Part Sixty Eight
Neil Haughton slipped discreetly out of the court building after the unseemly brawl with Deed. He hoped that no one had seen him pinned up against the wall by him as he would never live it down. His first instinct was to straighten his tie which had become an S shaped crumpled strip of material thanks to Deed's hand round his throat. He needed that smooth veneer which he could show the world how in control of himself he was, and everyone else he had to deal with. This unpleasantness could become damaging, he reflected. Deed would be the sort of person with no shame about spreading the story round his cronies in the legal profession about his domestic troubles of last night. He knew well enough from the huge gossiping chamber that was the House of Commons how bad news travelled fast and some rag like Private Eye would be swift to spread it further with its own despicable brand of smear and insinuation.
He had to contain the public damage which this sort of thing might start. The whole thing was getting out of hand and he felt like there was a ticking bomb just waiting to explode.He had seen it before in the gossip he had traded round the bar at the House of Commons where he had heard the inside stories of how one minister after another had fallen from grace as the simmering scandal that had brewed for months unknown to the public had finally boiled over. He enjoyed a tasty morsel of scandal as much as the next person but not at his expense, thank you very much. After all, the Attorney General was not going to be one of his friends now as George had failed to deliver on such a crucial case for his own reputation as a go getter.
The thought came to mind with a flash of brilliance which made him feel much better about himself. He knew that in the final analysis, he would come up with an idea which all it needed was a bit of clever footwork. He could use the Attorney General's underlings, Sir Ian Rochester and Lawrence James to help him out. He knew that they hated that Deed character like poison and were looking out for him to put one foot wrong to bring him to book. What about what he knew as his long standing association with his paramour, Jo Mills and at the same time, starting a squalid affair with George They would love that one and all he is asking for in return is to put in a good word with the attorney General and keep him off his back. Just how vindictive George would be in having him prosecuted for assault and slapping an injunction order on him would be unpleasant. He had to defend, above all else, his public reputation.
Roisin put on her coat as the school bell rang and she could hear the cheering sound of children and the clatter of heels down the corridors. As she rounded the corner, she felt both hands grabbed by Michael and Niamh.
"My children," She greeted them in her accustomed exuberant fashion having been nagged at by both Niamh and Michael for forever embarrassing them by greeting them with 'my babies' as she used to. With their friends looking on, they used to squirm with embarrassment when she used to say this. Roisin didn't mind however making this compromise. On this sunny September day, she was full of the simple pleasures of life as she walked on to the car, both children swinging on her arms.. She wasn't one for joining the rest of the mothers standing outside the school gates exchanging gossip. She smiled warmly on everyone in general and the others thought that, though she kept herself to herself, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing and that she was obviously devoted to her children. It was known that she had separated from her husband which wasn't uncommon but on the occasion that he used to turn up, he was bad tempered and unfriendly.
Roisin manoeuvred her car into the long line of cars all coming from the school and sped her way back to the home where there was children's television and a warm fire to flop down in front of. Everything was cosy and welcoming at their house.
"Hiya, kids," Cassie's cool but welcoming voice and friendly smile greeted the others when she came in later from work.
"Mrs Edwards wants us to write a story with pictures of the most exciting and dangerous thing that has happened to our parents. Can I write about the time that you and mum rescued that man from the fire."
"You haven't got any problems with writing about mum and me in prison, Niamh?"
Cassie asked seriously. She recalled the moment when Roisin with real humanity and a force of personality took command in that moment of horror to urge them to push a profusely bleeding Neil Grayling on an improvised trolley through what seemed a wall of flames.
"I got a gold sticker the time I wrote about mum when she first went to prison," Said Niamh. "I'm lucky that I've got something good to write about."
"Good girl," approved Cassie using the very words she swore, as a teenager, she would never say, having taken a great delight in being bad.
"Will you help me with the pictures. What did you both look like when you came out of the fire."
"Our faces were blackened, our hands were burnt," Cassie built up to a dramatic climax, "……….and my makeup looked really terrible. I couldn't look in the mirror for weeks." Cassie laughed to general amusement, sending up her well known vanity.
Michael waylaid Roisin with his maths homework and Roisin's eyes tried to focus at the book thrust before her eyes wondering why they had changed the maths since her day at school and made it so difficult for parents to understand.
