Part Forty Four
At first, Karen drove with no particular direction in mind. She just knew that she needed to get away from anyone who knew her, anyone who might have seen those pictures. She drove pretty aimlessly for a while, the rain pattering on the windscreen like a thousand tiny fingers, all knocking for her to let them in. Why could she never be allowed to leave Fenner and what he'd done to her behind? She kept asking herself this as she drove. When she was mulling over a possible answer to this question, the idea occurred to her. If there was one consistency throughout everything to do with Fenner, it was that she hadn't had any control over any of it. That was one thing she was determined to change. Turning off at the next roundabout, Karen drove towards a house she hadn't seen in nearly three years. When she reached it, she simply parked outside and switched off the engine. She was thankful to see that its current occupants were probably at work, no cars sitting in the driveway. Karen stayed where she was, just contemplating the house through the still falling rain. She had moved here with Ross when he was fourteen. She'd just been made a senior officer, and could just about afford the mortgage. She had many happy memories of this house, of Ross, of Steve, and of Fenner. Had that bastard prosecutor shown the entire packet of photographs, they would all have been treated to a few that had been shot in this house, a few of the later ones. Ross had made the transition from child to man in this house, and she'd been so proud to see the son she'd fought tooth and nail for over the years, finally leaving home to go to college. Everything had seemed to be going right until Fenner had come back on the scene. But from then on, her world had been turned topsy turvy. It hadn't been anything truly enormous to start with, really just the clash between Jim and Helen, and she, Karen, had taken Jim's side. Then, Virginia had been drowned and Karen had found Maxi's knickers in her in tray. She'd stood in the living-room of this house, going through Jim's bank statements. She'd afterwards felt guilty for not trusting him. God, what a fool she'd been, she thought contemptuously. All the time, all the bloody time they'd lived together in this house, shared her bed and eaten at the same table. All the time they'd done all those things, he'd been playing her for the fool she'd been since day one, just as Helen had said. She'd had to move out of this house after the rape, because it was just too close to home to be haunted constantly by memories of the times they'd had here. She'd even bought a new bed when she'd moved to the flat, because never again could she have slept in the bed she'd once shared with Jim. Mark hadn't questioned either of these changes, either realising that she needed to do it, or simply knowing that his opinion was neither wanted nor required. Poor Mark, Karen thought as she switched on the engine and drove away. Poor Mark for having been caught up in her anger and disgust for Fenner, because that's what he had been. Mark couldn't do a thing right for her in those few weeks after he'd looked at her as though she was a whore, and that hadn't been his fault. If it had been anyone's, it'd been hers, not his. But she couldn't tell him this at the time. All she'd known was that she didn't want him anywhere near her. She'd slept with him that one last time, in a fruitless attempt to prove she could still enjoy it. Maybe if she had, she might have tried to mend things with Mark, but she hadn't, and he'd known she hadn't. There was no going back after that.
The second time Karen drew her car to a stop, she was looking at an altogether far more dismal house than the one she had just left. In one of the seedier parts of Shepherd's Bush, it stood in the middle of a row of other anonymous looking houses. There was the overgrown hedge, as much a part of the scenery of her nightmare as the house itself had been. She'd pushed Fenner in to that hedge when he'd followed her, when he'd tried to stop her from leaving. Then she'd roared away from there like a bat out of hell, feeling like she was flying for her life. Karen made herself look at that house, forced her unwilling eyes to take in the dingy facade of the B and B where Fenner had retreated after being kicked out by Grayling. From where she was sitting, she could clearly see the front door, and remembered how she'd left it swinging as she'd dashed to her car. But if she raised her eyes to look above the front door, she could see the window of the room where it had happened, behind whose curtains the bed might still be. That bed where he'd held her down, ignored every one of her protests and forced his way inside her.
Everything from the last ten days finally catching up with her, she let the tears flow. It wasn't wrong to cry, not when there was no one to see her do it. She'd cried in front of Jo after reading Fenner's forensic report, but part of her wished she hadn't. If she didn't do this now, she wouldn't be able to keep up the vague pretence of her usual strong persona with anyone. She wanted no one to see her like this, not one single person of all those she knew. This was the start of her finally beginning to let go of Fenner. Karen wasn't stupid, she knew it would take far more than this, but at least she'd taken that initial step towards closure. The last time she'd been outside this house, had been on the day after Ritchie died, when she'd had a flashback in the car with Yvonne. That had been because she hadn't expected to be confronted by the set of her most deeply wounding drama. But this time, she was here because she had chosen to be. That was a one-fingered salute to Fenner for a start. Never again would she come back to this place, but she had needed to see it for one last time.
