29

As was his habit, Percy entered the Law Courts from the back entrance in Carey Street and so he did not encounter the crowd at the main entrance in the Strand. It was even greater than yesterday, swollen by the publicity the case had received in the press and on television, and the prediction that today the Claimant herself would be giving evidence.

In the Vice Chancellor’s court, Percy sorted the papers on his stand; on the top he placed the proof of the witness from the registry in Somerset House; beneath it those of the witnesses from Charleston.

Stevens and Fleur took their seats. Fleur smiled shyly. Today she looked prettier than ever.

‘It won’t be long now, Miss Caverel,’ Percy said, smiling in return, ‘and the sooner you start your evidence, the sooner it’ll be over. First, we have some formal evidence. After that, you’ll be in the box. I expect you’re feeling nervous,’ he went on, ‘but it’ll pass as soon as you begin. I’ll lead you through your statement and we’ll take it slowly.’

‘The grandmother will not be coming to court,’ said Stevens over his shoulder as he laid out his papers. ‘She’s indisposed.’

The Senora had come into Mrs Campion’s room in the middle of the night very drunk. It had taken two hours to quieten her and get her back into bed.

‘Gastric trouble,’ Stevens went on. ‘Nothing serious. She’ll be well enough by the time we need her.’

Percy was relieved. The witness was ill. Now he could genuinely avoid Ledbury’s challenge.

Andrea and Nicholas came to their places. She looked very drawn and tired. Percy bowed slightly but they ignored him. Can’t blame them, he thought. They have too much at stake. Ledbury, he supposed, would make another late entrance with as much fuss as possible. But whom was he trying to impress? There was no jury. A trial before the Vice Chancellor was very different from trial by jury. If Ledbury kept the judge waiting, the war would be resumed before the truce had ever begun.

Judge Blaker and his team of three, all in a uniform of seersucker jackets and bright ties, made their entrance, shuffling noisily into the seats reserved for them, smiling to each other, looking around the old-fashioned court-room with the panelling and the high ceiling and the barristers in their eighteenth-century wigs. ‘Like the movies, Jed,’ one said loudly to Blaker who smiled and pulled at his white moustache.

Percy dabbed at his face with his red silk handkerchief. The air-conditioning had not been on for long enough and he was already warm in his robes. He heard the clatter of Ledbury’s progress into court, the thumping of his walking-sticks and the orders to stand aside, but he did not look up. One snub was enough. When Percy did glance to his right, he saw that Oliver Goodbody was absent.

He leaned forward and tapped Stevens on the shoulder. ‘Are the witnesses ready?’

Stevens did not turn. ‘Of course,’ he snapped.

‘Then make sure that the first,’ Percy looked at his note, ‘Mr Steadman, is by the steps to the box.’

‘My clerk has seen to it. The witness is already there.’

It was almost rude. No ‘sir’, no ‘Sir Percy’, very different from his former respectful manner. Why, Percy wondered. Then he noticed Stevens’ hand as he opened his files. It was shaking. But what had Stevens to be nervous about? All he had to do was to sit and listen. Stevens’ work was done.

Indeed it was, and because his work had been done, Stevens was thinking about the Americans. Would they stand up to cross-examination? He could not be calm until this evidence was over and the Americans safely away. Whichever way it went, triumph or disaster, their evidence, he believed, would be crucial.

Percy looked round again to catch a glimpse of Eleanor. She was in the fourth row back and he caught her eye. She smiled and mouthed ‘Good luck’. He smiled back. Today she was not next to the smart, grey-haired woman she’d sat beside yesterday but to the sun-tanned man with white hair who kept getting to his feet and smiling. Willoughby Blake.

‘All rise,’ the usher called out and the Vice Chancellor took his seat. The Associate announced, ‘Caverel versus Baron Caverel of Ravenscourt, part heard.’

Percy rose. Murray nodded to him but before Percy could begin Ledbury called out as he struggled to his feet.

‘My Lord.’

‘Yes, Mr Ledbury?’ Murray said with what served him for a smile. ‘You wish to address me? Please take your time.’

That’s better, thought Mordecai.

‘I want to bring to your attention’, he said when he had got to his feet, ‘the presence of a mob which has gathered outside the forecourt of the Strand entrance to the courts. They are shouting at everyone who enters and waving placards and threatening anyone they think has anything to do with the respondents.’