"Did you see much of Aunt Yvonne while we were away?" Niamh asked presently as the four of them snuggled down on their large comfy settee.
"Yeah, loads," smiled Cassie. "Can't you tell by the suntan? I could make a habit of her lifestyle, drinks by the swimming pool, nice house, great company." Her eyes looked dreamy, thinking of games of spin the bottle in a life far removed from the cosy domesticity. Now the kids were back home, it gave her that comforting feeling of completeness in her life but a holiday away from responsibilities was exciting.
Sir Ian was cloistered in his office, gloomily studying notes that had been passed to them concerning the activities of one Miss Charlotte Deed who was a law student. It was, of course, not unknown for occasional notes to be passed to them concerning the transgressions of law students who would in time become the the up and coming barristers of tomorrow. Usually, it reported nothing more than that they had become totally plastered at some night club and had got into a drunken affray with the local constabulary. That was a natural process of over exuberant youth sowing their wild oats which, in time, was something they grew out of. Not that he had any skeletons in his closet, himself. He had always behaved like a gentleman. Whereas Deed's voluminous file showed the fellow to be a total reprobate from starting from when he was a spectacularly wild and dissolute law student who was only saved from early ruination by a benevolent and foolhardy head of the college. And now there was going to be another Deed let loose on his department in the near future. Whoever said 'in the long term, we are all dead' was merely burying his head in the sand like an ostrich.
A discreet knock on the door heralded the entrance of Neil Houghton who, unusually for him, was smiling pleasantly at him.
"Ian, old man, I was wondering if you would help me with a small private matter. I trust that what I'm going to tell you will be strictly confidential," Came the tone of voice which was curiously ingratiating and yet took his consent for granted. This was not the normal tones of the man who however friendly, let him know all the time just who had the whip hand.
"It depends on what you mean, Neil," He replied cautiously. "You had better explain."
"I've just had a bit of a disagreement with George Channing and, between you and me, she took it rather personally. I offered to make up for anything which I may have done wrong but there is no changing her mind. You know how unreasonable and bad tempered she can get."
For once, the man is sweating, Sir Ian noticed. I thought politicians never sweated and are a breed apart.
"And where do I come into the picture," Sir Ian asked, having the feeling that he had not heard a tenth of the story as yet.
"The truth is, Ian, I wouldn't put it past George to take out an injunction and to pursue a charge of assault against me. Mind you," Neil hastily rushed onwards to skate over the unpleasant sounds of the words that he was uttering, "it may not come to that but forwarned is forarmed so they say and I would appreciate it if anything that might happen you could keep low key and out of the public eye. ."
Sir Ian paused for a second before replying. He looked closely at Neil's face, noticing the way the man couldn't look him straight in the eye but kept looking shiftily away. The man will have been through the 'sincerity school' of training for TV appearances, the appearance of candour in the voice, the 'look you straight in the eye' earnest conviction, just the right appearance of reliability like any other cheap politician. For all this, I wouldn't buy a used car off this man.
"Just exactly what happened between you and George, Neil. I need to know the truth before you ask me to do anything." Sir Ian's voice was sharper, and without even trying he was more assertive in his quiet way than was normally his style. This was ironic as in the past, he had desperately sought to be proud and masterful in his public dealings and had only succeeded in coming over as petulant.
"Well, er, I was telling George that the Atkins Pilkinton trial has let us in for a lot of bad publicity, your department especially. I was only remarking that she ought to have made a better showing and not let the side down. You know that well enough." Neil's ingratiating tones eagerly solicited his support.
"I know exactly how George Channing performed in the trial. I was there in the public gallery most of the time, watching," Sir Ian replied drily.
"There you are, old man. You know how poorly she performed."
"I will not comment to her ex-partner on a barrister whose reputation I believe to be perfectly sound, if unlucky in a string of recent cases. It would be indelicate. So what happened between the two of you?" Sir Ian's response was frosty. After all he was only a direct witness of the trial of everything that this man was talking about, second hand.
"She not only laughed in my face but made a personal remark and had the cheek to quote that Deed character in support. I felt that this was a put up job. I had a run in with him at court when I was asking George to patch up our differences and he did his usual 'knight in shining armour' routine, suspiciously so," Neil finished with a sneer.