It was during this moment of contemplation, that Karen's mobile rang. Digging it out of her handbag and trying to stem her tears, she saw it was Helen's number and answered, knowing that Helen would be worried about her if she didn't. "Helen," Karen said in greeting. "Karen," Came Helen's concerned voice. "Where the hell are you?" "You'd think I was completely mad if I told you," Karen said with a watery smile. "Well, as long as it's not at the top of a metaphorical cliff, it doesn't matter where you are." Standing next to Helen, George looked aghast when she heard this. "No," Karen said with a nervous laugh. "Fenner might have made me do some bloody crazy stuff in his time, but he'll never make me do that." Helen gave George a reassuring smile, having forgotten that everyone else was used to her calling a spade a spade way of talking. "Well, I'm glad to hear it," She said sincerely. "We all just wondered how you were." "Right this minute, I feel just about as bad as I've ever done in my life, but I'll get over it. Who's with you?" "I'm stood outside with George. She's smoking, I'm talking to you and the others are inside." "I don't know what I'd do without you all," Karen said, wholly unable to stop crying now she'd started. "You'd probably have a very quiet life," Helen said fondly. "Did you want to talk to anyone else?" "No, but thank you for checking up on me. I just need some space, that's all." "Sweetheart," Helen said gently. "If space is what you want after today, then you'll get it."
When she'd said goodbye to Karen and switched the phone off, George asked, "Is she all right?" "No, she's not," Helen said worriedly. "But from the sounds of it and from what I know of Karen, she'll want to hide somewhere, get it out of her system, and come back tougher and more emotionally closed off than she was before. One thing you're going to have to learn and accept about Karen," She continued, feeling that this was as good a time as any for saying this to George. "Is that since Fenner totally reeled her in and broke her trust, she doesn't allow anyone to get very close to her. She's kept too many feelings locked away for far too long, and unless she's forced to by something unexpected cropping up, she never lets them out." "I'm not a stranger to hiding how I really feel about a lot of things," George said with a rueful shrug. "Then you might have more luck than most in persuading her to open up," Helen said gently. "I think she sees expressing her feelings as a type of vulnerability, as a way for someone to hurt her all over again." "But I wouldn't," George insisted. "I don't know you well enough to agree or disagree with you," Helen said matter-of-factly. "All I'm saying is, don't." "Warning received and understood," George replied quietly. "Though I didn't expect it to come from you." "After what happened with Fenner, you mean? Well, I had Nikki to help me lay Fenner to rest, to hold me through the nightmares, and to stop me from feeling guilty for leaving Karen to it. But Karen had no one. By all accounts she pushed Mark away, and you know what happened with Ritchie. Yvonne would have been good for her in time, but that got shot in the foot before it had barely got going." "And she even slept with John after finishing with Yvonne as a sort of cure." "I know. She told me about that soon after it happened, and at the time I think it was something she needed to do. But that's the point, she pushed Mark away because he was too close to her. She tried Ritchie because he didn't even know about Fenner, and yet he worked it out anyway. With the Judge, I think she just wanted something normal." "And which category do I fall into?" "Do you really want me to have a stab?" "If I've learnt anything in the last ten days," George said with a smile. "It's that I'll get nothing but an honest, unvarnished opinion from each and every one of you. So yes, I'd be interested to know." "You're very pretty," Helen said with a smile. "And you're someone she can spar with, and for Karen, I'm guessing that will always be a plus. From what I remember of Mark, he really wasn't strong enough for her. But you are. You don't take shit from anyone, and she likes that. You've also got absolutely nothing to do with her job, and after all the problems I had with Nikki, I know how important that is, and because of both this trial and the one where you defended Ritchie, plus the work you and Jo were doing for her, there isn't anything you don't know about what happened with Fenner, which means that she doesn't have to explain any of that. It also won't have gone unnoticed that none of that has frightened you off. I could go on, but I think you'd quite like your head to fit through the car door some time today."
