Part Seventy-Two
It had come to that occasion in the year. The notice had been pinned up on the notice board in the barrister's room in the Old Bailey, conspicuously central in its pristine freshness over the top of the forgotten yellowed parchments. Monty and Vera Everard arrived first, giving a misleading impression of public togetherness but eager for what mutual advantage the meeting might have in store. Sir Ian and Lawrence James followed closely behind in their contrastingly but professional 'joined at the hip' routine. Lastly, thirty paces behind, John casually sauntered into the room and immediately raised the hackles of the other four. Finally, Joe Channing huffed and puffed his way into the cluttered room and sank into the one comfortable chair in the austerely furnished room.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have recently come from a meeting of the Bar Council which endorsed an initiative which will affect us all." Joe's dramatic pause let the thought sink in and eyes to flit around the room, speculating on what he might have up his sleeve.
"It is about time that the brethren felt more of a sense of community. We are living in troubled times when the old certainties of our position are no longer as secure as they once were. It is less possible and even less desirable for any of us to indulge in the sort of petty bickering which, regrettably appears to have crept in, in recent years." Joe rolled an expressive eye in the direction of John. He was sitting next to Sir Ian but their body language conveyed a sense of mutual aversion, both physical and personal. Two landmark trials had done much to sour relationships between the two of them. That perverse man, drat him, had that confounded expression of innocence on his face and totally and utterly ignored his gentle hint. "That is why a team building exercise has been decided upon." "You mean we are to all don battle dress, army boots and rifles and yomp all over Dartmoor while the Bar Council fire at us from behind, friendly fire just to encourage us of course." His barb was aimed deliberately at the very unmilitary Sir Ian who twitched at the thought of John's very real scenario. He had watched Holby City and chanced upon an episode when an accountancy firm had dressed up as medieval knights in armour and fairy princesses and one of them ended up in hospital, unpleasantly skewered by a very sharp and very real sword. "No, I am not suggesting risking valuable lives in such a foolish, undignified fashion," Spluttered Joe Channing, reprimanding that reprobate fourth former in the back row.
"My idea is altogether more peaceful, more dignified." "Meaning?" "All of us have been educated at the finest schools and universities which instilled a sound musical background. I propose that we form an orchestra for the purpose of putting on a public performance." "A brilliant suggestion," gushed Vera Everard, using her overpowering presence to seize control of the meeting. "But is the performance to be only for the instrumentalists amongst us?" "What did you have in mind, Vera?" Joe answered with an ingratiating expression on his face. He had the sickening feeling that his first instinct to placate this terrible woman meant that he would be relegated to the sidelines and she would browbeat everyone else into what suited her, first and foremost.
"My own very favourite piece of music just has to be Haydn's 'Creation.' It has everything you could wish for, violins, cellos, woodwind, trumpets and singers. I used to perform in it at school. I made a very fetching Eve, so I used to be told." Both John and Sir Ian made a very curious temporary alliance in exchanging a look of derision at the thought. Evidently. the years since Vera's schooldays had not been kind to her.
"Monty, you would make an absolutely marvellous Adam," Vera pronounced.
From the look of extreme discomfort on his face, this idea had been suddenly landed on him and said a lot about the sort of communication within their household. His evident distaste for playing Adam to Vera's Eve was plain for all to see when in real life, his occupation of his place in the digs conveniently distanced him from Vera's residence elsewhere. A conflicting desire achieved mastery within him by a hairbreadth. This was his intense desire to be in the limelight and make his presence felt in a setting where his talents would surely receive the respect which he felt to be his due. It gave him a good opportunity to curry favour with the Bar Council who would be bound to watch the performance. The man is so transparent, John reflected, as he weighed in with his contribution.
"I think that we should not be too precipitous in deciding which individuals perform particular roles. Vera's choice of music is an excellent one, which I would endorse for the reasons she sets out. However, we should be certain that we have between us, the ensemble talent to take on such an ambitious work of art. We should go round the table and say what experience we have." Joe Channing's expression showed his utter gratitude for the adroit way that John's quiet but steely tones had sidelined the Everards. How does the fellow manage it, he wondered.