"So what did you do to George that leads you to believe that she will take legal action against you, Neil?" Sir Ian
"I happened to hit her and she ran off. Back to Deed so I now understand."
"Wait a minute," Sir Ian broke in. "I don't know about you but I was brought up to believe that you do not ever hit a woman. This is something you just don't do under any circumstances. There is absolutely no excuse for such behaviour. "
"It's not like you to take such a high and mighty attitude, Ian. You and your lackey Lawrence James are quite willing to do the Attorney General's bidding at the drop of a hat or even before the hat falls." Neil's face darkened as this spineless man was presuming all of a sudden to take the high moral ground with him.
"I do the Attorney General's bidding and not yours, Neil. If you don't like what I say, perhaps you had better take it up with him." Sir Ian smiled tightly, knowing full well that if he had felt comfortable in doing that in the first place, he would have done so. "As you know, I am separated from Lady Rochester and, no matter how many arguments we had before we finally separated, I never once laid a hand on her, not even when she flaunted her affair with Deed."
"Wait a minute, we can do a deal ,Ian. Let us not be hasty. It seems to me that Deed, in carrying on an affair both with George and Jo Mills is riding for a fall and this can be to both of our advantages. Think of it." Neil eagerly pursued his point with all the only real conviction he could ever summon up, self interest.
"The whole business is compromised and tainted, Neil, by your first hitting Mrs. Channing. We have no definite proof that Deed is having an affair with her. Besides, all I have heard and I have seen with my eyes in the trial is the most violent antipathy between the two of them. It would be unlikely if your fisticuffs will have driven George into Deed's arms and ironic if it were actually the case. I absolutely refuse to touch this business," Sir Ian spoke contemptuously.
Neil turned on his heel, stung by the image of George that Sir Ian's words conjured up and infuriated by the man's unexpectedly stubborn refusal. He slammed the door behind him. At least the door daren't argue with him.
Sir Ian turned back to his work, curiously lighter of heart. It was not often he acted this way and, unaccountably, he felt good about himself.
Neil Haughton slipped discreetly out of the court building after the unseemly brawl with Deed. He hoped that no one had seen him pinned up against the wall by him as he would never live it down. His first instinct was to straighten his tie which had become an S shaped crumpled strip of material thanks to Deed's hand round his throat. He needed that smooth veneer which he could show the world how in control of himself he was, and everyone else he had to deal with. This unpleasantness could become damaging, he reflected. Deed would be the sort of person with no shame about spreading the story round his cronies in the legal profession about his domestic troubles of last night. He knew well enough from the huge gossiping chamber that was the House of Commons how bad news travelled fast and some rag like Private Eye would be swift to spread it further with its own despicable brand of smear and insinuation.
He had to contain the public damage which this sort of thing might start. The whole thing was getting out of hand and he felt like there was a ticking bomb just waiting to explode.He had seen it before in the gossip he had traded round the bar at the House of Commons where he had heard the inside stories of how one minister after another had fallen from grace as the simmering scandal that had brewed for months unknown to the public had finally boiled over. He enjoyed a tasty morsel of scandal as much as the next person but not at his expense, thank you very much. After all, the Attorney General was not going to be one of his friends now as George had failed to deliver on such a crucial case for his own reputation as a go getter.
The thought came to mind with a flash of brilliance which made him feel much better about himself. He knew that in the final analysis, he would come up with an idea which all it needed was a bit of clever footwork. He could use the Attorney General's underlings, Sir Ian Rochester and Lawrence James to help him out. He knew that they hated that Deed character like poison and were looking out for him to put one foot wrong to bring him to book. What about what he knew as his long standing association with his paramour, Jo Mills and at the same time, starting a squalid affair with George They would love that one and all he is asking for in return is to put in a good word with the attorney General and keep him off his back. Just how vindictive George would be in having him prosecuted for assault and slapping an injunction order on him would be unpleasant. He had to defend, above all else, his public reputation.
Roisin put on her coat as the school bell rang and she could hear the cheering sound of children and the clatter of heels down the corridors. As she rounded the corner, she felt both hands grabbed by Michael and Niamh.