After Helen had hung up, Karen sat staring at the phone. She couldn't have faced talking to George. Karen Betts, Wing Governor Betts, who dealt with a lot of volatile prison inmates every day of her working life, didn't quite have the guts to talk to the woman she was getting close too, and all because said woman had seen a few dodgy pictures of her. She really was cracking up if she was being as pathetic as this. Drying her eyes, and reapplying her make up, she put the car in gear and drove away, looking back at the scene of her undoing for the very last time.
John was sprawled full length in an armchair in the dimly lit chambers, not being in a frame of mind to move anywhere for a long time. The last time he had been so incandescent with anger was the Brooklands trial. Instinct told him that he couldn't safely drive his car through the busy streets of London but that he needed to be removed from the world, somewhere he could calm down. While he lay, looking upwards at the faint pattern on the ceiling, that clearly wasn't happening as his anger burned through him like a white hot flame. The court was utterly quiet with no sign of human life and time passed slowly. Eventually, his mind wrenched itself away, as if by protective instinct, to someone, something more congenial and Karen floated into his mind. He admired her presence of mind to take herself out of court and not blindly accepting that the full majesty of the court had to be obeyed, come what may. The fact that it was his court that she had walked out of mattered not a jot to him. If he were in her shoes, he would have done exactly the same. He made a mental note that the least he could do was to tell the court that her examination as a witness was concluded. His sense of honour owed her this much and a lot more besides.
He was just beginning to slide down peacefully into the frame of mind so that he could deal with matters around him until the sharp clicking sound down the long corridor awakened a horrid suspicion of what may be in store for him. They wouldn't dare have the nerve and insensitivity to disturb him after a day like this.
"Ah, John, we thought that we would pop by your chambers on the off chance." Sir Ian tried his best to sound nonchalant as if seeing John was the purest accident.
"Our business took us in this direction," Added his faithful sidekick. Oh no, this is all I need, groaned John to himself. I can't exactly bounce the pair of them out of my chambers by the scruffs of their necks, much though I would dearly love to do so. "Take a seat if you must," He gestured unenthusiastically.
"It has been most productive of our time to follow this trial closely rather than let it come to us by the normal channels." "I was only saying to Sir Ian the other day that we don't get out of our offices enough and that we should adopt a more 'hands on' approach," Lawrence James added.
"I am gratified that you are devoting so much time to my cases when there are other judges whom you could visit." John's smile was stretched tightly across his face but not in easy mirth and in a mood of intimacy. The hardness in his voice had none of his usual courtesy and affability. Already, he could feel his anger welling up inside him. By what right did they think they could intrude on him? One's company, two's a crowd let alone three.
"Ah, but we are concerned for your welfare and that the judgement on a delicate and complex case will be sound." "Proceed," He was fed up of the flowery false sentiment and wanted to cut to the chase.
"You will have no doubt as to the veracity of thew evidence given by the last witness, Ms Betts." "You're right. I don't." "The woman was clearly as guilty as sin of fabricating her evidence against James Fenner. Her lack of modesty shows the sort of woman she is. There can be no doubt as men of the world that the woman could not possibly have been raped." "Ian, you are clearly talking the language of 'disgusted of Tonbridge Wells.' What two consenting adults do in the privacy of their home is their private business." "You miss the point, John, it is about credibility." "It is about arriving at the truth. Neil Houghton, for instance, appears perfectly credible being interviewed by David Frost as he has been trained in techniques of appearing before the media and feigning sincerity. From my past acquaintance with the man, I know him to be untruthful and his word not to be relied upon." Both sir Ian and Lawrence James were so locked up in their desperation to put pressure on John at their last opportunity that they failed to notice John's dry clipped emphasis on the consonants as the first stage in his gradual ascent to the explosion of anger to come.
"My Lord, my wife would never allow herself to behave in such a manner. The postures were brazenly immodest, and what is worse is that she consented to a photographic record to be kept. It tells me that she is a loose woman who deceived Mr. Fenner as to her intentions when she called round to visit him. To say she was raped is surely crying wolf." It was Lawrence James's loud hateful tones that caused the dam to finally burst.
