Part One Hundred And Ten
On the Monday evening, John got into his car, and drove towards the clinic where Helen worked in Paddington. He hadn't had an appointment with her since before Christmas, as she had been almost overrun with patients in January and early February. She had explained to him that Christmas often caused such a deluge in the need for counselling and psychological services, and that as he wasn't anything like an emergency, could he possibly wait a while before seeing her. As John was busy with the run up to Barbara's trial, plus other cases that were demanding his attention, he was more than willing to put off the next onslaught to his mental and emotional capabilities. But now here he was, only three days after the end of Barbara's trial, heading towards that sanctum of unveiling that he alternately dreaded and craved. He knew that he often found Helen's probing to be more than invasive, but he also knew that it was doing him good. Well, it had been, until he'd screwed it up so spectacularly with Connie Beauchamp. He would almost certainly have to talk to Helen about that, he thought, as he reminded himself that she already knew about it. He inwardly squirmed as he thought of how he would go about justifying himself on this point, because he knew that she would want to know his precise reasoning for doing something quite so stupid.
"Well, Judge, it's been a while," Helen said as they took their usual places inside her consulting room. "How're you doing?" The question was innocuous in itself, but that didn't mean John found it simple to answer. "Erm," He hesitated, unable to find even a remotely satisfactory response. "That good then?" Helen said with half a smile. "I think that I managed to get used to the break from emotional battering," He finally replied. "And I suppose that part of me isn't looking forward to its resumption." "That's understandable," Helen said with perfect calm, not in the slightest taking John's assessment of his feelings as any kind of insult. "But I'm assuming that as you're here, you did want to come back." "I think it's fairly safe to say that I needed to come back," He said evasively, his thoughts immediately straying to Connie. "Okay," Helen said noncommittally, not as yet betraying her knowledge of what had happened with Connie. "How did you feel, having to oversee Barbara's trial?" "Oh, you mean apart from having to chastise certain members of the public gallery?" He quipped with a smile. "I've got a bigger mouth than George when necessary," Helen said with a grin of her own. "How else do you think I survived so long as a wing governor?" "I didn't have to preside over Barbara's trial," John found himself telling her. "Ian Rochester wanted to have a change of venue, purely so that I wouldn't be able to keep things vaguely within my control. But I couldn't allow that to happen." "Why?" Helen's question was almost insignificant in the way she had asked it, but for John, it symbolised the admission to something he had forced out of his mind a long time ago.
"I wanted her to have a completely fair trial," John replied after a moment's thought, this seeming to be one of his all time mottos. "I thought, perhaps in a moment of arrogance, that at least I couldn't be leaned on by the establishment, if it should be decided that they wanted a particular verdict or sentence for her. Ian Rochester and his snivelling little lackey, learnt a long time ago that I can't be leaned onto do their bidding, though they still do their utmost to try. To give the prosecution their due, and because I knew of her previous conviction, I really didn't know whether or not Barbara had killed her husband. So, it was my duty to give her and her witnesses a fair hearing. I agreed to Monty sitting on the bench with me, purely because I do know Barbara, and so does he, and we both thought it would be advisable for me to have a sounding board when necessary." "What was it like, having Jo and George working together?" "Bizarre, at first," John said with a smile. "If I'm honest, I never thought it would work. The way they go about assembling a case is so different from each other, that I really couldn't conceive of them managing to put aside their differences long enough to succeed. They might be extremely happy with the relationship we have, but that doesn't usually make them agree when it comes to the law and the practicing of it. But they couldn't have made a more successful team. It made me immensely proud to watch them together. They both put every ounce of their knowledge, determination and skill into mounting Barbara's defence, and if it hadn't been for the seriousness of the circumstances, it would have been a sincere pleasure to watch them from start to finish. Jo found this case very difficult, because of the memories and feelings of inadequacy that it resurrected for her, but George stood by her every step of the way, taking over where necessary, and giving Jo more support than I suspect I ever could have done. Three years ago, such level of kindness and generosity from George would have been virtually unimaginable where Jo was concerned."