"My children," She greeted them in her accustomed exuberant fashion having been nagged at by both Niamh and Michael for forever embarrassing them by greeting them with 'my babies' as she used to. With their friends looking on, they used to squirm with embarrassment when she used to say this. Roisin didn't mind however making this compromise. On this sunny September day, she was full of the simple pleasures of life as she walked on to the car, both children swinging on her arms.. She wasn't one for joining the rest of the mothers standing outside the school gates exchanging gossip. She smiled warmly on everyone in general and the others thought that, though she kept herself to herself, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing and that she was obviously devoted to her children. It was known that she had separated from her husband which wasn't uncommon but on the occasion that he used to turn up, he was bad tempered and unfriendly.
Roisin manoeuvred her car into the long line of cars all coming from the school and sped her way back to the home where there was children's television and a warm fire to flop down in front of. Everything was cosy and welcoming at their house.
"Hiya, kids," Cassie's cool but welcoming voice and friendly smile greeted the others when she came in later from work.
"Mrs Edwards wants us to write a story with pictures of the most exciting and dangerous thing that has happened to our parents. Can I write about the time that you and mum rescued that man from the fire."
"You haven't got any problems with writing about mum and me in prison, Niamh?"
Cassie asked seriously. She recalled the moment when Roisin with real humanity and a force of personality took command in that moment of horror to urge them to push a profusely bleeding Neil Grayling on an improvised trolley through what seemed a wall of flames.
"I got a gold sticker the time I wrote about mum when she first went to prison," Said Niamh. "I'm lucky that I've got something good to write about."
"Good girl," approved Cassie using the very words she swore, as a teenager, she would never say, having taken a great delight in being bad.
"Will you help me with the pictures. What did you both look like when you came out of the fire."
"Our faces were blackened, our hands were burnt," Cassie built up to a dramatic climax, "……….and my makeup looked really terrible. I couldn't look in the mirror for weeks." Cassie laughed to general amusement, sending up her well known vanity.
Michael waylaid Roisin with his maths homework and Roisin's eyes tried to focus at the book thrust before her eyes wondering why they had changed the maths since her day at school and made it so difficult for parents to understand.
"Did you see much of Aunt Yvonne while we were away?" Niamh asked presently as the four of them snuggled down on their large comfy settee.
"Yeah, loads," smiled Cassie. "Can't you tell by the suntan? I could make a habit of her lifestyle, drinks by the swimming pool, nice house, great company." Her eyes looked dreamy, thinking of games of spin the bottle in a life far removed from the cosy domesticity. Now the kids were back home, it gave her that comforting feeling of completeness in her life but a holiday away from responsibilities was exciting.
Sir Ian was cloistered in his office, gloomily studying notes that had been passed to them concerning the activities of one Miss Charlotte Deed who was a law student. It was, of course, not unknown for occasional notes to be passed to them concerning the transgressions of law students who would in time become the the up and coming barristers of tomorrow. Usually, it reported nothing more than that they had become totally plastered at some night club and had got into a drunken affray with the local constabulary. That was a natural process of over exuberant youth sowing their wild oats which, in time, was something they grew out of. Not that he had any skeletons in his closet, himself. He had always behaved like a gentleman. Whereas Deed's voluminous file showed the fellow to be a total reprobate from starting from when he was a spectacularly wild and dissolute law student who was only saved from early ruination by a benevolent and foolhardy head of the college. And now there was going to be another Deed let loose on his department in the near future. Whoever said 'in the long term, we are all dead' was merely burying his head in the sand like an ostrich.
A discreet knock on the door heralded the entrance of Neil Houghton who, unusually for him, was smiling pleasantly at him.
"Ian, old man, I was wondering if you would help me with a small private matter. I trust that what I'm going to tell you will be strictly confidential," Came the tone of voice which was curiously ingratiating and yet took his consent for granted. This was not the normal tones of the man who however friendly, let him know all the time just who had the whip hand.
"It depends on what you mean, Neil," He replied cautiously. "You had better explain."
"I've just had a bit of a disagreement with George Channing and, between you and me, she took it rather personally. I offered to make up for anything which I may have done wrong but there is no changing her mind. You know how unreasonable and bad tempered she can get."