"I really don't know whose behaviour is more morally corrupt, that pathetic apology of a man who obviously gets a kick out of humiliating women……" "Your words come straight out of some cheap romantic fiction, John……" "Silence, the pair of you. As I was saying, I consider two sycophants like yourselves whose only thoughts are how to satisfy the whims of your lords and masters, be fair means or foul. You two, I fancy, come off worst. Having heard that spineless wretch and what I had to say about them, you could have maintained a decent silence and let justice be done. But no, you choose to immerse yourself totally in the filth and slime which pervades this society, further than you have ever done before. Your mere presence in coming to see me condones that man's foul actions or you would have spoken about this matter at the very first instance. Before you ask the next, very predictable action, Miss Betts will not be recalled to the stand and I shall explain to the court exactly why, first thing. You have the audacity to slander a very courageous woman who stands head and shoulders over any of you, and your cronies. Your sickeningly prim and puritan attempt at 'morality' disgusts me to the bottom of my soul, when I see the way you have sold your souls to climb the greasy ladder of success. You, Sir Ian and you, Mr. James, have shamelessly prostituted yourselves for years, And finally, I shall make it my life's mission to ensure that that puppet of yours is arraigned before the PCC and is suitably dealt with." Sir Ian blanched before the tirade of anger which poured over him especially as John's forefinger stabbed his indictment of them in their direction. He waited a few seconds until he conceived the reason why John was apparently so defensive of her. If Laurence James could have turned white, he would have done and he kept out of the slanging match.
"Don't think we don't know why you are being so absurdly quixotic. You must be having a cheap affair with Ms Betts." For one second, Sir Ian regretted his actions as he saw murder in John's eyes. With an enormous effort of will, he firmly suppressed what impulse came into his mind and was abnormally calm and quiet.
"I thought it was Mrs. Mills whom you thought I was having an affair with." "We can't keep up with your outlandish lifestyle," snarled Sir Ian.
"What's the matter? Are you jealous? Is that what your morality is based upon? Do those photographs give you an inkling of what I might enjoy with Ms Betts?" John enquired teasingly.
"We're getting away from the point," Sir Ian eventually said after a coughing fit. "We came to be assured that you not hold back in your summing up and when you come to deliver your verdict." "You can be assured that I shall treat the defendant justly as I always have done. Now get out, you are making the place untidy." After the two luckless men made their exit, John sighed. He needed peace of mind desperately right then.
At first, Karen drove with no particular direction in mind. She just knew that she needed to get away from anyone who knew her, anyone who might have seen those pictures. She drove pretty aimlessly for a while, the rain pattering on the windscreen like a thousand tiny fingers, all knocking for her to let them in. Why could she never be allowed to leave Fenner and what he'd done to her behind? She kept asking herself this as she drove. When she was mulling over a possible answer to this question, the idea occurred to her. If there was one consistency throughout everything to do with Fenner, it was that she hadn't had any control over any of it. That was one thing she was determined to change. Turning off at the next roundabout, Karen drove towards a house she hadn't seen in nearly three years. When she reached it, she simply parked outside and switched off the engine. She was thankful to see that its current occupants were probably at work, no cars sitting in the driveway. Karen stayed where she was, just contemplating the house through the still falling rain. She had moved here with Ross when he was fourteen. She'd just been made a senior officer, and could just about afford the mortgage. She had many happy memories of this house, of Ross, of Steve, and of Fenner. Had that bastard prosecutor shown the entire packet of photographs, they would all have been treated to a few that had been shot in this house, a few of the later ones. Ross had made the transition from child to man in this house, and she'd been so proud to see the son she'd fought tooth and nail for over the years, finally leaving home to go to college. Everything had seemed to be going right until Fenner had come back on the scene. But from then on, her world had been turned topsy turvy. It hadn't been anything truly enormous to start with, really just the clash between Jim and Helen, and she, Karen, had taken Jim's side. Then, Virginia had been drowned and Karen had found Maxi's knickers in her in tray. She'd stood in the living-room of this house, going through Jim's bank statements. She'd afterwards felt guilty for not trusting him. God, what a fool she'd been, she thought contemptuously. All the time, all the bloody time they'd lived together in this house, shared her bed and eaten at the same table. All the time they'd done all those things, he'd been playing her for the fool she'd been since day one, just as Helen had said. She'd had to move out of this house after the rape, because it was just too close to home to be haunted constantly by memories of the times they'd had here. She'd even bought a new bed when she'd moved to the flat, because never again could she have slept in the bed she'd once shared with Jim. Mark hadn't questioned either of these changes, either realising that she needed to do it, or simply knowing that his opinion was neither wanted nor required. Poor Mark, Karen thought as she switched on the engine and drove away. Poor Mark for having been caught up in her anger and disgust for Fenner, because that's what he had been. Mark couldn't do a thing right for her in those few weeks after he'd looked at her as though she was a whore, and that hadn't been his fault. If it had been anyone's, it'd been hers, not his. But she couldn't tell him this at the time. All she'd known was that she didn't want him anywhere near her. She'd slept with him that one last time, in a fruitless attempt to prove she could still enjoy it. Maybe if she had, she might have tried to mend things with Mark, but she hadn't, and he'd known she hadn't. There was no going back after that.