‘I am very sorry to hear it,’ the judge replied. ‘Are there no police controlling them?’

‘An inadequate number.’

‘If they remain on the pavement and outside the forecourt, there is little I can do.’

‘It is a blatant attempt to intimidate the witnesses for the family,’ Ledbury went on. ‘I ask your lordship to use your authority to bring their behaviour to the attention of the Police Commissioner.’

‘Very well,’ said Murray. ‘I shall do what I can.’

There was silence as he scribbled. When he had finished he motioned to his clerk in the chair beside him and handed him the note. As the clerk disappeared through the door behind the judge’s chair, Murray said, ‘I have written to the City Police Commissioner asking him to do what he can. I will not permit witnesses, or indeed any person, to be intimidated.’

Mordecai bowed and subsided on to his seat with a crash. Every minute that served to postpone Fleur’s appearance in the witness box counted. But if Braythwaite had fallen for his bait of yesterday and called the grandmother as his first witness, his worries were over. There was much he could ask her, and his cross-examination could properly take them well into the afternoon.

‘Now, Sir Percy,’ said the judge, ‘you may begin.’

‘The witness Mr Ledbury referred to yesterday, the Senora Martinez,’ Percy said, ‘who is the grandmother of the Claimant and Walter Caverel’s first wife and the mother of Julian Caverel and whom I had considered calling as my first witness is, I am sorry to say, indisposed. My first witness therefore is Mr William Steadman from the Registry at Somerset House.’

*   *   *

Oliver and his senior clerk, Freeman, were in the interview room across the corridor outside the court. Oliver looked grey, older, the skin on his cheeks taut. He took the watch on its chain from his bottom waistcoat pocket. ‘They’ll have begun. You go in, Freeman. I’ll wait here.’

Oliver glanced again at the documents Mr Rogers had brought to Albany. After a few minutes, there was a knock on the door and Mr Rogers entered.

‘Well?’ Oliver enquired.

‘Two hours at the earliest. More likely, the afternoon. We’re doing our best.’

Oliver nodded. ‘Ledbury will have to do what he can. It won’t make him popular.’ He examined Mr Rogers, who had taken a chair. ‘You look exhausted.’

You don’t look too good yourself, Mr Rogers thought. ‘I am,’ he said. ‘How long before they get to her?’

‘If they don’t call the grandmother, she could be in the box this morning. Ledbury will do what he can to delay it for as long as possible.’

‘I’d better stay here and wait.’ Mr Rogers placed his bowler hat on the table in front of him. ‘I should like to be in court, however, when she takes the oath.’

‘You shall. One of my clerks is to be stationed at the Carey Street entrance to keep a look-out. Before he does he’ll bring you a thermos of coffee and the sandwiches for Ledbury’s lunch.’ Oliver walked to the small window which overlooked a grimy internal court-yard. ‘The next twenty-four hours will settle it. Tonight at least you’ll sleep in your own bed.’

Mr Rogers looked at Oliver. ‘And sleep the sleep of the just?’

There was a note of interrogation in his voice. For a moment neither spoke. Then Oliver said, ‘You have done what was asked of you. But you gave us a fright when you didn’t call in. As you yourself pointed out, these people are not over-scrupulous.’

‘All was only settled at the last moment and I couldn’t telephone during the flight. There were no seats in first-class or club. I was next to a mother with an infant which yelled all night so I had very little rest. But it gave me the opportunity to write up my notes.’

‘What matters is that you are here.’ Oliver was leafing through the papers.

‘I have insisted on affidavits. Your office are seeing to it.’

‘Good.’

‘It was an interesting task you set me. I only hope it achieves the result you want.’

‘That depends on Murray.’

They exchanged looks.

‘I’ll go into court now,’ Oliver said. He left Mr Rogers sitting in his chair, his eyes shut, smiling.

*   *   *

When Oliver took his place beside Andrea, Percy had just completed his examination-in-chief of Mr Steadman. Mordecai heaved himself up even more slowly than usual, with the cumbersome twisting which eventually got him on to his feet. He was still cursing at the absence of the Senora whose evidence would have given him the time they needed so badly. Now he’d have to do what he could with the formal witnesses – and there was precious little he could. Murray would soon twig and get irritated. Mordecai braced himself for trouble.