For once, the man is sweating, Sir Ian noticed. I thought politicians never sweated and are a breed apart.
"And where do I come into the picture," Sir Ian asked, having the feeling that he had not heard a tenth of the story as yet.
"The truth is, Ian, I wouldn't put it past George to take out an injunction and to pursue a charge of assault against me. Mind you," Neil hastily rushed onwards to skate over the unpleasant sounds of the words that he was uttering, "it may not come to that but forwarned is forarmed so they say and I would appreciate it if anything that might happen you could keep low key and out of the public eye. ."
Sir Ian paused for a second before replying. He looked closely at Neil's face, noticing the way the man couldn't look him straight in the eye but kept looking shiftily away. The man will have been through the 'sincerity school' of training for TV appearances, the appearance of candour in the voice, the 'look you straight in the eye' earnest conviction, just the right appearance of reliability like any other cheap politician. For all this, I wouldn't buy a used car off this man.
"Just exactly what happened between you and George, Neil. I need to know the truth before you ask me to do anything." Sir Ian's voice was sharper, and without even trying he was more assertive in his quiet way than was normally his style. This was ironic as in the past, he had desperately sought to be proud and masterful in his public dealings and had only succeeded in coming over as petulant.
"Well, er, I was telling George that the Atkins Pilkinton trial has let us in for a lot of bad publicity, your department especially. I was only remarking that she ought to have made a better showing and not let the side down. You know that well enough." Neil's ingratiating tones eagerly solicited his support.
"I know exactly how George Channing performed in the trial. I was there in the public gallery most of the time, watching," Sir Ian replied drily.
"There you are, old man. You know how poorly she performed."
"I will not comment to her ex-partner on a barrister whose reputation I believe to be perfectly sound, if unlucky in a string of recent cases. It would be indelicate. So what happened between the two of you?" Sir Ian's response was frosty. After all he was only a direct witness of the trial of everything that this man was talking about, second hand.
"She not only laughed in my face but made a personal remark and had the cheek to quote that Deed character in support. I felt that this was a put up job. I had a run in with him at court when I was asking George to patch up our differences and he did his usual 'knight in shining armour' routine, suspiciously so," Neil finished with a sneer.
"So what did you do to George that leads you to believe that she will take legal action against you, Neil?" Sir Ian
"I happened to hit her and she ran off. Back to Deed so I now understand."
"Wait a minute," Sir Ian broke in. "I don't know about you but I was brought up to believe that you do not ever hit a woman. This is something you just don't do under any circumstances. There is absolutely no excuse for such behaviour. "
"It's not like you to take such a high and mighty attitude, Ian. You and your lackey Lawrence James are quite willing to do the Attorney General's bidding at the drop of a hat or even before the hat falls." Neil's face darkened as this spineless man was presuming all of a sudden to take the high moral ground with him.
"I do the Attorney General's bidding and not yours, Neil. If you don't like what I say, perhaps you had better take it up with him." Sir Ian smiled tightly, knowing full well that if he had felt comfortable in doing that in the first place, he would have done so. "As you know, I am separated from Lady Rochester and, no matter how many arguments we had before we finally separated, I never once laid a hand on her, not even when she flaunted her affair with Deed."
"Wait a minute, we can do a deal ,Ian. Let us not be hasty. It seems to me that Deed, in carrying on an affair both with George and Jo Mills is riding for a fall and this can be to both of our advantages. Think of it." Neil eagerly pursued his point with all the only real conviction he could ever summon up, self interest.
"The whole business is compromised and tainted, Neil, by your first hitting Mrs. Channing. We have no definite proof that Deed is having an affair with her. Besides, all I have heard and I have seen with my eyes in the trial is the most violent antipathy between the two of them. It would be unlikely if your fisticuffs will have driven George into Deed's arms and ironic if it were actually the case. I absolutely refuse to touch this business," Sir Ian spoke contemptuously.
Neil turned on his heel, stung by the image of George that Sir Ian's words conjured up and infuriated by the man's unexpectedly stubborn refusal. He slammed the door behind him. At least the door daren't argue with him.
Sir Ian turned back to his work, curiously lighter of heart. It was not often he acted this way and, unaccountably, he felt good about himself.