Part Seventy-Eight
Before going to see Barbara prior to Gina and Dominic taking her back to prison, George went into the ladies to run a brush through her hair, and generally tidy herself up. It had been quite a long day and she was pretty tired. The thought of having to talk to a bewildered and highly-strung Barbara didn't fill her with any enthusiasm. She stood in front of the mirror, and looked at her tired and strained face. It wasn't just the trial that was getting her down, she knew that, it was the continued awareness of the lump under her skin. It was six weeks on and she still hadn't done anything about it. It was getting bigger every time she examined it, and the fear of what that must mean was almost crippling her. Every opportunity she got she was touching it, seeing if by chance it had grown at all since the last time her fingers had come in contact with it. As she stood in front of the mirror, she slipped her right hand inside the cream blazer she was wearing, and felt yet again for the alien collection of cells under the skin of her left breast. She could feel the lump easily enough, even through the material of her blouse and bra, and it terrified her.
As Connie walked out of the courtroom, she felt mentally exhausted. She had an evening theatre list ahead of her and a gruelling afternoon on the stand behind her. Brian Cantwell had asked her question after bloody question, showing her that his whole case pretty much depended on her evidence. The only cheerful point of this fairly dismal afternoon had been the Judge. His eyes had been on her throughout her testimony, and it hadn't gone unnoticed by her that they had mainly been centred on her long, shapely legs.
When John had returned to his chambers, he had immediately said to Coope, "Please would you ask Mrs. Beauchamp to come up to see me?" "You want to see a prosecution witness, alone, in your chambers?" Coope asked disbelievingly. "Yes, I do. Is there a problem with that?" "Only that you know better than to do anything of the sort," Coope told him. "Coope, please just do it," John asked her quietly. "Let me worry about the consequences for a change." "That'll be the day," Coope commented dryly. "Then you can go home," John told her. "Too right I am if you're about to break one of the oldest rules in the book."
Going downstairs with a rueful look on her face, Coope caught up with Connie as she walked towards the outside. "Mrs. Beauchamp," She called after her. When Connie turned round, she said, "Mr. Justice Deed would like to see you in chambers." "Would he now," Connie replied mildly. "Thank you for letting me know." When Coope had gone, Connie thought that the judge could certainly wait ten minutes while she redid her make up. Connie smirked as she walked towards the ladies', because she'd known that wearing a short skirt had definitely been a good idea. But the self-satisfied smile was wiped off her face when she pushed open the door, and beheld the counsel for the defence, standing in front of the mirror, clearly examining something under her clothing that quite evidently didn't please her. As Connie stealthily approached on quiet feet, she observed that what Ms Channing was touching was very likely a lump in her left breast.
Suddenly sensing someone approaching her, George whipped her hand from inside her jacket, and turned a guilty face on her interruption. "Ms Channing," Connie said, fixing George with her penetrating gaze. "Mrs. Beauchamp," George replied, not knowing what else to say. "Forgive me," Connie said, knowing that she had to tread very carefully here. "But you looked to me, as though you were examining something you might have found, something that terrifies you." George's mouth opened and closed, as she struggled to find any remotely plausible response. Her eyes darted everywhere, as though looking for some kind of escape. "You've found a lump in your breast," Connie added, it being a statement not a question. "Yes," George said hesitantly. "May I?" Connie said, gesturing to George's open blazer. "Why not," George replied with a tight little smile. "I might entirely disagree with your testimony, but you are a surgeon after all." Connie smiled, seeing this as George's supreme effort to keep a brave face on things. Stepping forward with the caution she might adopt if approaching a horse that might be about to bolt, Connie slipped her hand inside the other woman's jacket. As her delicate, nimble fingers came into contact with the left side of George's breast, Connie immediately found what had George so frightened. "How long have you had this?" She asked, examining it as briefly as possible through the thin covering of blouse and bra. "I found it at Christmas," George told her, feeling a sort of surreal relief that someone finally knew, even if that person was part of the current opposition. "And has it grown in that time?" "Yes," George replied, feeling even more stupid than ever. "Have you sought medical attention for this?" "No, not yet." "Ms Channing, I doubt you need me to tell you how foolish such a lack of response is," Connie told her firmly, removing her hand from inside George's jacket. "The longer you allow it to grow, the more devastating the effects will be, I can assure you. I suspect you have found excuse after excuse to avoid getting this seen to, but you can't go on doing that for much longer." "I know," George replied, sounding utterly defeated. "Then please, at the earliest opportunity, take that lump of yours to someone who can do something about it."
After redoing her make up, Connie walked up the stairs and down the long corridor. When she reached the door with John's name on it, she knocked. The voice that bade her to enter was deep, cultured and powerful. Walking into the room, Connie was pleasantly surprised at its decor. The comfortable sofa and armchairs, the numerous tomes of legal precedents, and the spacious mahogany desk gave an impression of a man who spent a considerable amount of time within these four walls. "Mrs. Beauchamp," John said, walking over to her. "Thank you for joining me." "Please call me Connie, My Lord," She said, seeing his politeness as the precursor to more intimate words. "John will suffice," He said, holding out his hand to shake hers. Connie's fingers were warm, light and long, the fingers of any surgeon or pianist. As their hands touched, they both could feel the crackle of sexual tension in the air, the rising up of something that had been forcefully buried in public all afternoon. "It isn't often," John said silkily. "That I am blessed with such an attractive witness in front of me all afternoon." "And it isn't often," Connie responded in the same vein. "That I am summoned to a judge's presence, as though I have committed an indiscretion which I must explain away. Tell me, is it your custom to allow your eyes to linger on the witness's legs for the entire time that she is speaking?" "It isn't as regular an occurrence as I would like it to be," He replied, his eyes caressing hers, their hands lingering far too long in each other's grasp. "So," Connie continued, moving ever so slightly closer to him. "Would My Lord be about to commit, what I believe in the legal profession would be a pretty severe breach of the rules?" "Would you have any objection if I were?" John countered back, his deep, silky tones sliding over her senses and raising her pulse in anticipation. "None whatsoever," She assured him, her voice reminding him of a purring cat about to get its cream. "Oh, that's good," John replied with a slightly predatory smirk. "However," Connie put in, her face now very close to his. "What makes My Lord so sure that he can live up to my more than exacting standards? Because I can assure you, several registrars and even the odd Professor have had significant difficulty in not reducing me to utter boredom inside thirty seconds." "Ah, well, I suspect I have had far greater practice at competing with such a rigorously maintained ability than your collection of registrars." As their lips finally met, Connie lightly fingered his braces. "Well, how quaint," She said between kisses. "Whereas that skirt is positively outrageous," John commented in return. They began feverishly removing each other's clothes as they moved haphazardly over towards the sofa, all the time exchanging the flirtatious banter that both of them had come to rely on over the years.