He looked up at Steadman balefully from beneath his black eyebrows. ‘Mr Steadman,’ he began at last. It sounded like an accusation and as he spoke his mouth seemed to slip to one side, the lips almost to the edge of his jaw. Steadman, though conscious that nothing in his evidence was in the least controversial, felt a twinge of apprehension.

‘You may not be able to help me and if you can’t please say so.’ Mordecai paused. ‘If you can’t, I’ll have to wait for the evidence of the lady who was a party to this marriage and divorce but who, we have been told, is at present indisposed.’ He looked at Percy, who ignored him. ‘So, Mr Steadman, I shall have to content myself with asking you some questions. From your records, did the marriage between Walter, Lord Caverel, and Lucy, Lady Caverel, née Bull of Clapham, take place at Chelsea Register Office on 26th June 1946?’

‘It did.’

‘He has already told us that,’ Murray said pleasantly. Mordecai bowed. ‘Do they also show that the marriage was terminated in October 1950 when the wife was granted a decree of divorce on the grounds of her husband’s adultery?’

And he’s already told us that too, Murray was tempted to say but stopped himself.

‘They do.’

‘Lady Caverel, whose maiden name was Bull, didn’t originate the divorce proceedings, did she?’

‘No, they were originated by Lord Caverel, her husband. He filed a petition. However the wife eventually obtained a decree on her cross-petition.’

‘Thus the proceedings were commenced by the husband filing a petition for a decree in which he sought a divorce on the grounds of his wife’s adultery with a co-respondent, a man called Alfredo Leiter. Did Lord Caverel at the same time seek the exercise of the court’s discretion?’

‘That is so.’

‘That means, does it not, that he admitted his adultery during the course of the marriage?’

This time Murray could not keep silent. ‘Whereas a jury would not understand the meaning of the prayer for the exercise of the court’s discretion, Mr Ledbury, I do,’ he said with his wintry smile.

Mordecai inclined his head. ‘Of course, your lordship, of course.’ He turned back to the witness. Now he had to move on to more dangerous ground.

‘In Lord Caverel’s original petition, did he allege that during the course of the marriage the wife had given birth to a son, Julian?’

‘He did.’

‘And did the husband, Lord Caverel, claim that his son was not a child of the marriage?’

‘That is correct.’

‘In the wife’s answer and cross-petition, did she in reply swear that Julian, born on 11th January 1949, was a son of the marriage?’

‘She did.’

‘And she sought, and was eventually granted, a decree of divorce on the grounds of the husband’s adultery?’

Murray again intervened, still marginally affable but with a note of impatience. ‘That was because the husband abandoned his petition which was dismissed. He did not defend the cross-petition and the wife was granted a decree. Is that not correct?’

‘It is,’ repeated Mr Steadman, smiling nervously.

‘Thus the husband’s assertion that the son Julian was not his son was rejected by the court,’ Murray continued, ‘and the wife’s claim that Julian was a son of the marriage was upheld.’

Mordecai had begun to stump up and down the bench. Oliver half turned and whispered over his shoulder, ‘Patience, Mordecai, patience.’

Murray was going on. ‘Remind me of what the order drawn up by the divorce court says with regard to the financial settlement for the wife and the custody and the maintenance of the son, Julian.’

‘The order, my lord, recites that by agreement a sum of one hundred thousand pounds was to be settled on the wife by the husband; she was granted custody of Julian with maintenance at two thousand pounds per annum until he was twenty-one on 11th January 1970. On attaining his majority Julian was to receive a life annuity of two thousand pounds. The husband was also ordered to pay the costs.’

‘And this order was drawn up in 1950?’ the judge added.

‘Yes.’

‘Considerable sums for those days.’

Mordecai could restrain himself no longer. ‘Has your lordship finished? If you have, may I now resume?’

Oliver lowered his head and rested his chin on his hands. Why does he have to be so aggressive?

Murray bridled. There was an ominous pause before he laid down his pencil and said shortly, ‘You may.’

‘Thank you.’ Mordecai turned to the witness. ‘Have you any note in the papers which can tell us the date of the death of Julian Caverel?’

‘No.’

‘None at all?’

‘No.’