"We might as well start with Ian and work round the group." "I play in a woodwind quintet, and have played on and off ever since my schooldays." "You are a musician?" John's hushed, respectful reply contrasted with his previous verbal sniping which had made him pick on that wretched fellow and put him on the spot. The memories of the Atkins trial had rankled. This revelation made him see Sir Ian in a new light. Loathsome careerist and sycophant though he might be, it summoned up a new understanding between them. He could no more pass this up any more than he could pass by an attractive woman unregarded nor fight a crusade for justice however unfavourable the odds were stacked against him. "I play the clarinet, John," Sir Ian replied a little stiffly.
"That is good, Ian. I am pleased." Sir Ian was unsettled by the total lack of irony or trickery in John's manner and had trouble getting his head round it.
"I play the oboe in the same quintet that Ian plays in," Laurence James intoned in his flat, expressionless voice.
Again, John was taken aback. His sense of irony at the way the Old boy's network would relish the possibility that the Lord Chancellor was a third member of the quintet but it would clash severely with his passionately held beliefs as to the nature of art. The fact that these three despicable men had any trace of an artistic soul had not entered his comprehension. His contempt for them was centred on his unwavering belief that they had long since sold their souls to the devil, or to the Stock Exchange or both at a very handsome profit. "This is excellent," John exclaimed heartily. His enthusiasm for the project was growing by the minute. "Can either of you play an instrument?" John politely enquired of the Everards, both fuming, as the spotlight was not on them any more. Both of them frowned and shook their heads.
"I intend to be the conductor if I had not made it clear before. I do not make such a claim because of my position amongst the brethren but upon my long experience in the musical field." John nodded in appreciation. As his ex-father-in-law, he did not think to question Joe's accomplishments in this area.
"We will, of course, need to throw this open far and wide amongst the brethren but it is highly encouraging that, of the few of us present, all of us can lay claim to musical accomplishments without exception. It is a very encouraging sign." "By the way, John, you have not declared your own interest," Sir Ian asked, a trace of nastiness in his voice. The fellow had forced everyone else to lay his cards on the table and kept suspiciously quiet about himself. "Oh, didn't I say before? Lead violinist in an amateur string quintet," John replied with the utmost nonchalance, his eyes meeting Ian's. Everyone else sat back in their seats in shocked surprise at this exploding bombshell. Deed, the incorrigible womaniser was a matter of endless gossip round the chambers as was that maverick whose legal judgements were perverse and downright Bolshevik. Deed, the amateur musician, was a persona that they were not prepared for. "Oh, I'm glad to hear that you kept up your music." Joe Channing's hearty response was entirely genuine. His first instinct was that he could see the light at the end of the tunnel and it wasn't the headlight of the express train driven by Vera Everard which threatened to drive all over him, blowing her whistle.
Sir Ian's musicianly solidarity had flickered briefly into life before being snuffed out by baser instincts. He knew well enough that Deed was more talented than he made out and that meant that he would seek to take control. Lead violinist, always had a higher status and profile than his journeyman position as clarinettist, especially the enlarged setting in relation to his own woodwind quintet. Those idiots, the Everards, were alternately squabbling amongst themselves or lost in delusions of their own grandeur to recognise the threat that was taking shape.
"This would be a good point for a natural break and the time to take stock of what musical talent we know amongst the rest of the brethren. We must carry on in the spirit of teamwork to welcome others into the musical fold." From the rapidity with which he trod a dead straight line to the balcony, Joe had practical reasons to adjourn the meeting.
Without delay, Vera launched into her grand plan for self-aggrandisement and to put some backbone into her shilly shallying husband to lay their claim for supremacy once and for all. "This is our heaven sent opportunity for us to put one over that wretched Deed character. If we have to suffer the presence of the less desirable characters, then it is for us to be on top. I have no more time for you than you have for me but it is quite possible for us to pretend for the sake of a few rehearsals and the performance before the Bar Council. It will help your future career." "Yes, Vera." Oh the problems of being the power behind the throne, Vera sighed. Only she knew how weak and vacillating the man could be, however much in his public role he acted as the stern unbending judge. She made a mental note to look out some dress patterns to bring out the best in her.