The second time Karen drew her car to a stop, she was looking at an altogether far more dismal house than the one she had just left. In one of the seedier parts of Shepherd's Bush, it stood in the middle of a row of other anonymous looking houses. There was the overgrown hedge, as much a part of the scenery of her nightmare as the house itself had been. She'd pushed Fenner in to that hedge when he'd followed her, when he'd tried to stop her from leaving. Then she'd roared away from there like a bat out of hell, feeling like she was flying for her life. Karen made herself look at that house, forced her unwilling eyes to take in the dingy facade of the B and B where Fenner had retreated after being kicked out by Grayling. From where she was sitting, she could clearly see the front door, and remembered how she'd left it swinging as she'd dashed to her car. But if she raised her eyes to look above the front door, she could see the window of the room where it had happened, behind whose curtains the bed might still be. That bed where he'd held her down, ignored every one of her protests and forced his way inside her.
Everything from the last ten days finally catching up with her, she let the tears flow. It wasn't wrong to cry, not when there was no one to see her do it. She'd cried in front of Jo after reading Fenner's forensic report, but part of her wished she hadn't. If she didn't do this now, she wouldn't be able to keep up the vague pretence of her usual strong persona with anyone. She wanted no one to see her like this, not one single person of all those she knew. This was the start of her finally beginning to let go of Fenner. Karen wasn't stupid, she knew it would take far more than this, but at least she'd taken that initial step towards closure. The last time she'd been outside this house, had been on the day after Ritchie died, when she'd had a flashback in the car with Yvonne. That had been because she hadn't expected to be confronted by the set of her most deeply wounding drama. But this time, she was here because she had chosen to be. That was a one-fingered salute to Fenner for a start. Never again would she come back to this place, but she had needed to see it for one last time.
It was during this moment of contemplation, that Karen's mobile rang. Digging it out of her handbag and trying to stem her tears, she saw it was Helen's number and answered, knowing that Helen would be worried about her if she didn't. "Helen," Karen said in greeting. "Karen," Came Helen's concerned voice. "Where the hell are you?" "You'd think I was completely mad if I told you," Karen said with a watery smile. "Well, as long as it's not at the top of a metaphorical cliff, it doesn't matter where you are." Standing next to Helen, George looked aghast when she heard this. "No," Karen said with a nervous laugh. "Fenner might have made me do some bloody crazy stuff in his time, but he'll never make me do that." Helen gave George a reassuring smile, having forgotten that everyone else was used to her calling a spade a spade way of talking. "Well, I'm glad to hear it," She said sincerely. "We all just wondered how you were." "Right this minute, I feel just about as bad as I've ever done in my life, but I'll get over it. Who's with you?" "I'm stood outside with George. She's smoking, I'm talking to you and the others are inside." "I don't know what I'd do without you all," Karen said, wholly unable to stop crying now she'd started. "You'd probably have a very quiet life," Helen said fondly. "Did you want to talk to anyone else?" "No, but thank you for checking up on me. I just need some space, that's all." "Sweetheart," Helen said gently. "If space is what you want after today, then you'll get it."