‘Well, as doubtless we shall hear from another source, Julian died on 28th September 1978 in San Francisco, of, I believe, what is now known as Aids and –’

Percy was on his feet. ‘That is a most improper observation. My friend has no right to say that –’

‘I withdraw the question,’ Mordecai said quickly.

‘It was not a question. It was a statement.’

Before the judge could intervene Mordecai went on rapidly, ‘At any rate, as we shall hear, shall we not, at the date of the death of Mr Julian Caverel in the United States, Walter, the 15th Lord Caverel was still alive?’

The witness remained silent.

‘You can’t help us over that?’

‘No.’

‘Well, at least you have been able to say from the records you produce that at one time Walter Caverel was claiming that Julian was not his son and – ’

Robert Murray’s earlier resolution to be polite had deserted him. He was now thoroughly irritated. ‘That is yet another statement and not a question. The matter as to the legitimacy of the son, Julian, speaks for itself.’

Mordecai bowed his head. He appeared to be about to speak but apparently thought better of it and sank back into his seat. He took up some of his papers and shuffled them noisily. Oliver again half turned and whispered over his shoulder, ‘Don’t tangle with him, Mordecai. Remember, we need time.’

‘Tangling with judges’, Mordecai whispered back, ‘takes up time.’

‘There’s no need,’ whispered Oliver.

‘No,’ Ledbury replied. ‘But no harm either.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ Oliver whispered.

Percy had risen. Murray said, ‘If you thought of reverting to the legitimacy of Mr Julian Caverel which Mr Ledbury has for some reason known only to himself been exploring, there is no need, Sir Percy. The position in law is quite clear. The divorce court found that Julian Caverel was the child of the marriage. He was the elder son of the 15th Lord Caverel by the first wife. Robin Caverel was the younger son of Walter Caverel by his second wife. As I understand it, Julian having pre-deceased his father, the younger son, in ignorance of any alleged heir, assumed the inheritance on his father’s death. I should have thought that even a practitioner in the Common Law courts would have been well aware of the effect of those simple conclusions of law.’

Percy bowed. The judge went on. ‘That is all there is to it. The point in question is whether the late Mr Julian Caverel had any legitimate issue. Please proceed.’

A hum rose in the court. Murray tapped angrily with his pencil. ‘Silence,’ called out the usher. Willoughby nodded his head happily and looked at Jameson who ignored him. Stevens turned to Fleur, a half-smile on his face.

‘My next witnesses’, Percy said, ‘are from Charleston, South Carolina, and they will be producing formal records about the marriage of Julian in the United States and the birth of Miss Caverel. Mr Jeremiah Blaine, please.’

*   *   *

In the interview room Mr Rogers was drinking coffee, watched by Oliver’s junior clerk. ‘What’s the judge like?’ Mr Rogers enquired.

‘My senior, Mr Freeman, says he’s a bloody old tartar. Don’t stand no nonsense, Mr Freeman says.’

Mr Rogers considered this gravely. ‘I suppose it depends on what he thinks is nonsense.’

The young clerk sniggered. ‘Mr Freeman says this judge thinks anything out of the ordinary, nonsense.’

‘What is nonsense? What is ordinary?’ Mr Rogers mused, both hands around his cup. ‘Indeed what is truth, said Jesting Pilate, an observation, my young friend, made by another judge in another and more famous trial nearly two thousand years ago.’

The young clerk smirked. ‘I’ll leave you now. I’ll be at the rear door in Carey Street.’

He left Mr Rogers alone in the room, waiting.

*   *   *

Jeremiah Blaine, his agreeable southern American accent pronounced, gave his evidence in a deep, sonorous voice which carried easily around the whole court. After he’d taken the oath he had turned towards the spectators in the body of the court and winked at Judge Blaker who shook his head but smiled. Fortunately Murray had not noticed.

Percy took Jeremiah Blaine through his evidence. Yes, he had with him and now produced from the registry at St John’s, Lakeside, certified copies of the certificate of marriage at the Chapel of the Coming Kingdom on 16th August 1971 of Mr Julian Caverel, of London, England, bachelor, to Miss Florence Wilson, spinster, of the parish of St John’s, Lakeside in the County of Radstock, South Carolina.

‘Was that a marriage recognised as lawful by the State of South Carolina?’

‘It sure was, sir.’