John had casually strolled after Joe who turned round when he quietly shut the door behind him.
"I have to thank you for putting a stop to that fearful woman taking over. I very much doubt that she is anywhere near the standard required of playing the part of Eve. She would dictate to everyone what they would do and everyone would end up smiling and going along with her. Giving that woman control would be catastrophic. I will not involve myself in a total musical fiasco." Joe Channing had had many experiences when John's conduct had caused him acute political embarrassment but that was one thing. It was quite another thing if what he most loved outside his profession was brought into ridicule. To his own surprise, he found himself unburdening himself to the man whom he had always seen as his chief tormentor.
"Have you thought of George taking the part of Eve?" Joe suddenly smiled at John's suggestion as if a lightbulb had been turned on in his mind. Why had he never thought of this before? A sudden rush of memories flooded back of him perched on a narrow uncomfortable school chair and entranced by his beloved daughter's crystal clear singing, which soared and described intricate musical loops.
"That is a damned good idea, John. Do you think she would agree to it?" "I could try and persuade her." Joe darted a look of suspicion at the look of limpid innocence on John's face.
"That is what I am afraid of." "…..unless you want to talk to her, yourself?" Joe shuddered at the fear that George might jump in an unreasonably perverse direction to his eminently reasonable suggestions. Once she set her mind against an idea, she became all the more stubborn and obstinate the more he reasoned with her. To his mind, women could be contrary creatures.
"I will leave that in your capable hands." While Joe's response to John's idea was reluctant, on a deeper level, he was making some rapid calculations in his mind. The man did talk sense, so his memory told him years ago in happier days when he had first talked to him, man to man. He also remembered John's musical talents, which had instantly become a strong bond between them. "I have made up my mind, John, I need a leader of the orchestra to help keep it running smoothly. I think you are the man for the job." Joe Channing's gruff voice understated his gratitude in true old school style. It felt peculiar that he owed his peace of mind to Deed, the invariable grit that jammed the smooth running of the machinery of law.
"So the chief poacher is promoted to the position of gamekeeper?" John enquired in his laziest, yet most searching tones.
"If you want an answer, then it is yes, but only partly so. If you are left to yourself, you will be your usual troublemaking self. If you are given a position of responsibility, then your sense of duty, however peculiar a form it is rooted in you, may make this work. Besides, if you are anything like the musician you used to be, then you deserve the position on sheer merit. I am not indulging in a foolish old man's sentimentality about some sort of golden past." There was a strange look in Joe's eye as it shifted either side of John's steady gaze.
"All right Joe." He stretched out his hand, which Joe, to his surprise, shook hard. It gave a sense of reassurance in contrast to that bounder Neil Houghton's very limp handshake. Joe stubbed out the cigarette and led the way back to the main room.
Sir Ian and Monty Everard looked very suspiciously at the two of them as they entered the room. It was obvious that they had been cooking something up together.
"I have a possible idea that George might be agreeable to take the part of Eve. I have heard her singing over the years and her voice is quite extraordinary." "That is an excellent idea, John. I attended a school performance of her in the creation and she made an utterly enchanting Eve." "So any daughter would appear to a father or so I am told," Came Vera's sour reply. "I am not prepared to accept a slur or insult to my daughter, Vera. Nor am I prepared to tolerate an attack on my artistic judgement. You will kindly remember that I am the director of this musical company and I am in charge." There was a stunned silence. Not only had Joe Channing verbally put Vera Everard in her place for the first time in his life, he was stamping his authority to treat them as his orchestral ensemble.
"Of course, these are preliminary suggestions and where there is more than one volunteer for a role, then I as conductor and leader, shall have the final say." John sat back with amazement at the way Joe built up his very real forceful and decisive leadership into a crescendo and the way he took the wind out of Vera's sails. Joe was similarly astonished at the consequences of his outburst and only wished he could achieve similar results in his arguments with George. "We ought to explore possibilities for other parts. All of us have had a hard enough day in court. For instance, I know that Jo Mills plays the cello." "Didn't Mrs. Mills tell me she was having tuba lessons?" "I regret that she was being a little facetious, but she was not entirely joking. I can assure you of this point, Mr. James." John endeavoured to smooth Lawrence James down. Jo's wisecrack to this interfering official had clearly rankled and now was the chance to set the record straight. Joe Channing was secretly amazed by John's unexpected capacity for diplomacy and mentally gave him full marks for this.