When she'd said goodbye to Karen and switched the phone off, George asked, "Is she all right?" "No, she's not," Helen said worriedly. "But from the sounds of it and from what I know of Karen, she'll want to hide somewhere, get it out of her system, and come back tougher and more emotionally closed off than she was before. One thing you're going to have to learn and accept about Karen," She continued, feeling that this was as good a time as any for saying this to George. "Is that since Fenner totally reeled her in and broke her trust, she doesn't allow anyone to get very close to her. She's kept too many feelings locked away for far too long, and unless she's forced to by something unexpected cropping up, she never lets them out." "I'm not a stranger to hiding how I really feel about a lot of things," George said with a rueful shrug. "Then you might have more luck than most in persuading her to open up," Helen said gently. "I think she sees expressing her feelings as a type of vulnerability, as a way for someone to hurt her all over again." "But I wouldn't," George insisted. "I don't know you well enough to agree or disagree with you," Helen said matter-of-factly. "All I'm saying is, don't." "Warning received and understood," George replied quietly. "Though I didn't expect it to come from you." "After what happened with Fenner, you mean? Well, I had Nikki to help me lay Fenner to rest, to hold me through the nightmares, and to stop me from feeling guilty for leaving Karen to it. But Karen had no one. By all accounts she pushed Mark away, and you know what happened with Ritchie. Yvonne would have been good for her in time, but that got shot in the foot before it had barely got going." "And she even slept with John after finishing with Yvonne as a sort of cure." "I know. She told me about that soon after it happened, and at the time I think it was something she needed to do. But that's the point, she pushed Mark away because he was too close to her. She tried Ritchie because he didn't even know about Fenner, and yet he worked it out anyway. With the Judge, I think she just wanted something normal." "And which category do I fall into?" "Do you really want me to have a stab?" "If I've learnt anything in the last ten days," George said with a smile. "It's that I'll get nothing but an honest, unvarnished opinion from each and every one of you. So yes, I'd be interested to know." "You're very pretty," Helen said with a smile. "And you're someone she can spar with, and for Karen, I'm guessing that will always be a plus. From what I remember of Mark, he really wasn't strong enough for her. But you are. You don't take shit from anyone, and she likes that. You've also got absolutely nothing to do with her job, and after all the problems I had with Nikki, I know how important that is, and because of both this trial and the one where you defended Ritchie, plus the work you and Jo were doing for her, there isn't anything you don't know about what happened with Fenner, which means that she doesn't have to explain any of that. It also won't have gone unnoticed that none of that has frightened you off. I could go on, but I think you'd quite like your head to fit through the car door some time today."
After Helen had hung up, Karen sat staring at the phone. She couldn't have faced talking to George. Karen Betts, Wing Governor Betts, who dealt with a lot of volatile prison inmates every day of her working life, didn't quite have the guts to talk to the woman she was getting close too, and all because said woman had seen a few dodgy pictures of her. She really was cracking up if she was being as pathetic as this. Drying her eyes, and reapplying her make up, she put the car in gear and drove away, looking back at the scene of her undoing for the very last time.
John was sprawled full length in an armchair in the dimly lit chambers, not being in a frame of mind to move anywhere for a long time. The last time he had been so incandescent with anger was the Brooklands trial. Instinct told him that he couldn't safely drive his car through the busy streets of London but that he needed to be removed from the world, somewhere he could calm down. While he lay, looking upwards at the faint pattern on the ceiling, that clearly wasn't happening as his anger burned through him like a white hot flame. The court was utterly quiet with no sign of human life and time passed slowly. Eventually, his mind wrenched itself away, as if by protective instinct, to someone, something more congenial and Karen floated into his mind. He admired her presence of mind to take herself out of court and not blindly accepting that the full majesty of the court had to be obeyed, come what may. The fact that it was his court that she had walked out of mattered not a jot to him. If he were in her shoes, he would have done exactly the same. He made a mental note that the least he could do was to tell the court that her examination as a witness was concluded. His sense of honour owed her this much and a lot more besides.
He was just beginning to slide down peacefully into the frame of mind so that he could deal with matters around him until the sharp clicking sound down the long corridor awakened a horrid suspicion of what may be in store for him. They wouldn't dare have the nerve and insensitivity to disturb him after a day like this.
"Ah, John, we thought that we would pop by your chambers on the off chance." Sir Ian tried his best to sound nonchalant as if seeing John was the purest accident.
"Our business took us in this direction," Added his faithful sidekick. Oh no, this is all I need, groaned John to himself. I can't exactly bounce the pair of them out of my chambers by the scruffs of their necks, much though I would dearly love to do so. "Take a seat if you must," He gestured unenthusiastically.
"It has been most productive of our time to follow this trial closely rather than let it come to us by the normal channels." "I was only saying to Sir Ian the other day that we don't get out of our offices enough and that we should adopt a more 'hands on' approach," Lawrence James added.