‘And do you also produce from the same registry a certified copy of the birth to Mrs Florence Caverel of a daughter, named Fleur Sarah, on 26th December 1971?’

‘I sure do, sir.’

‘I want to ask you now about the hurricane in 1989 when St John’s suffered such severe damage.’

Mordecai tapped Oliver on the shoulder and whispered in his ear, ‘Have you anything for me about the certificates?’

Oliver shook his head unhappily. ‘There is only the hurricane. You must do what you can with that.’

‘It was bad, sir,’ Jeremiah Blaine said from the witness box, ‘mighty bad. It was a regular tornado.’

‘When this tornado struck Southern Carolina so severely in 1989 and your town in particular,’ Percy asked, ‘did the registry at St John’s among many other buildings suffer considerable damage?’

‘It sure did, sir, severe damage, like as did the whole township. The registry is in the Town Hall, sir, and the roof was sliced off as neat as if it’d been done with a knife.’

‘Were any of the records in the registry lost or defaced as a result of the damage during the tornado?’

‘Some documents went, from wind and water as well as fire. Later when she’d blown herself out, we collected others from all over.’

‘With regard to the records, certified copies of which you are now producing, and which relate to Mr Julian Caverel and Miss Fleur Caverel, what happened to them?’

‘Them, sir? Oh, them were among those that were all right. They were fine. So we could take from them the certified copies which I have here.’

‘Is there any doubt as to the authenticity or accuracy of the certified copies you are producing to this court?’

‘None whatsoever, sir.’

Percy sat.

Mordecai lumbered to his feet. Oliver had always claimed that any evidence of the records at John’s would be fabricated, but he had produced nothing to support his allegation. Oliver might be right, but all Mordecai could do was probe. There was only what he might make of the hurricane and the damage to the records.

‘Where did you find the documents, or rather the originals of the documents, copies of which you produce to this court? You said you found some documents from the registry all over. Where did these come from?’

‘From the registry.’

‘You said the registry was destroyed.’

‘He said nothing of the kind,’ said Murray sharply. ‘He said the registry was damaged not destroyed.’

Mordecai was glowering. ‘But many documents in and from the registry were destroyed. Is that not right?’

‘Correct.’

‘But not these?’

‘No, sir, not these.’

‘Where were they found?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I mean what I asked. Where were these documents found?’

‘You mean these –’

‘Of course I mean these! Where did you find these, or the originals from which you have taken these copies? You say you retrieved some from all over, whatever that means.’

‘Some of the documents, not these.’

‘Well, where did you find the documents that had been blown out of the registry?’ Mordecai looked about him theatrically. ‘Were they floating in the ditches or in the drains, or blown up on to the church steeple?’

Mr Blaine laughed pleasantly. He was not put out by the sarcasm. ‘I guess I understand, sir, I get the drift. No, sir, there sure were some documents scattered around but not actually on the church steeple. Some were jest scattered when the roof went or in the flood which followed and were damaged by water or fire and defaced. Some were picked up, but some of the records were safe in the registry, like these here, the certified copies of which I have here.’

‘How many documents were lost?’ Mordecai persisted.

‘I can’t tell you that, sir.’

‘Try. Try and tell me how many were lost? Millions, thousands, hundreds?’

‘Scores, but that’s a shot, as good a shot as I can reckon.’

‘And, lo and behold, out of the scores destroyed, the originals of these two documents were miraculously saved?’

‘Correct, sir, correct. These records were intact. They were all right. But it weren’t no miracle. Would you like to know, sir, why these here records were intact?’

‘Of course I would.’

‘Well, you see, sir, it was because the originals of these here copies were on microfiche.’ Blaine paused and grinned. ‘That’s how we stored some.’ He grinned again at Mordecai before he went on. ‘The microfiche was in steel cabinets. They were OK and these entries were on microfiche. Do you wanna see the original microfiche, sir?’

Mordecai paused. Oliver folded his hands on the table in front of him and gripped them tight. Blaine had deliberately held back that these copies were taken from microfiche. He had been playing with Mordecai. Game, set and match to Mr Blaine.

Stevens held his breath. The witness had not only survived; he had triumphed.

Murray did not disguise his satisfaction. He smiled one of his wintry smiles at Jeremiah Blaine. He turned to Mordecai. ‘Yes, Mr Ledbury, anything more to ask the witness?’