"In that case, we have another possible cellist. Brian Cantwell comes to mind from my acquaintance with him." John raised his eyebrows at yet another surprise. He had Cantwell pegged as an utter philistine as well as a reactionary fool.
"This is starting to take excellent shape. I had no idea that we had so much unexpected talent amongst us," Joe boomed, as he started to relax for the first time since the Bar council had landed the idea of this team building exercise on him. He had come up with the first idea that came off the top of his head, which seemed a good idea at the time. In the cold light of day when he contemplated the idea, he had been worried about the reception the idea he would get at the end of the day from such a warring collection of individualists and prima donnas. "Well, in that case," snorted Monty Everard, seeing himself increasingly relegated to the sidelines. "I have heard it on the grapevine that Neumann Mason-Alan plays the trumpet. He would blow his own trumpet, of course." "That starts to fill the gap in the brass section. Do we have any other suggestions?" Sir Ian had watched the way the conversation taking shape, unable to believe the evidence of his own ears. This was the man who had severely reined in Neumann and repeatedly castigated him and his conduct in the last trial that Neumann appeared before him. Besides what he had seen for himself, he had heard the bitter complaints from Neumann and had supposed that John would have gone along with Monty Everard's little joke at his expense. Yet he had not uttered a word against Neumann. He resolved to sit back, watch and see how things took shape and play along with this.
"I have heard on the grapevine that there is a new appointee to the Prison Service area management, who has a deep love of classical singing. He may well be amenable to take part." "That sounds promising, Ian. By the way, doesn't your wife play the oboe?" Sir Ian flared up straightaway. He had deliberately held back mentioning his wife's name. To his suspicious mind, the casual way which John dropped in this suggestion, showed Deed at his most untrustworthy and betrayed his real reason for his enthusiasm for this project.
"I see, John. This will provide an ideal opportunity and cover for you to resume your squalid little affair with my wife." "I can assure you, Ian, that I have absolutely none of the intentions you describe. If there is any such danger, it would be completely the other way round. I can assure you that I have not the slightest intention of going nearer your wife than I am professionally required to do. It's the case of once bitten, twice shy." The room sank into shocked silence at John's description of himself as 'shy' which was precisely the reaction he intended.
"Are there any other expressions of interest that we know of?" Joe at last declared, wanting to move the business on. He gave the meeting two clear minutes for any responses. "Well, that about concludes the meeting. We have got through the business in far better time than I had thought we would. Hopefully, this will be a sign of the way we shall continue." "One last point, Joe. Oughtn't the Bar Council to advertise this by e-mail to all members and spread out the net wider." "Then why couldn't this have been done in the first place instead of spending an hour at this time of night, sitting in uncomfortable chairs and gassing away," Came Vera's petulent outburst. It was surprising that she had shut up for so long but the conversation had unrolled without a break so that she couldn't get a look in.
"Cold calling is not the best way of advertising, Vera. This is only going to look a possibility when it is seen that a number of us are prepared to come forward. Without this discussion, none of us would have had the remotest idea of what each other can do. Let's face it, we are not in a profession noted for artistic creativity. Now we know more of what is possible, we can go on to the next stage." "My sentiments exactly. I intend to compile a list of all the parts required for the entire ensemble and note expressions of interest based on what we have found out tonight. This will be put on the notice board and the Bar Council will advertise this by e-mail to all members. I must remind you that this performance is intended as a team building exercise so that we are most truly brothers and sisters. Now, I am sure we all have homes to go to." The room emptied fairly rapidly as each of them went home with their own very mixed feelings. Joe sank back into the driving seat of his sedate Rolls Royce and lit a much needed cigarette. He had the most mixed feelings of all, surprise that somehow, against the odds, the first faltering step had been taken and fear as to exactly what he had unleashed. He felt he thoroughly deserved a nightcap when he got home.