"I am gratified that you are devoting so much time to my cases when there are other judges whom you could visit." John's smile was stretched tightly across his face but not in easy mirth and in a mood of intimacy. The hardness in his voice had none of his usual courtesy and affability. Already, he could feel his anger welling up inside him. By what right did they think they could intrude on him? One's company, two's a crowd let alone three.
"Ah, but we are concerned for your welfare and that the judgement on a delicate and complex case will be sound." "Proceed," He was fed up of the flowery false sentiment and wanted to cut to the chase.
"You will have no doubt as to the veracity of thew evidence given by the last witness, Ms Betts." "You're right. I don't." "The woman was clearly as guilty as sin of fabricating her evidence against James Fenner. Her lack of modesty shows the sort of woman she is. There can be no doubt as men of the world that the woman could not possibly have been raped." "Ian, you are clearly talking the language of 'disgusted of Tonbridge Wells.' What two consenting adults do in the privacy of their home is their private business." "You miss the point, John, it is about credibility." "It is about arriving at the truth. Neil Houghton, for instance, appears perfectly credible being interviewed by David Frost as he has been trained in techniques of appearing before the media and feigning sincerity. From my past acquaintance with the man, I know him to be untruthful and his word not to be relied upon." Both sir Ian and Lawrence James were so locked up in their desperation to put pressure on John at their last opportunity that they failed to notice John's dry clipped emphasis on the consonants as the first stage in his gradual ascent to the explosion of anger to come.
"My Lord, my wife would never allow herself to behave in such a manner. The postures were brazenly immodest, and what is worse is that she consented to a photographic record to be kept. It tells me that she is a loose woman who deceived Mr. Fenner as to her intentions when she called round to visit him. To say she was raped is surely crying wolf." It was Lawrence James's loud hateful tones that caused the dam to finally burst.
"I really don't know whose behaviour is more morally corrupt, that pathetic apology of a man who obviously gets a kick out of humiliating women……" "Your words come straight out of some cheap romantic fiction, John……" "Silence, the pair of you. As I was saying, I consider two sycophants like yourselves whose only thoughts are how to satisfy the whims of your lords and masters, be fair means or foul. You two, I fancy, come off worst. Having heard that spineless wretch and what I had to say about them, you could have maintained a decent silence and let justice be done. But no, you choose to immerse yourself totally in the filth and slime which pervades this society, further than you have ever done before. Your mere presence in coming to see me condones that man's foul actions or you would have spoken about this matter at the very first instance. Before you ask the next, very predictable action, Miss Betts will not be recalled to the stand and I shall explain to the court exactly why, first thing. You have the audacity to slander a very courageous woman who stands head and shoulders over any of you, and your cronies. Your sickeningly prim and puritan attempt at 'morality' disgusts me to the bottom of my soul, when I see the way you have sold your souls to climb the greasy ladder of success. You, Sir Ian and you, Mr. James, have shamelessly prostituted yourselves for years, And finally, I shall make it my life's mission to ensure that that puppet of yours is arraigned before the PCC and is suitably dealt with." Sir Ian blanched before the tirade of anger which poured over him especially as John's forefinger stabbed his indictment of them in their direction. He waited a few seconds until he conceived the reason why John was apparently so defensive of her. If Laurence James could have turned white, he would have done and he kept out of the slanging match.
"Don't think we don't know why you are being so absurdly quixotic. You must be having a cheap affair with Ms Betts." For one second, Sir Ian regretted his actions as he saw murder in John's eyes. With an enormous effort of will, he firmly suppressed what impulse came into his mind and was abnormally calm and quiet.
"I thought it was Mrs. Mills whom you thought I was having an affair with." "We can't keep up with your outlandish lifestyle," snarled Sir Ian.
"What's the matter? Are you jealous? Is that what your morality is based upon? Do those photographs give you an inkling of what I might enjoy with Ms Betts?" John enquired teasingly.
"We're getting away from the point," Sir Ian eventually said after a coughing fit. "We came to be assured that you not hold back in your summing up and when you come to deliver your verdict." "You can be assured that I shall treat the defendant justly as I always have done. Now get out, you are making the place untidy." After the two luckless men made their exit, John sighed. He needed peace of mind desperately right then.