Mordecai knew he’d been worsted and changed tack. ‘Who first asked you to locate these documents and produce certified copies?’ he growled.

Mr Blaine scratched his head. ‘Let me see if I can recollect who it was. Why yes, I reckon it was old Isaac Walker, who first asked. He’s passed away now, poor old soul.’

‘Was he the lawyer on Station Street?’

‘He was, sir.’

‘And when did this lawyer ask you to locate the originals of these documents?’

Jeremiah Blaine looked across the court towards ex-Judge Blaker.

‘Who are you looking at?’ Mordecai spat out.

‘I was looking at no one in particular, sir. I was jest looking and thinking.’

‘Who is that man?’ Mordecai pointed at Jed Blaker. ‘The man in the fourth row with whom you were sitting before you came into the witness box?’

‘Him?’ said Mr Blaine easily. ‘Why, that’s Jed Blaker, Judge Blaker as we still call him. He used to be our judge, sir. But he ain’t a judge now, he’s –’

‘What’s his business here?’

‘He brought us over, sir, he conducted us over here and –’

‘He came with you from Charleston? He’s with you?’

‘In a way. He’s –’

Judge Blaker was on his feet. ‘I was associated with the late Mr Isaac Walter in some pieces of his law business, your honour,’ he called out. ‘I was instructed to try and locate the documents, and –’

‘Please sit down,’ said Murray, but he spoke pleasantly, not apparently as offended as might have been expected. ‘You must not interrupt the proceedings.’

‘I’m sorry, your honour, I was only trying to help.’

‘I understand, and if you’re called as a witness, you can of course explain.’

‘One judge bawling out another!’ Mordecai said to Oliver. Murray heard and turned on him. ‘Please do not interrupt, Mr Ledbury, but since you have, will you, please, explain to me the purpose of these questions. Are you challenging the validity of the documents this witness has produced or not?’

‘I am seeking to investigate how and why these documents were saved. I’m enquiring into the strange coincidence that out of the…’ Mordecai paused. It was using up time but it couldn’t go on much longer. The judge was by now thoroughly incensed. ‘The coincidence,’ Mordecai continued, ‘that out of the hundreds of documents destroyed or lost in 1989, these so conveniently survived.’

‘What do you mean by so conveniently? Convenient for whom?’

‘For the Claimant, obviously.’

‘It is not obvious to me. I ask you again, Mr Ledbury, are you challenging the documents as not true copies of the originals? Or are you saying that if they are true copies, the originals are false?’

From the bench Mordecai picked up the bundle of pleadings bound together by small bows of green tape. ‘Has your lordship read the pleadings?’

‘Of course I have read the pleadings.’ Murray was even angrier now. Either Ledbury was being obtuse or he was deliberately wasting time. ‘It’s my invariable practice, as you ought to know, to read and study the pleadings in every case in my court before I try the case. If you are suggesting I haven’t read them in this case, that is impertinent.’

‘Then of course I apologise.’ Out of the corner of his eye Mordecai saw that a clerk had approached Oliver and was bent beside him, whispering in his ear. ‘I was led into the error by your lordship’s question about the purpose of my cross-examination. Your lordship will have seen from the pleadings that the defence to this claim on behalf of the infant Lord Caverel’ – here his voice became particularly slow and solemn – ‘denies the legitimacy of Julian Caverel; denies that he was ever married; denies that he was the father of a daughter; denies the legitimacy of any child said to be his. Indeed,’ he added more quietly, ‘the defence challenges everything about the claim – and everything about the Claimant.’

He paused. Oliver turned and slipped a note on to the desk in front of him. Mordecai glanced down. ‘We are ready.’ He looked up at the judge. ‘But in view of your lordship’s pertinent comments and my misinterpretation of your lordship’s practice, I shall conclude my cross-examination of this witness and, if it’s any assistance to my learned friend, I shall not cross-examine any other witness that my friend might call upon this issue.’ He sat down, with the usual noisy clatter.

Murray turned to Jeremiah Blaine. ‘Thank you,’ he said with another of what passed for him as a smile. ‘You have been very helpful and I am much obliged to you.’

‘Only too pleased to be able to oblige.’ Blaine picked up his papers, went down the steps from the witness box and made his way to his seat beside Jed Blaker, who clapped him happily on the back.