It had come to that occasion in the year. The notice had been pinned up on the notice board in the barrister's room in the Old Bailey, conspicuously central in its pristine freshness over the top of the forgotten yellowed parchments. Monty and Vera Everard arrived first, giving a misleading impression of public togetherness but eager for what mutual advantage the meeting might have in store. Sir Ian and Lawrence James followed closely behind in their contrastingly but professional 'joined at the hip' routine. Lastly, thirty paces behind, John casually sauntered into the room and immediately raised the hackles of the other four. Finally, Joe Channing huffed and puffed his way into the cluttered room and sank into the one comfortable chair in the austerely furnished room.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I have recently come from a meeting of the Bar Council which endorsed an initiative which will affect us all." Joe's dramatic pause let the thought sink in and eyes to flit around the room, speculating on what he might have up his sleeve.
"It is about time that the brethren felt more of a sense of community. We are living in troubled times when the old certainties of our position are no longer as secure as they once were. It is less possible and even less desirable for any of us to indulge in the sort of petty bickering which, regrettably appears to have crept in, in recent years." Joe rolled an expressive eye in the direction of John. He was sitting next to Sir Ian but their body language conveyed a sense of mutual aversion, both physical and personal. Two landmark trials had done much to sour relationships between the two of them. That perverse man, drat him, had that confounded expression of innocence on his face and totally and utterly ignored his gentle hint. "That is why a team building exercise has been decided upon." "You mean we are to all don battle dress, army boots and rifles and yomp all over Dartmoor while the Bar Council fire at us from behind, friendly fire just to encourage us of course." His barb was aimed deliberately at the very unmilitary Sir Ian who twitched at the thought of John's very real scenario. He had watched Holby City and chanced upon an episode when an accountancy firm had dressed up as medieval knights in armour and fairy princesses and one of them ended up in hospital, unpleasantly skewered by a very sharp and very real sword. "No, I am not suggesting risking valuable lives in such a foolish, undignified fashion," Spluttered Joe Channing, reprimanding that reprobate fourth former in the back row.
"My idea is altogether more peaceful, more dignified." "Meaning?" "All of us have been educated at the finest schools and universities which instilled a sound musical background. I propose that we form an orchestra for the purpose of putting on a public performance." "A brilliant suggestion," gushed Vera Everard, using her overpowering presence to seize control of the meeting. "But is the performance to be only for the instrumentalists amongst us?" "What did you have in mind, Vera?" Joe answered with an ingratiating expression on his face. He had the sickening feeling that his first instinct to placate this terrible woman meant that he would be relegated to the sidelines and she would browbeat everyone else into what suited her, first and foremost.
"My own very favourite piece of music just has to be Haydn's 'Creation.' It has everything you could wish for, violins, cellos, woodwind, trumpets and singers. I used to perform in it at school. I made a very fetching Eve, so I used to be told." Both John and Sir Ian made a very curious temporary alliance in exchanging a look of derision at the thought. Evidently. the years since Vera's schooldays had not been kind to her.
"Monty, you would make an absolutely marvellous Adam," Vera pronounced.
From the look of extreme discomfort on his face, this idea had been suddenly landed on him and said a lot about the sort of communication within their household. His evident distaste for playing Adam to Vera's Eve was plain for all to see when in real life, his occupation of his place in the digs conveniently distanced him from Vera's residence elsewhere. A conflicting desire achieved mastery within him by a hairbreadth. This was his intense desire to be in the limelight and make his presence felt in a setting where his talents would surely receive the respect which he felt to be his due. It gave him a good opportunity to curry favour with the Bar Council who would be bound to watch the performance. The man is so transparent, John reflected, as he weighed in with his contribution.
"I think that we should not be too precipitous in deciding which individuals perform particular roles. Vera's choice of music is an excellent one, which I would endorse for the reasons she sets out. However, we should be certain that we have between us, the ensemble talent to take on such an ambitious work of art. We should go round the table and say what experience we have." Joe Channing's expression showed his utter gratitude for the adroit way that John's quiet but steely tones had sidelined the Everards. How does the fellow manage it, he wondered.
