first two stiff necked versions weren't good enough for Deed.
"I couldn't possibly express an opinion on the matter." Lawrence James sheepishly and untypically replied, looking down at his expensively shined shoes.
"Coy really doesn't suit you, Mr. James." John deed smiled wickedly.
"Look out, Gov." the workman yelled.
A creaking sound of rending wood announced that the door was toppling over sideways into the corridor. Sir Ian had to do a ballerina like pirouette to avoid the heavy oak door from landing on him. Trust the man to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"Did you sent one of those pompous barristers down to the slammer?" came the approving voice of the workmen from behind them. "I take it all back, sir. I would be very much obliged if I could have your autograph."
"Certainly." John Deed replied civilly and Sir Ian and Lawrence James saw with hatred that this insufferable man was acting like a pop star as he reached for a pen and notepad and signed it with a flourish. Did the man have no shame or dignity?
"John Deed, is it? And what really happened to cause this damage? You can tell us." The man smiled knowingly at John Deed. This was as good an incident as when he'd seen the replay on television of John Prescott landing one on that guy who threw an egg at him.
"I had an argument with my ex wife, the barrister who I had jailed for contempt of court."
The man grinned at that one while Sir Ian and Lawrence James glared daggers at his shameless lack of discretion, seeing in front of their eyes tomorrow's tabloid headlines. How else can the reputation of this countries hallowed institutions be preserved with dangerous madmen like that Deed fellow around?
"Mr. James, you are, as yet, a married man. I would urge a word or two of caution on you never to have a fall out with your wife or the same could happen to you one day. Likewise, Ian, Lady Rochester might well turn up unexpectedly on your front doorstep one night. George is, as you are aware, slightly built and look at what she's done. Never underestimate the strength and force of a woman who feels slighted or aggrieved. You never know what hurricane force you may unleash."
"We have other business to attend to, Deed." And Sir Ian pushed Lawrence James and they scurried down the corridor and back to the normality of their office at the Lord Chancellor's Department.
John Deed was beginning to feel that this latest escapade pleasingly enhanced his scandalous reputation and one that he would later laugh about over a drink. He resolved that he must phone Charlie about it later on.
"Can my mate have an autograph, too? We'll run this door to the workshop today and have it back in no time. And we'll keep what you said under our hats." The man winked at John Deed as a man of the world who smiled back with equal understanding." You don't mind working in the open for a bit, do you?"
"I have been used to working in the open all my life." John Deed very truthfully replied.