‘I want to appeal.’ I had asked Peregrine to come into the office as soon as I had received the judgment two weeks later. The judge had done a very neat job. She rejected the arguments about discounting the value of the shares due to minority interest, but accepted that the shares were non-matrimonial assets and had been kept distinct from the matrimonial pot. However, she did not simply ignore their value as the silk had argued; she said that it was highly likely that, at some stage in the future, they would be a considerable source of wealth to Peregrine. Further, she found that, as things stood now, Peregrine had access to much more wealth through the company than he had admitted, and she approached the case on the basis that Mrs Hamley-Smith should have enough to meet her income and capital needs. The judge thought that she needed £700,000 for a house in the same area, £20,000 for a car, £20,000 for furniture and £75,000 to meet her debts, including her legal costs. She also needed a contingency fund of £35,000.
The house, therefore, had to be sold and Mrs Hamley-Smith got the £850,000 offered by Peregrine together with 60% of the pension. So far, so good. But she also got £60,000
a year in maintenance and provision for the children, with any child support being in partial satisfaction of the order. The maintenance was to reduce by £12,000 a year after three years. Worst of all, for Peregrine, the judge had not limited the maintenance in time. So, unless the court varied it later in subsequent proceedings, Peregrine was faced with an open-ended liability to pay maintenance for the rest of his life – or at least until his ex-wife died or remarried. It also meant that, if he ever did sell his shares or come into money, she could apply to the court to capitalise her maintenance – that is get a lump sum of money from Peregrine in exchange for her giving up her rights to be maintained by him. As Arun might have put it, that really did get him by the short and curlies.
She also found, as was true, that Peregrine would be left with a very substantial income, even after paying maintenance (at least £175,000 p.a. net) and had the very valuable shareholding.
‘If you want to appeal, you will need permission to appeal first. And we will need to get leading counsel’s advice before we do anything. We need to move fast because you have to apply for permission to appeal within 21 days of the District Judge’s decision.’ I couldn’t bear to look at him.
Explosion time. ‘How much is all this going to cost? How much more fucking money do you want out of me? First of all, you give totally duff advice. Next, you lose my case and then you tell me I have to pay for the privilege. You better sort this out or I’ll sue the lot of you. It’s called negligence.’
‘And that, I think, is called a threat. You need to calm down.’
‘Fuck off. Don’t tell me what to do. You wait until I tell Clarissa.’ I noted the first-name terms. ‘She’ll have your balls on a plate.’
‘No, she won’t. And, anyway, I keep my balls in my trousers or in my matrimonial bed.’ I had had enough.
‘What do you mean by that?’ He had his hands on the desk and was trying to stand over me as I sat on the other side – only his stomach got in the way.
‘You had better go away, Peregrine, and think about it, please. It may be far better now if you go to another solicitor.’ He stormed out, leaving his designer man bag behind. I went after him.
‘Er, you left your handbag behind.’ Did he say thank you? You’re kidding.
After that, a number of things happened. First, Peregrine took his flabby carcass to another solicitor. I had written to him immediately after our meeting to remind him of the time for appeal and of his right to seek different representation. His new solicitors wrote to me within five days of our meeting, telling me that ‘their client’ was deeply dissatisfied with the advice that I had given and intended to appeal the judge’s decision. They ‘reserved the right’ to claim the costs of the appeal as part of the damages claim that their client intended to bring against me.
As a result of that letter I informed Clarissa about the threat of a negligence action and she, in turn, had to inform our professional insurers. Clarissa was clinically cold about the whole issue. ‘I very much hope that what he says is not true.’ That was it – the full extent of the support that she wanted to offer.
Ah yes. But then the truth, like Peregrine’s dick, will out. On the very day that Clarissa exuded those words of kindness in her concise and supportive email, I received another email from Mrs Hamley-Smith’s solicitors. They didn’t know yet that I had been sacked but they did know that Peregrine wanted to appeal. He had been bullying his wife ever since the hearing.
The email had four attachments. The first was an affidavit, that is a statement that is sworn to be true, from Peregrine’s former secretary. Peregrine had been having an affair with her while the divorce was happening and, as a result of that and of her position in the company, she knew all about the business. Her affidavit said that he had ditched her a few months ago, after they had argued. They had argued for two reasons. First, because he dismissed her and threatened to tell her husband about their affair. But second, because he had made her type the final draft of his narrative statement in which he had said that there were no discussions about selling the business. She knew that what he said was not true. How? Because she had typed all the emails and letters by which Peregrine had entered into the negotiations. And, to protect herself, she had emailed copies of the negotiations to herself when she left so that, if ever he did threaten again to tell her husband about their affair, she could use them to get him to back off.
So, the second attachment contained all the exhibits to her affidavit. And the third attachment was probably even better. Peregrine, no doubt attempting to rebut any suggestion that he might be sexist, had wanted to show his even-handedness by having a relationship with one of the negotiators then employed by the firm – a young man called Mark. Mark had been contacted by Peregrine’s secretary after she was booted out of the firm and, quite obviously, Mark did not like the way she had been treated. So he had sworn an affidavit, too. Everyone knew he was gay – why should he hide it? It was no skin off his nose (er, do I mean to put it in that way?) that he had had an affair with the boss and, what is more, he was by then employed by a rival firm which, no doubt, loved to hear of Peregrine’s troubles. Indeed, as Mark’s affidavit alleged, Peregrine had had even gone so far as to tell him: ‘Who gives a fuck about the homophobic anyway?’ Fair comment, I suppose.
The fourth attachment contained the exhibits to Mark’s affidavit. Quite unnecessarily, I am sure, the first exhibit showed a pile of Peregrine’s designer clothes on the floor of the young man’s flat with the unmistakable, beached whale-like features of a naked Peregrine sleeping on Mark’s bed. But also annexed to it were copies of the documents that Peregrine, in his amorous zeal, had shown to Mark to persuade him of his future riches and the rich pickings (or maybe I mean dippings) that lay ahead. Mark had photographed them on his phone.
The email itself was very simple. ‘Our client has been deeply distressed to receive the attached and wholly unsolicited documentation. She has no personal knowledge at all as to whether the contents of the attached documents are true and does not in any way wish to influence your client when he is making a decision as to whether to pursue the application for permission to appeal which he apparently intends. However, it would not be proper for us to fail to disclose this documentation to you and so that is why we have sent it with this email. Of course, if there were to be an application for permission to appeal we would be duty-bound to apply to adduce the attachments as fresh evidence before the appeal judge. We are sure that you also understand, of course, that, if it were shown that the contents of the affidavits were true, it would mean that your client has committed perjury in the light of the evidence that he gave to the District Judge. We have no wish at all to see the police involved with this family and, for our client’s part, she feels enough is enough, particularly bearing in mind the interests of the children. Despite the contents of the attachments, we thought that it might help you to know that she is prepared to leave matters as ordered by the district judge in the absence of any appeal by your client. Should there be an appeal, she will cross-appeal and seek the necessary leave.’
‘Jane, come and look at this!’ I had no business to tell her, but there again, I really did not give a toss by then.
There was no appeal. I had forwarded the email to Peregrine’s new solicitor.