"We might as well start with Ian and work round the group." "I play in a woodwind quintet, and have played on and off ever since my schooldays." "You are a musician?" John's hushed, respectful reply contrasted with his previous verbal sniping which had made him pick on that wretched fellow and put him on the spot. The memories of the Atkins trial had rankled. This revelation made him see Sir Ian in a new light. Loathsome careerist and sycophant though he might be, it summoned up a new understanding between them. He could no more pass this up any more than he could pass by an attractive woman unregarded nor fight a crusade for justice however unfavourable the odds were stacked against him. "I play the clarinet, John," Sir Ian replied a little stiffly.
"That is good, Ian. I am pleased." Sir Ian was unsettled by the total lack of irony or trickery in John's manner and had trouble getting his head round it.
"I play the oboe in the same quintet that Ian plays in," Laurence James intoned in his flat, expressionless voice.
Again, John was taken aback. His sense of irony at the way the Old boy's network would relish the possibility that the Lord Chancellor was a third member of the quintet but it would clash severely with his passionately held beliefs as to the nature of art. The fact that these three despicable men had any trace of an artistic soul had not entered his comprehension. His contempt for them was centred on his unwavering belief that they had long since sold their souls to the devil, or to the Stock Exchange or both at a very handsome profit. "This is excellent," John exclaimed heartily. His enthusiasm for the project was growing by the minute. "Can either of you play an instrument?" John politely enquired of the Everards, both fuming, as the spotlight was not on them any more. Both of them frowned and shook their heads.
"I intend to be the conductor if I had not made it clear before. I do not make such a claim because of my position amongst the brethren but upon my long experience in the musical field." John nodded in appreciation. As his ex-father-in-law, he did not think to question Joe's accomplishments in this area.
"We will, of course, need to throw this open far and wide amongst the brethren but it is highly encouraging that, of the few of us present, all of us can lay claim to musical accomplishments without exception. It is a very encouraging sign." "By the way, John, you have not declared your own interest," Sir Ian asked, a trace of nastiness in his voice. The fellow had forced everyone else to lay his cards on the table and kept suspiciously quiet about himself. "Oh, didn't I say before? Lead violinist in an amateur string quintet," John replied with the utmost nonchalance, his eyes meeting Ian's. Everyone else sat back in their seats in shocked surprise at this exploding bombshell. Deed, the incorrigible womaniser was a matter of endless gossip round the chambers as was that maverick whose legal judgements were perverse and downright Bolshevik. Deed, the amateur musician, was a persona that they were not prepared for. "Oh, I'm glad to hear that you kept up your music." Joe Channing's hearty response was entirely genuine. His first instinct was that he could see the light at the end of the tunnel and it wasn't the headlight of the express train driven by Vera Everard which threatened to drive all over him, blowing her whistle.
Sir Ian's musicianly solidarity had flickered briefly into life before being snuffed out by baser instincts. He knew well enough that Deed was more talented than he made out and that meant that he would seek to take control. Lead violinist, always had a higher status and profile than his journeyman position as clarinettist, especially the enlarged setting in relation to his own woodwind quintet. Those idiots, the Everards, were alternately squabbling amongst themselves or lost in delusions of their own grandeur to recognise the threat that was taking shape.
"This would be a good point for a natural break and the time to take stock of what musical talent we know amongst the rest of the brethren. We must carry on in the spirit of teamwork to welcome others into the musical fold." From the rapidity with which he trod a dead straight line to the balcony, Joe had practical reasons to adjourn the meeting.
Without delay, Vera launched into her grand plan for self-aggrandisement and to put some backbone into her shilly shallying husband to lay their claim for supremacy once and for all. "This is our heaven sent opportunity for us to put one over that wretched Deed character. If we have to suffer the presence of the less desirable characters, then it is for us to be on top. I have no more time for you than you have for me but it is quite possible for us to pretend for the sake of a few rehearsals and the performance before the Bar Council. It will help your future career." "Yes, Vera." Oh the problems of being the power behind the throne, Vera sighed. Only she knew how weak and vacillating the man could be, however much in his public role he acted as the stern unbending judge. She made a mental note to look out some dress patterns to bring out the best in her.