‘Well done, old cock,’ Willoughby whispered. ‘You did fine.’

Percy rose. ‘In view of what my friend has just said, I understand that he accepts the authenticity of the documents.’ He paused and looked at Mordecai who ignored him. Percy went on, ‘As he does not dispute what I have just said, I have no reexamination of the witness and I shall call no further witness to confirm the authenticity of these certified copies.’

Murray nodded. ‘Very well. Let us get on.’

‘My lord, this witness and the other gentlemen who have been brought here to prove these documents have come from the United States and are anxious to return to their official duties as soon as possible. As the challenge to their evidence has been withdrawn, I ask that they be released from further attendance.’

Stevens had turned and was looking up at Percy expectantly.

‘Very well,’ Murray repeated. ‘These witnesses –’

There came a rumble from Ledbury in his seat.

‘If you please.’ He hauled himself to his feet. ‘The evidence in the case has only just begun and I suggest as a point of principle that it is unwise to release witnesses at such an early stage in the trial. I submit you should not order their release.’

Stevens had turned and, anxious again, was looking towards Mordecai.

‘Why?’ said Murray abruptly. ‘Why should you object? You have completed your cross-examination and you have said that you do not seek to cross-examine any other witness about these documents.’

‘That is so,’ Mordecai said, ‘but I submit it’s never wise to release any witness who has come from a distance and cannot be easily recalled until all the evidence has been completed.’

‘What evidence are you referring to?’

Mordecai looked at him. Some seconds passed.

‘All the evidence,’ Mordecai replied. ‘There will be much evidence and many witnesses before this case is concluded. So until your lordship has heard all the evidence, I suggest that no witness should be released.’ There was another pause. ‘By evidence, I mean not only evidence for the Petitioner but also evidence for the Respondent.’ Again he paused.

Stevens was looking down at his papers, biting his lip. ‘It could be disastrous, leading to costly adjournments, if, for any reason, either party or your lordship yourself required their presence and these witnesses had been released and were three thousand miles away and outside the jurisdiction of the court which would have no power to ensure their return.’

For a time Murray said nothing. He knew that Ledbury was right in principle, but the man had succeeded in thoroughly exasperating him, not only by his attitude to the bench but also by his slowness and irrelevance. Moreover Ledbury had not really challenged the certificates, so how could there arise circumstances in which the American witnesses would be further required? It was a risk, but he’d take it.

He looked down at his notebook. ‘The application’, he said at last, ‘is granted. The witnesses dealing with this part of the Claimant’s case are released.’ He looked up at the clock. ‘I shall adjourn now,’ he said. ‘Two o’clock,’ and he swept out of the court.

Percy rested his hand for a moment on Stevens’ shoulder. The knuckles of Stevens’ fists on the table were showing white. Julian’s birth, Julian’s marriage and Fleur’s birth were now in evidence. The expense, and the trouble, had been worthwhile. ‘Thank you,’ he said to Percy.

‘Thank Ledbury. His cussedness did it for us. For all his reputation, he’s not a very skilful cross-examiner or today he’s not in very good form.’ Percy smiled at Fleur. ‘You’ve very little to worry about when you’re in the box this afternoon,’ he said.

In his room Murray was having a twinge over how wise he’d been to release the Americans. He couldn’t conceal from himself that the reason he’d decided as he had was principally his antipathy to Ledbury. For a brief moment he pondered whether it might not be wiser to change his decision but it was now probably too late. The witnesses might have already left. And he’d be quite unable to tolerate the look of satisfaction it would bring to the face of Mordecai Ledbury.

*   *   *

When the judge had made his ruling about the witnesses, Willoughby had grasped Jameson’s hand under the bench and squeezed it.

‘We’ve done it, old son,’ Willoughby whispered.

In the corridor he caught up with Jed Blaker and put his arm round his shoulder. ‘Nice doing, old cock. Now you can be off.’

‘I expected we’d be here until the end of the week. We’re booked into Sunset Boulevard on Friday evening and we’re not on a flight to Paris until Saturday morning.’

‘Then stay around and be our guests. Let’s have a glass to celebrate. Jeremiah did very well, very well indeed. He made their lawyer look an ass. We’re nearly there, old cock. Now it all depends on Fleur.’