Prudence

‘I gather you’ve been working for Mr Canfield for three months, that you came as a temporary and stayed on? Was that because you liked Mr Canfield?’

‘No. Not especially, but he wasn’t in the office much, and I liked the other people who worked there.’

‘As you were marrying such a rich man, with so much to do before the wedding, was it strictly necessary to go on working?’

Fiona Graham’s eyes widened.

‘I wanted to be independent. My fiance’s given me so much. I’m not married to him yet. My mother’s a widow and she hasn’t got much to pay for the wedding. I wanted to help out as much as I could.’

The Jury nodded sympathetically. Pendle examined his finger nails.

‘If you needed money,’ he said softly, ‘why didn’t you get a job nearer your flat, where the fares would have cost you less, and you could have earned more money? After all temporaries can get up to ?80 a week, but I gather you were only getting ?45 working for Mr Canfield.’

‘When one’s getting married,’ said Fiona sweetly, ‘there’s so much to think about. It’s a strain adjusting to a new job. I’m not a very good typist. I thought it would be less hassle to stay where I was.’

‘Better the devil you know,’ said Pendle. ‘Did you find Mr Canfield attractive?’

Fiona Graham shuddered.

‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘Anyway I’m not interested in other men. I love my fiance.’

‘In fact you disliked Mr Canfield?’

‘I didn’t dislike him, I was embarrassed the way he looked at me.’

‘In what way?’

‘Well,’ she blushed, ‘as though he wanted me.’

‘Then why did you work late?’

‘I wanted to do my job properly,’ she said with a sob. ‘I never dreamed he’d abuse my trust.’

She was like Little Nell, little death knell where Pendle was concerned. The Jury were looking at him with loathing. He seemed unmoved.

‘You claim that the evening the so-called assault occurred, Mr Canfield ripped your dress open and a button came off. What happened to the button?’

‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I w-wasn’t in a fit state to…’

There was an agonizing pause; then Pendle said in a voice of ice.

‘Earlier you told my learned friend you were crying hysterically because the defendant had taken advantage of you, and this crying was overheard by Miss Cartland who runs the typing pool, and later by your fiance?’

‘That is correct.’

‘I suggest,’ hissed Pendle, ‘you were crying because you were caught in a trap. The wedding was only six weeks away, your financial set-up necessitated making a rich marriage, but you suddenly discovered you weren’t in love with your fiance at all, but infatuated with Mr Canfield.’

Jimmy Batten leapt to his feet.

‘M’Lord, I must protest.’

Fiona Graham burst into tears. ‘It’s not true,’ she sobbed. ‘I love Ricky. I hate and detest Mr Canfield.’

There was so much desolation in her voice I thought Pendle was going to get lynched.

‘Cold-blooded bastard,’ said my fat neighbour. ‘I bet he treats women badly.’

‘He does,’ I said, accepting another glacier mint.

Pendle picked up a piece of paper.

‘Does the name Gerry Seaton mean anything to you?’

Suddenly Fiona was still, like a wary animal, but her tone was flat when she answered, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘It’s a simple question,’ said Pendle politely. ‘Do you or do you not know a man called Gerald Seaton?’

‘I have never heard of him.’

‘You didn’t spend a weekend with him in the Cotswolds on July 30th and 31st this year?’

‘Certainly not.’ She allowed herself a little hauteur now.

Batten was on his feet again. ‘My Lord,’ he said wearily, ‘I hardly see this is relevant.’

‘Get back to the point, Mr Mulholland,’ said the Judge.

‘No more questions,’ said Pendle and sat down.

Fiona Graham was followed by an impressive array of prosecution witnesses, including the office crone, shivering with venom, all hammering another nail into Canfield’s coffin. Pendle battled valiantly with each one, but didn’t make much headway.

Finally, to the excitement of many of the crowd who recognized him, Ricky Wetherby went into the box, and was so handsome, godlike and suntanned, and so distressed in a stiff upper-lipped way that within seconds the whole court was on his side.

‘And that concludes the case for the prosecution,’ said Batten. Ricky Wetherby stepped down. The judge looked at his watch, and we adjourned for lunch.

Pendle stopped for a few words with Canfield and his poor shattered wife, and then joined me outside.

‘You were great,’ I said. ‘I never dreamed you’d be that good.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s going to be rough this afternoon. Come on, we’ve only got an hour.’

It was still bitterly cold, but a weak sun shining through thin clouds like a sullen pearl had melted most of the frost. A few typists were feeding the pigeons as the taxi bowled through Lincoln’s Inn Field. Our destination was a hot steamy little pub with dark-panelled walls, which seemed to be full of lawyers. I was about to say how nice it was when I stiffened, for there at the bar, downing a large whisky, stood Jimmy Batten.

‘Look,’ I hissed.

‘I know,’ said Pendle.

Jimmy Batten turned round and smiled at us.

‘You made it. What can I get you?’

‘A large whisky please,’ said Pendle. ‘You can afford it too, out of the vast fee you’re no doubt getting out of the Wetherbys. You had a bloody good morning.’

‘Might go either way,’ said Jimmy Batten with unconvincing modesty.

‘I must say you do dump your clients with indecent haste,’ said Pendle. ‘You ought to be reported to the Bar Council. You can’t have spent more than ten seconds reassuring the lovely Miss Graham. I thought you might bring her in here for a drink.’

‘Oh she’s far too inn-o-cent for dives like this,’ said Jimmy, winking at me. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to this ravishing creature?’

I was gazing at them both open-mouthed.

‘But you’ve been sneering and glaring and hissing at each other all morning,’ I gasped.

‘I know,’ said Jimmy. ‘It’s part of the act, shows we’re trying. What can I get you to drink?’

‘A large gin and tonic, and her name’s Prudence,’ said Pendle, giving me a cigarette. ‘You were in rare form, Jimmy; all those references to Tarquin and Lucrece.’

‘Have to give the Jury their pornographic kicks,’ said Batten, ‘only way of keeping them awake.’

‘I suppose you’re going to butcher my client this afternoon?’

‘I’m going to carve him up, my dear. Ice and lemon?’ he added, handing me my drink, ‘And doesn’t he deserve it?’

‘Pru thinks he’s innocent,’ said Pendle. ‘She’s with me, and don’t forget it.’

I’d never known him so friendly. Perhaps it was because Batten was so important.

‘She’s much too pretty to waste herself on a cold fish like you,’ said Jimmy, his merry dark eyes sparkling, and stroking my fur coat as though I were a cat. I found him very attractive; he had all the assurance of the older man, but none of the pomposity.

‘Since you find her so alluring,’ said Pendle, ‘would you mind feeding and caring for her while I nip back to chambers and sign some documents?’

‘Delighted,’ said Jimmy Batten with such alacrity that it took away some of my disappointment at Pendle sloping off. After all, all the women’s magazines encouraged one to get on with his friends.

‘Don’t listen to a word Jimmy says,’ said Pendle, running a finger down my cheek. ‘Lawyers are the most