John had casually strolled after Joe who turned round when he quietly shut the door behind him.
"I have to thank you for putting a stop to that fearful woman taking over. I very much doubt that she is anywhere near the standard required of playing the part of Eve. She would dictate to everyone what they would do and everyone would end up smiling and going along with her. Giving that woman control would be catastrophic. I will not involve myself in a total musical fiasco." Joe Channing had had many experiences when John's conduct had caused him acute political embarrassment but that was one thing. It was quite another thing if what he most loved outside his profession was brought into ridicule. To his own surprise, he found himself unburdening himself to the man whom he had always seen as his chief tormentor.
"Have you thought of George taking the part of Eve?" Joe suddenly smiled at John's suggestion as if a lightbulb had been turned on in his mind. Why had he never thought of this before? A sudden rush of memories flooded back of him perched on a narrow uncomfortable school chair and entranced by his beloved daughter's crystal clear singing, which soared and described intricate musical loops.
"That is a damned good idea, John. Do you think she would agree to it?" "I could try and persuade her." Joe darted a look of suspicion at the look of limpid innocence on John's face.
"That is what I am afraid of." "…..unless you want to talk to her, yourself?" Joe shuddered at the fear that George might jump in an unreasonably perverse direction to his eminently reasonable suggestions. Once she set her mind against an idea, she became all the more stubborn and obstinate the more he reasoned with her. To his mind, women could be contrary creatures.
"I will leave that in your capable hands." While Joe's response to John's idea was reluctant, on a deeper level, he was making some rapid calculations in his mind. The man did talk sense, so his memory told him years ago in happier days when he had first talked to him, man to man. He also remembered John's musical talents, which had instantly become a strong bond between them. "I have made up my mind, John, I need a leader of the orchestra to help keep it running smoothly. I think you are the man for the job." Joe Channing's gruff voice understated his gratitude in true old school style. It felt peculiar that he owed his peace of mind to Deed, the invariable grit that jammed the smooth running of the machinery of law.
"So the chief poacher is promoted to the position of gamekeeper?" John enquired in his laziest, yet most searching tones.
"If you want an answer, then it is yes, but only partly so. If you are left to yourself, you will be your usual troublemaking self. If you are given a position of responsibility, then your sense of duty, however peculiar a form it is rooted in you, may make this work. Besides, if you are anything like the musician you used to be, then you deserve the position on sheer merit. I am not indulging in a foolish old man's sentimentality about some sort of golden past." There was a strange look in Joe's eye as it shifted either side of John's steady gaze.
"All right Joe." He stretched out his hand, which Joe, to his surprise, shook hard. It gave a sense of reassurance in contrast to that bounder Neil Houghton's very limp handshake. Joe stubbed out the cigarette and led the way back to the main room.
Sir Ian and Monty Everard looked very suspiciously at the two of them as they entered the room. It was obvious that they had been cooking something up together.
"I have a possible idea that George might be agreeable to take the part of Eve. I have heard her singing over the years and her voice is quite extraordinary." "That is an excellent idea, John. I attended a school performance of her in the creation and she made an utterly enchanting Eve." "So any daughter would appear to a father or so I am told," Came Vera's sour reply. "I am not prepared to accept a slur or insult to my daughter, Vera. Nor am I prepared to tolerate an attack on my artistic judgement. You will kindly remember that I am the director of this musical company and I am in charge." There was a stunned silence. Not only had Joe Channing verbally put Vera Everard in her place for the first time in his life, he was stamping his authority to treat them as his orchestral ensemble.
"Of course, these are preliminary suggestions and where there is more than one volunteer for a role, then I as conductor and leader, shall have the final say." John sat back with amazement at the way Joe built up his very real forceful and decisive leadership into a crescendo and the way he took the wind out of Vera's sails. Joe was similarly astonished at the consequences of his outburst and only wished he could achieve similar results in his arguments with George. "We ought to explore possibilities for other parts. All of us have had a hard enough day in court. For instance, I know that Jo Mills plays the cello." "Didn't Mrs. Mills tell me she was having tuba lessons?" "I regret that she was being a little facetious, but she was not entirely joking. I can assure you of this point, Mr. James." John endeavoured to smooth Lawrence James down. Jo's wisecrack to this interfering official had clearly rankled and now was the chance to set the record straight. Joe Channing was secretly amazed by John's unexpected capacity for diplomacy and mentally gave him full marks for this.
