TWENTY-FOUR

EXETER CROWN COURT

The Courtyard of the Castle at Exeter was crammed with parked cars. Huddles of lawyers and clients stood, heads bowed, in front of the building. Here and there strutted or strolled wily old barristers in faded wigs and gowns, confident of themselves and of their ability. In contrast, the just-unwrapped new boys sure neither of themselves nor of their cases, worriedly conferred with their Instructing Solicitors.

The police motorcyclist revved his machine importantly as the two Judges emerged from their limousine. Mr Justice Proster came first. As he passed the waiting litigants and lawyers, he gave no acknowledgment that he had seen their respectful bobs of the head. Duncan was deliberately out of sight.

The Courts filled, the lobby emptied. It was then that Duncan could identify the opposition, clustered together in a small group. There was Hambleton Jack, Q.C., a dumpy, cheerful-faced man of about fifty with distinguished silver hair peeping from below his ancient lawyer’s wig. Jeremy Myers was there and so was Bouchin. At a guess, the middle-aged man with the weasel face was the Insurance Representative. He had heavily lensed glasses, which, Duncan thought resulted from reading the small print too astutely too often. He held the purse strings of any settlement. But there was no sign of one.

At 11.15, Mr Justice Salford’s Clerk motioned to Giles Holden and Hambleton Jack. After a brief discussion they entered Number Two Court.

“Excuse me, Mr Maughton,” said the Judge, addressing the young barrister who was on his feet. “I am sorry to interrupt whilst you are in full flow, but I need a word with Counsel in the next case.” He turned to the new arrivals. “There has been an unexpected development and we are running behind. We won’t finish this morning and maybe, now, not until late afternoon, so we can’t really make a start. Please convey my apologies to the parties.” His face crinkled into a smile.

“We appreciate your Lordship’s consideration,” commented Giles Holden in his deep mellowed tones.

“Thank you. Your great experience at the Bar will have taught you nothing if you have not learnt that estimated lengths of cases are always eternally optimistic.” It was an old legal joke and a dig without malice at young Mr Maughton.

Duncan had gathered that Salford’s Court was running behind and he had stolen a hurried word with the solicitor in the combine harvester case before Proster. He had learnt that the plaintiff’s case was collapsing. Instead of running on another day or two, it would be settled before lunch. Warning lights flashed. What if someone were to invite Proster to take Goodhart’s case—someone like Jeremy Myers?

“I must talk to you at once.” Duncan drew Giles Holden to one side.

“Why not?” Giles Holden was puzzled. The two men lapped the Courtyard twice. Then they separated. Holden went to the Robing Room. Duncan spoke to his client. Jeremy Myers appeared from Court One heading for Archie Jenkins’ office. Mr Jenkins was the Associate in charge of Listing. Shortly afterwards, Myers and Jenkins appeared. Jenkins glided firstly into Proster’s Court and then into Salford’s. Only then did the Associate approach Alistair Duncan.

“Good morning, Mr Duncan,” began the Associate respectfully. “A word if I might? Thank you. I have just heard that the case bfore Mr Justice Proster is going to crack. It was listed to last until perhaps Thursday. That means that I have no case to put in the Judge’s List for after lunch today. The Judge hates an empty List and Mr Myers helpfully suggested the saving in costs and in judicial time if Goodhart’s case were transferred to Mr Justice Proster’s List.”

How very helpful of him, thought the listener, smiling evenly. Myers had done well to turn the situation to the advantage of his Insurance clients who paid him for this type of expertise.

“Excellent idea!” Duncan replied. “But I think there’s a snag.”

“Oh? What’s that?” enquired Archie Jenkins, anxious only to clear his List and save judicial time.

Jeremy Myers stood, saying nothing, his face a mask. He had two assets much cherished by his Insurance clients; a poker face, whatever the odds, and, also, an ability to read upside down. This latter facility had proved very useful, when meeting opposite numbers across the table.

Before replying to the question, Duncan smiled at Jeremy Myers and the Associate as if to say ‘sorry’. “Giles Holden has just gone. After Mr Justice Salford released us until tomorrow he awarded himself a day off. He mentioned something about relatives near Okehampton.” Duncan shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a pity the idea didn’t surface earlier.”

“Is there no chance of catching him?” enquired the Associate.

“I’ll ring the Royal Clarence.”

“Thank you, Mr Duncan. Most helpful,” purred the Associate as Duncan went to the telephone.

“I am sorry, sir,” the Receptionist commented, “but there is no answer from Mr Holden’s extension. I haven’t seen him since breakfast.”

Duncan reported to Archie Jenkins.

“I am afraid that Mr Holden wasn’t there. Beyond the reach of the Law, you might say. We’re sunk.”

“Well, thanks, anyway, Mr Duncan. I’ll tell Mr Myers in a moment.” Goodhart’s case was pencilled in for 10.30 the next day before Mr Justice Salford. Duncan bade Mr Jenkins a cheerful goodbye and walked across the yard for a cup of coffee.

“‘Bye, see you tomorrow,” he called to Jeremy Myers. “Couldn’t get Giles so we’re marked for tomorrow.” Duncan tried to keep the laughter out of his voice. Jeremy Myers was not amused.

As he stirred his coffee, Duncan reflected on the morning. It was useful that even eminent Leading Counsel like Giles Holden had to take instructions from their solicitors; even, it seemed, when those instructions were somewhat unusual. During the walk around the Courtyard, Holden had readily accepted the instruction, “to get the hell out of Exeter” and “don’t come back until tomorrow.” Holden had wasted not a second, which was as well because Myers too had acted fast. Duncan smiled. Confrontation with Proster had been avoided and it was definitely Round One to the plaintiff.

It had been a long day already. There was just time to drive out to Dulverton for lunch at the Lamb and a stroll by the river. He could do with some fresh air. Last night’s port was still being intolerably unkind.