facilities at all three and in which was spread close to ?1,800,000, which he’d looked forward to increasing to more than 2,000,000 by distributing among them the?154,000 profit from the most recent sting. But Jordan didn’t think he could do this any longer because all three accounts – and safe deposit facilities – were in his genuine name against his genuine Marylebone address, which was known to the litigious Alfred Jerome Appleton and his bulldozing legal team of Brinkmeyer, Hartley and Bernstein. All this had to be kept from Appleton and his lawyers, despite whatever financial recovery opinion was offered by Lesley Corbin, who had already freely admitted being unqualified in American-English exchange agreement law.
Jordan quit his booby-trapped apartment even earlier the following morning, using the rush-hour congestion to ensure he was not followed; he spent an entire cab-and-tube dodging hour before finally arranging from a public street telephone a meeting, in the name of Paul Maculloch, with Royston and Jones, a private bank in Leadenhall Street in the financial square mile of the City of London. It was the sort of interview with which Jordan was thoroughly familiar, every document supporting his Maculloch identity ready when it was demanded. He opened the Maculloch account with?4,500 – below the amount legally required to be officially reported under drug trafficking legislation – from his most recent expedition and was promised that the safe deposit facilities would be available as early as the following day because of the advantages of it being a private bank, which was precisely why Jordan had chosen it. His personally appointed manager hoped it was the beginning of a long association and Jordan said he hoped so, too.
There was still no waiting message from Lesley Corbin when he returned to Marylebone, for which Jordan was grateful, and from which he left the following morning again before recognized office hours. By ten Jordan was sure once more that he remained unaccompanied and unwatched and by eleven opened the first of his deposit boxes at Royston and Jones with the contents of all but?3,000 each from what had been in safe deposit in Lloyds TSB and NatWest. He left?4,500 in Coutts in the second exchange that afternoon.
He was back in Marylebone in time to return Lesley Corbin’s waiting message, telling her he had an early appointment the following day and couldn’t get to her until the afternoon, which she said would be perfect because she’d set up a conference call exchange with a lawyer in New York, where it would still only be morning.
‘I finally managed to get the names of two lawyers qualified to appear in North Carolina courts: oddly, both now have firms working in New York. The first was Daniel Beckwith. The other is David Bartle, who Dan knows has been engaged to represent Appleton.’
‘So we don’t have a choice?’
‘No.’
‘How good is Beckwith?’
‘The recommendation said he was very good. That’s all I’ve got to go by. If he wasn’t, I guess he’d still be practising in North Carolina.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ accepted Jordan. ‘Will you run the best check you can on him?’
‘Of course.’
Unsure how much ready cash he might need in the immediate future, the next morning Jordan broke an – until now – unbreakable rule and left?40,000 in his apartment safe, putting the rest, as well as all the Paul Maculloch identity documents and passport, in the Royston and Jones vaults before noon. It left him enough time for lunch at the conveniently close Joe Allens in Covent Garden, where he drank one gin martini and ordered a hamburger, wondering if it would be a diet to which he would become accustomed in the coming weeks. He hoped not.
But it easily could have been if Jordan chose.
Jordan arrived early to be told that Daniel Beckwith, to whom he was going to talk by telephone link-up, was the senior partner in the firm of Beckwith, Pryke and Samuelson, whose offices on Lexington Avenue were two block across and two down from those of David Bartle on Madison Avenue. Lesley Corbin insisted that Beckwith was one of the best attorneys in Manhattan – ‘and therefore one of the most expensive, $500 an hour with additional daily courtroom refreshers I didn’t ask about’ – with a ninety percent success rate for his clients.
‘I’m looking for a 100 percent in my case.’
‘I’ve already emailed him a full account of our discussion,’ said the woman, who was again dressed in black, which Jordan decided had to be her working uniform.
‘I’m grateful for what you’re doing,’ thanked Jordan, sincerely, an unusual emotion for him.
‘It’s what you engaged me to do,’ she reminded.
‘What did he say? Think, I mean?’
‘He knows the other lawyer, which is hardly surprising as they both qualified in Raleigh, North Carolina. When Dan and I spoke he said he and Bartle liked to play hardball.’
‘I’d already worked that out for myself. Did he think that Appleton had a case?’
‘All he’s got is what I told him, which obviously isn’t enough to give an opinion. It won’t be until you hire him – if you hire him – and he gets all the papers from the other side. We haven’t really begun yet.’
Maybe even?40,000 wasn’t going to be enough, Jordan thought. ‘Did he say…’ he started but was stopped by the jar of the telephone.
Lesley Corbin cupped the receiver with a hand and said, ‘It’s the New York call. The switchboard are holding it. The speaker phones are in the boardroom.’
Jordan followed her into the adjoining room and took the seat she indicated. The red light on the speaker in front of him clicked on when she fitted her telephone receiver into its master holder, set up in front of where she sat. She said, ‘Morning, Dan. Harvey’s here with me.’
‘Afternoon, Lesley. Afternoon, Harv,’ came a relaxed American voice.
‘Good morning,’ said Jordan. It was the first time he had ever used such equipment and he felt self-conscious on it. He hated the abbreviation of his name.
‘I’ve read what Lesley mailed me. Might need to expand upon it a little today. This’ll be pro bono. The timer starts if you decide to engage me.’ Beckwith’s voice was very measured, every word carefully enunciated.
Seeing the frown on the face of the man who had always avoided any contact with the law, Lesley Corbin mouthed, ‘No charge.’
Jordan said, ‘That’s very good of you. I’m very anxious to sort it all out. It reads like they’re driving an express train at me.’
‘That’s exactly what it’s meant to read like,’ said the American. ‘Don’t let it frighten you, which is also what it’s meant to do. Let’s go through a few things.’
‘Alienation of affection I understand, although I don’t think I am guilty of it,’ said Jordan. ‘What the hell is criminal conversations!’
‘Potentially the most expensive lay you ever had,’ said Beckwith. ‘It used to be on every statute in every state and made the female spouse a chattel of the husband. Which was why it’s been struck off in most states now. Your bad luck is that it still exists in North Carolina – the state in which Appleton and Alyce were married – and therefore the state in which Appleton is bringing suit.’
‘Because it still exists there?’
‘Obviously,’ said Beckwith.
‘How much is potentially very expensive, thousands or millions?’
‘Millions.’
‘You’re joking!’
‘There’s nothing amusing about being accused of alienation of affections and criminal conversation in North Carolina.’
‘What can I do?’
‘Talk some more,’ said the American. ‘Lesley’s notes told me these divorce proceedings had already been initiated before you began this affair with Alyce?’
‘That’s what Alyce told me.’
‘But you had slept together before she told you?’
Jordan felt hot with embarrassment, aware of the woman studying him from across the table, and wondered if he was actually colouring. ‘Yes. But before it started I’d seen her writing upon – signing, I suppose – a lot of documents she later told me were divorce papers.’
‘But you didn’t actually see them: know for yourself that they were divorce papers?’
‘No.’