"In that case, we have another possible cellist. Brian Cantwell comes to mind from my acquaintance with him." John raised his eyebrows at yet another surprise. He had Cantwell pegged as an utter philistine as well as a reactionary fool.
"This is starting to take excellent shape. I had no idea that we had so much unexpected talent amongst us," Joe boomed, as he started to relax for the first time since the Bar council had landed the idea of this team building exercise on him. He had come up with the first idea that came off the top of his head, which seemed a good idea at the time. In the cold light of day when he contemplated the idea, he had been worried about the reception the idea he would get at the end of the day from such a warring collection of individualists and prima donnas. "Well, in that case," snorted Monty Everard, seeing himself increasingly relegated to the sidelines. "I have heard it on the grapevine that Neumann Mason-Alan plays the trumpet. He would blow his own trumpet, of course." "That starts to fill the gap in the brass section. Do we have any other suggestions?" Sir Ian had watched the way the conversation taking shape, unable to believe the evidence of his own ears. This was the man who had severely reined in Neumann and repeatedly castigated him and his conduct in the last trial that Neumann appeared before him. Besides what he had seen for himself, he had heard the bitter complaints from Neumann and had supposed that John would have gone along with Monty Everard's little joke at his expense. Yet he had not uttered a word against Neumann. He resolved to sit back, watch and see how things took shape and play along with this.
"I have heard on the grapevine that there is a new appointee to the Prison Service area management, who has a deep love of classical singing. He may well be amenable to take part." "That sounds promising, Ian. By the way, doesn't your wife play the oboe?" Sir Ian flared up straightaway. He had deliberately held back mentioning his wife's name. To his suspicious mind, the casual way which John dropped in this suggestion, showed Deed at his most untrustworthy and betrayed his real reason for his enthusiasm for this project.
"I see, John. This will provide an ideal opportunity and cover for you to resume your squalid little affair with my wife." "I can assure you, Ian, that I have absolutely none of the intentions you describe. If there is any such danger, it would be completely the other way round. I can assure you that I have not the slightest intention of going nearer your wife than I am professionally required to do. It's the case of once bitten, twice shy." The room sank into shocked silence at John's description of himself as 'shy' which was precisely the reaction he intended.
"Are there any other expressions of interest that we know of?" Joe at last declared, wanting to move the business on. He gave the meeting two clear minutes for any responses. "Well, that about concludes the meeting. We have got through the business in far better time than I had thought we would. Hopefully, this will be a sign of the way we shall continue." "One last point, Joe. Oughtn't the Bar Council to advertise this by e-mail to all members and spread out the net wider." "Then why couldn't this have been done in the first place instead of spending an hour at this time of night, sitting in uncomfortable chairs and gassing away," Came Vera's petulent outburst. It was surprising that she had shut up for so long but the conversation had unrolled without a break so that she couldn't get a look in.
"Cold calling is not the best way of advertising, Vera. This is only going to look a possibility when it is seen that a number of us are prepared to come forward. Without this discussion, none of us would have had the remotest idea of what each other can do. Let's face it, we are not in a profession noted for artistic creativity. Now we know more of what is possible, we can go on to the next stage." "My sentiments exactly. I intend to compile a list of all the parts required for the entire ensemble and note expressions of interest based on what we have found out tonight. This will be put on the notice board and the Bar Council will advertise this by e-mail to all members. I must remind you that this performance is intended as a team building exercise so that we are most truly brothers and sisters. Now, I am sure we all have homes to go to." The room emptied fairly rapidly as each of them went home with their own very mixed feelings. Joe sank back into the driving seat of his sedate Rolls Royce and lit a much needed cigarette. He had the most mixed feelings of all, surprise that somehow, against the odds, the first faltering step had been taken and fear as to exactly what he had unleashed. He felt he thoroughly deserved a nightcap when he got home.