"You know," Helen said thoughtfully. "I saw the look of relief on your face when the jury found Barbara not guilty. I think everyone did. You were dreading having to sentence her, weren't you." "Of course I was," John said a little bitterly. "Whilst I might have started out that case with a fairly open mind, I reached the conclusion that she could never have killed him, long before the end. I think it was first Barbara herself, and then their three medical experts who had me convinced. I discussed all this with Monty, whilst we were all waiting for the verdict. He was just as uncomfortable with the thought of sentencing her as I was. No matter what our usual professions might have been," John continued, with an almost reverent look on his face. "That performance of 'The Creation' really brought us all together. In the end, it hadn't mattered who was a barrister, or who an ex-prisoner. Well, not to most people anyway. We were all just one group of people who wanted to make beautiful music together. Barbara was one of us, sitting there, rehearsal after rehearsal, playing the harpsichord as well as any of us played our own instruments. Making music, especially such beautiful music as Haydn's 'Creation', it does something to everyone involved, giving us a feeling of completeness that can never be entirely broken." Helen almost felt jealous of the players of that orchestra as he said this, sounding so sincere in the feeling of togetherness the performance had given them. "So, when I was faced with the prospect of possibly having to sentence Barbara to life imprisonment, I almost wished I hadn't been so eager to take on the trial in the first place."
"You were regretting an action that was taken on the spur of the moment?" "Possibly," John admitted, though he immediately tried to justify his actions. "Whatever my feelings, whatever my misgivings, it was the right thing to do, for Barbara and for old-fashioned justice if nothing else. So yes, whilst it was without doubt very difficult at times, I can't seriously say that I regret taking on her trial."
"And what about Connie," Helen asked without any warning whatsoever. "Do you regret what happened with her?" "I wondered how long it would take you," John said with a slightly long-suffering smile. "One thing you need to learn about women, Judge," Helen told him seriously. "Is that we talk. You think the old boys' network is bad? Well, believe me, it's got nothing on the old girls' network. Women need to talk, to cry, to share the things that either please or upset them, to keep them sane and able to deal with the situations men throw us into every single day." "Yes, so I see," John said a little dryly. "Why did you sleep with her?" Helen asked quietly, coming straight to the point. "Because I wanted to," He answered her just as simply. "The aura coming off her was practically electric," He tried to explain. "She was, is, beautiful, sensationally sexy, and I could feel the old pull of the conquest like a magnet. When I summoned her to my chambers, she challenged me, and I've never been able to resist a challenge in my life." "So," Helen said, really feeling his craving for the conquering of a beautiful woman. "How did George find out about it?" Helen didn't in actual fact need to ask this, as George had explained in every lurid detail on the afternoon after Sylvia's debacle in court, but she wanted John's interpretation of it. "Ah," John replied, looking extremely uncomfortable. "She, erm, she walked in on us. Believe me, being discovered in post-coital afterglow is not something to be recommended." "What did she do?" Helen asked quietly, George having left this part out of her explanation. "She stood there stunned for a few minutes, just staring at us, a time in which I felt like the most loathsome individual on the planet." As he watched Helen for her reaction, he caught sight of something in her gaze, a knowledge of something he wanted to know. "You're thinking something," He commented quietly. "Something that tells me that you agree with how I felt." "I'm not here to pass judgment," Helen said without a flicker. "That doesn't mean you're not," John observed dryly. "When George told us why she'd ripped so spectacularly into Connie on the Wednesday morning, she said that when she walked in on you, all she could think about was how beautiful Connie was, and just how good you looked together." "I think that's what hurt her more than the infidelity itself," John said regretfully. "We attempted to talk it out on the Friday evening, and I ended up making the situation worse, not better. George said that she needed to understand why I'd done it, why I'd betrayed both her and Jo, when she thought I was happy with what I had, which I am. So, I told her, giving her far too many details for her to handle. It was without doubt cruel of me to do that, and I sincerely wish I hadn't. But then I wish that about the whole fiasco with Connie, not just its actual results. When Connie had gone, I attempted to apologise, which seemed to spur George into action. She was furious, as she had every right to be, but by the Friday evening, she'd calmed down a bit, turning up at my door feeling sad rather than angry. I wish George wasn't so used to my infidelity, but she is, something I will always regret."
