‘She picked me up.’
Suddenly the court went very still.
‘I was working on some figures. She came and sat near me, and smiled at me. I smiled back. She was a very pretty girl; she said she was meeting her aunt off the Leeds train, but it had been delayed. We arranged to meet next evening.’
‘Did she tell you she was engaged?’
‘Oh yes, she made no secret of the fact. She was going to marry this rich bloke. Said he was no good in bed.’
I glanced at Ricky Wetherby. He looked as though he’d been turned to stone.
‘What happened next?’
‘I took her away to the Cotswolds for the weekend. We stayed in a hotel.’
‘How did you pass the time?’
‘We spent it in bed.’
‘Even though she was engaged to be married?’
‘Didn’t worry her; why should it worry me?’
Jimmy Batten, looking rather grim, got up to protest.
‘Surely, My Lord, this is utterly irrelevant. These events happened long before my client met the defendant.’
‘I can assure you it has the utmost relevance on the case,’ said Pendle quickly.
‘Proceed Mr Mulholland,’ said the Judge.
‘What happened after this weekend?’
‘We met once; then she suddenly refused to see me, pretending she’d decided not to cheat on her fiance any more. Well that didn’t wash with me after her performance in the Cotswolds. So I waited for her outside her office one evening.’
‘Her new office?’ said Pendle.
‘Yes. She must have been working there about a fortnight. We went and had a drink; she got a bit bombed, and then it all came out. She’d got a thing about this bloke at work, said she was mad about him, but he refused to do anything about her.’
‘Do you remember what his name was?’
‘I can. It was the same village near my home. He was called Canfield, Bobby Canfield.’
There was not much Batten could do with Mr Seaton, nor did he have much joy with the hotel manageress in the Cotswolds, who remembered Fiona and Gerry Seaton staying there.
‘They signed in as Mr and Mrs Seaton. I remembered her because she was so pretty. We didn’t think they were married. I mean they stayed in their room all weekend. We just took their meals up.’
The Wetherby Camp looked thunderstruck. Next moment Fiona was on her feet.
‘They’re lying, they’re all lying. It’s a frame-up.’
Jimmy Batten put out a hand to hush her and, rising to retrieve the situation, said smoothly,
‘M’Lord, I should like my client to go back into the witness box to refute these charges.’
The Jury looked shaken and undecided.
Fiona went back into the box. She had regained her sangfroid now. She denied that she had ever been away for the weekend, or even met Mr Seaton. There must be some mistake. She remembered she’d had a bad cold that weekend, her fiance had been abroad, so she’d stayed in bed without going out for two days.
‘It’s a conspiracy,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears again. ‘I swear I’ve never set eyes on this man in my life.’
The barometer was wavering once again. I felt the Jury were going to believe her.
There was a long pause. Then it was Pendle’s turn.
‘Miss Graham,’ he said in his gentlest drawl, ‘you do realize that people who don’t tell the truth in court can be sent to prison?’
‘Of course,’ she said.
Pendle crossed the court and handed her a piece of paper.
‘Did you write this letter?’
She glanced at it. ‘Yes, it’s a thankyou letter for a wedding present.’
Pendle went back to his place.
‘My Lord, I have here a document in the same writing as this letter. Later I will call a handwriting expert to verify their similarity. Normally I wouldn’t resort to snooping and appropriating private documents, but when my client’s reputation is at stake…’
‘All right, Mr Mulholland,’ said the Judge irritably, ‘get on with it. What have you got to show us?’
Pendle picked up a kingfisher-blue, leather-bound book, which had been hidden in his papers; the lock was hanging from it.
‘I have here a diary belonging to Miss Graham in which she chronicles only too clearly the events of the past few months.’
Suddenly Fiona’s face twisted in horror. ‘No, don’t let him,’ she screamed. ‘He’s got my diary; he’s a thief.’
‘Be quiet, Miss Graham,’ snapped the Judge. ‘Proceed, Mr Mulholland.’
Jimmy Batten’s face never moved an inch, but he must have felt the floor give way beneath him.
‘M’Lord,’ he protested, ‘I must object to my learned friend’s methods.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ said the Judge. ‘Go on, Mr Mulholland.’
‘In a minute the ladies and gentlemen of the Jury can examine the diary themselves,’ said Pendle, ‘but first I’d like to read out one or two passages.’
The lack of expression in his voice made Fiona’s passionate outpouring sound even more dreadful. First there was her description of meeting Gerald Seaton and the weekend in the Cotswolds exactly as he had described them.
‘“It’s marvellous”,’ he read in his flat drawl, ‘“after Ricky, to find someone who knows what he’s doing in bed.” ’
Fiona’s lips were blue now. ‘It’s a forgery,’ she whispered.
Pendle flipped over a few pages: ‘Now,’ he said softly, ‘let us turn to her description of her first days of working for Mr Canfield: “My new boss is really sexy, I fancy him rotten.” Here on the 5th is a picture of Mr Canfield cut out of the
‘Nothing unusual in that,’ snapped Jimmy Batten. ‘Any girl would cut out a photograph of her boss.’
As detail followed horrendous detail of her growing obsession for Canfield, I couldn’t bear to look at her, or at Ricky Wetherby, sitting stunned and unbelieving. I was mesmerized by the distaste and cruelty in Pendle’s voice. How he seemed to hate her. I could only think of a cobra striking again and again.
‘And now,’ he said suavely, ‘if you’ll bear with me, I’ll read the entry on September 28th, the day before the alleged rape:
‘“Bobby’s wife came in today. God I loathe her, the old frump. Bet she bores him to death in bed. Tomorrow is my last chance. I shall die if I don’t get him. If only Ricky’d let me go on working after we’re married. I’ll wear my new blue dress, and pretend I’ve lost my shorthand notebook and ask Bobby to give me the letters again after work. If we’re alone in the building, something’s bound to happen. I know he fancies me.” ’
Against my will, my eyes went to Ricky Wetherby, and came away again at once. It was crucifixion.
Pendle paused again, and looked slowly round the court. ‘After this the diary becomes rather anatomical, and moves into the realms of fantasy as to what Miss Graham would like Mr Canfield to do to her in bed. I imagine the ladies and gentlemen of the Jury would find it less embarrassing to read for themselves.’
But the next moment Fiona had jumped down from the witness box and was crossing the well of the court towards Pendle, screaming abuse.
‘Bastard! Bastard! Give it back to me!’
I thought she was going to claw Pendle’s face, but Ricky was too quick for her. He was beside her in a flash, his handsome face stone-grey as a pavement.
‘Leave her alone,’ he shouted at Pendle, putting his arms round Fiona. ‘Say it’s not true, Fiona darling, for Christ’s sake, say you didn’t write it.’