As George talked to Barbara in the small holding cell, her thoughts kept drifting back to what Connie had said. She knew she ought to do something about her lump, because the longer she left it the more catastrophic its consequences would be. But the thought of what they might have to do to get rid of it truly terrified her. "George, are you all right?" Barbara asked in concern, seeing that something wholly unconnected with her case was weighing heavily on George's mind. "I'm sorry," George said, feeling utterly contrite. "I'm being extremely unprofessional, aren't I?" "George, this is me you're talking to," Barbara told her gently. "You're not just my barrister, you're a friend." George stared at her, seeing the kindly concern emanating from Barbara's deep, brown eyes. "I'm fine," George said quietly, though Barbara could see that she wasn't.
As they lay afterwards, both breathing hard and lightly perspiring, John knew that he shouldn't have done this, not under any circumstances. "Did I live up to expectation?" he asked her, wanting to know out of sheer curiosity. "I should say so," Connie replied huskily, her head pillowed for the moment on his bare shoulder. "And you're absolutely right," John said thoughtfully. "I really shouldn't have done this. Sleeping with a witness is about as big a breech of the rules as you can get." "There's no point feeling guilty after the crime, My Lord," Connie purred, reaching up to kiss him. "Because unfounded remorse won't get you anywhere." "That a policy of yours is it?" John asked with a smile. "Quite so," Connie told him silkily. "Gathered from previous experience?" "In a manner of speaking." But before John could comment further, they both became aware of the approaching click-clack of a pair of high heels, which were to John, instantly recognisable. At the look of horror on his face, Connie only now began to wonder if either of them had locked the door before they began their acquaintance with each other's bodies.
Knowing that most people had left for the day, George gave only a perfunctory knock before opening the door of John's chambers. She hadn't expected anyone to be with him. But when she strolled casually into the room, looking for nothing more complicated than a simple hug, what she saw made her mouth go dry and her brain to temporarily stop functioning. Lying on the sofa, clearly in post-orgasmic afterglow, were John, and Connie Beauchamp. Their clothes were littered all over the floor, as though instant gratification had been their only concern. Quietly closing the door behind her, she stood and regarded them with a certain level of detachment. She knew that the anger would come all too quickly, but for now, she simply wanted to observe the mental struggle that John was clearly experiencing. "George," Was all he could say, knowing that this was the most compromising position he had ever been caught in. Connie looked between them, at first only seeing the man she had just slept with, and the defence counsel who had a lump in her breast. But as her gaze lingered for a moment on George's face, she began to see an awful lot more. George Channing was this man's lover, plain and simple. "Well, well," She said, still lying in John's arms. "I do believe I've trodden on a few toes." This seemed to bring George out of her introspection. She laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, don't worry, Mrs. Beauchamp, he's been doing this to me for more years than I care to remember. You're not the first, and you certainly won't be the last, so get used to the fact that he won't want to know anything about you in a day or two." Taking this as her cue to depart, Connie rose from the sofa and began putting on her clothes. But as John did the same, George's gaze lingered on Connie, taking in every inch of the woman with whom John had just had sex. "See something you like, Ms Channing?" Connie asked, taking note of George's detailed observation. "You never know, Mrs. Beauchamp, you never know," George responded tartly, her building rage making her voice sound almost cheerful. John winced. George surely didn't need to do that, did she?
When Connie had gone and John had regained his clothes, they simply stood and stared at each other. When John opened his mouth to at the very least apologise, George got there before him. "Don't you dare even think of apologising, because I don't want to hear it." Her tone was icy and bitter, just like the wind that was howling outside the windows. "Do you have any idea just how stupid that was? If that had been Ian Rochester instead of me, you'd be off this trial and out of this court before I could say impeachment. Barbara needs you on this trial, precisely because you can't be leaned on. Just because Monty is currently playing to your tune, does not give you the right to jeopardise Barbara's one real hope of justice. Further to our conversation at lunchtime, Jo also doesn't need for you to be risking being sent away from her, just because of a quick fuck in chambers. She is about as unstable as quick sand at the moment, and she needs you to be one hundred percent there for her, not screwing some long-legged surgeon who may as well have been a high class call girl." John didn't argue with any of her assessments of him, because he was forced to admit that she was right, on virtually every count. But when her tirade seemed to have ended for the moment, he asked, "Have you quite finished?" "I haven't even started," She hissed back at him. "But I am not currently in a frame of mind to give you what you really deserve." As he moved towards her, wanting to try and calm her down with a touch rather than words, she said, "Don't you come anywhere near me, because I can promise you, the way I feel at the moment, there wouldn't be anything left for even your doting clerk to mop up in the morning."