"If you regret it that much," Helen asked, trying to keep any hint of an opinion out of her tone. "Why do you still do it? Why do you keep on sleeping with women who are, let's face it, of absolutely no consequence to you, when you have two beautiful, loving, supportive women, who would give you everything you wanted if you only asked?" "I wish I knew," John told her, feeling the guilt at what he had done forcefully rising up in him. "It sounds pathetic, but I really don't know what made me sleep with Connie, except for the fact that she presented me with the challenge that I wouldn't be able to satisfy her. I'm not trying to excuse what I did, but perhaps to explain it." "What about your assignation with Connie, makes you feel the most guilt?" "George is currently hiding something from me," He surprised her by saying. "Something enormous that she is struggling to deal with, something that I can't help her with because I don't know about it. I probably couldn't have slept with Connie at a worse time, because I know that both Jo and George need me in their different ways. Jo is frightening herself stupid because she got drunk at least once in the middle of Barbara's trial, and George is terrified of something that is slowly eating her up from the inside." If John had known just how accurate a description he had given of George's behaviour, he would have been out of that office and on his way to find her without delay. "At first," He continued, finding it somehow easier to talk to Helen than at all his previous sessions. "I wondered if she was pregnant." "Why, do you think she would keep it from you if she was?" Helen asked gently, seeing that this was clearly a difficult topic for John to address. "George knows that she couldn't go through motherhood a second time, and she also knows that it would crucify me to know that my prospective child had been aborted. Therefore, if she was pregnant, I can say with absolute certainty that she would have a termination without even telling me that it had existed."
"What makes you so sure that George would know how you might feel in that situation?" Helen asked, her question hitting John with all the accuracy of a bull's-eye. John was very quiet for a time, trying to sort out his thoughts, trying to submerge the more painful ones so that he didn't entirely give way in front of this woman whom he had far too much respect for. When he rose to his feet and moved over to the window, Helen realised that something painful was on its way. John always did this, turning his back to her when he had something particularly difficult to say to her. "Nearly twenty years ago," He eventually began, his voice containing an awful lot of barely suppressed pain. "When I first met Jo, she was still caring for a terminally ill husband, which is why she has found Barbara's case so difficult. She also had two very young children. I think she found the occasional afternoons with me something of a reprieve, an escape, a haven in which she could retreat from all her responsibilities. At the time, I was going through my divorce from George, and was gradually getting used to living on my own with a seven-year-old Charlie. When Jo discovered that she was pregnant, it was something of a catastrophe for both of us. I left the decision almost entirely up to Jo, believing in my naivety that any opinion I might have would only confuse the issue, and put her under further pressure that she certainly didn't need. When she decided that the only option open to her was to have a termination, I had to support her. She barely looked at me when I drove her to the clinic, and when I drove her home afterwards, she told me that it had been a boy. She was just over four months when she had the termination, which was why they could tell it was a boy. For so many years, I think Jo blamed me for not fighting hard enough for her to keep it." He might have had his back to her, but the slight tremble in his shoulders betrayed the fact that he was crying, and desperately trying to keep all knowledge of it from her. Seeing that he was entirely lost in his painful memories of the past, Helen got up from her chair and moved softly over to him. His hands were resting on the windowsill, and when she laid one of hers over his, he turned his agonised gaze on her, the tears running down his cheeks. "You can't blame yourself for every event that might have gone wrong in your life, John," She told him gently. "Because the more you allow it to fester, the more corrosive and damaging it will become. Jo's still here, she's still with you, and that doesn't strike me as something she would do if she didn't still love you. You've got so much guilt inside you, about Jo and about George, and by being there, it isn't helping you to stop picking up stray women with good legs, who use their silver, forked tongue on you like a particularly devious snake. We'll keep talking about this next time, and for as many sessions after that as it takes, because I think the route of half your problem stems from all the guilt you've got cloistered away up here," She said, gesturing to his forehead. "I'm sorry," He said, digging in his pockets for a handkerchief and feeling extremely vulnerable under her kind and watchful gaze. "Don't be," She said quietly. "You need to grieve for a lot of things in your life, and Jo's baby is only one of them."