Cometh the Hour: A Novel (2 page)

“Mrs. Clifton will never allow it to be presented as evidence,” said Virginia confidently.

“How can you be sure?”

“Her brother intends to fight the by-election in Bristol Docklands caused by Major Fisher’s death. If this letter were to be made public, he’d have to withdraw. It would end his political career.”

Lawyers are meant to have opinions on everything, except their clients. Not in this case. Sir Edward knew exactly how he felt about Lady Virginia, and it didn’t bear repeating, in or out of court.

“If you’re right, Lady Virginia,” said the elderly QC, “and they don’t offer the letter as evidence, the jury will assume it’s because it doesn’t assist Mrs. Clifton’s cause. That would undoubtedly tip the balance in your favor.”

Virginia tore up the letter and dropped the little pieces into the wastepaper basket. “I agree with you, Sir Edward.”

*   *   *

Once again, Desmond Mellor had booked a small conference room in an unfashionable hotel, where no one would recognize them.

“Lady Virginia is the odds-on favorite to win a two-horse race,” said Mellor from his place at the head of the table. “It seems Alex Fisher ended up doing something worthwhile for a change.”

“Fisher’s timing couldn’t have been better,” said Adrian Sloane. “But we’ll still need to have everything in place if there’s to be a smooth takeover of Barrington’s Shipping.”

“Couldn’t agree with you more,” said Mellor, “which is why I’ve already drafted a press statement that I want you to release as soon as the verdict has been announced.”

“But all that could change if Mrs. Clifton allows Fisher’s letter to be read out in court.”

“I can assure you,” said Mellor, “that letter will never see the light of day.”

“You know what’s in that letter, don’t you?” said Jim Knowles.

“Let’s just say I’m confident that Mrs. Clifton will not want the jury to see it. Which will only convince them that our beloved chairman has something to hide. Then they will surely come down in Lady Virginia’s favor, and that will be an end of the matter.”

“As they’re likely to reach a verdict some time tomorrow,” said Knowles, “I’ve called an emergency board meeting for Monday morning at ten o’clock. There will only be two items on the agenda. The first will be to accept Mrs. Clifton’s resignation, followed by the appointment of Desmond as chairman of the new company.”

“And my first decision as chairman will be to appoint Jim as my deputy.” Sloane frowned. “Then I’ll ask Adrian to join the board, which will leave the City and the shareholders in no doubt that Barrington’s is under new management.”

“Once the other board members have read this,” said Knowles, waving the press statement as if it were an order paper, “it shouldn’t be long before the admiral and his cronies decide they have no choice but to hand in their resignations.”

“Which I will reluctantly accept,” said Mellor, before adding, “with a heavy heart.”

“I’m not convinced Sebastian Clifton will fall in with our plans quite that easily,” said Sloane. “If he decides to remain on the board, it might not be quite the smooth transition you have in mind, Desmond.”

“I can’t imagine Clifton will want to be a director of the Mellor Shipping Company after his mother has been publicly humiliated by Lady Virginia, not only in court, but in every national newspaper.”

“You must know what’s in that letter,” repeated Knowles.

*   *   *

Giles made no attempt to change his sister’s mind, because he realized it would be pointless.

Among Emma’s many qualities was a fierce loyalty to her family, her friends and any cause she believed in. But the other side of that coin was a stubbornness that sometimes allowed her personal feelings to override her common sense, even if her decision could result in losing the libel case, and even having to resign as chairman of Barrington’s. Giles knew, because he could be just as obstinate. It must be a family trait, he decided. Harry, on the other hand, was far more pragmatic. He would have weighed up the options and considered the alternatives long before he came to a decision. However, Giles suspected Harry was torn between supporting his wife and loyalty to his oldest friend.

As the three of them stepped back out onto Lincoln’s Inn Fields, the first gas lights were being lit by the lamplighter.

“I’ll see you both back at the house for dinner,” said Giles. “I’ve got a couple of errands to run. And by the way, sis, thank you.”

Harry hailed a taxi, and he and his wife climbed into the back. Giles didn’t move until the cab had turned the corner and was out of sight. He then headed off at a brisk pace in the direction of Fleet Street.

2

S
EBASTIAN ROSE EARLY
the following morning and after reading the
Financial Times
and the
Daily Telegraph
he just couldn’t see how his mother could hope to win her libel trial.

The
Telegraph
pointed out to its readers that if the contents of Major Fisher’s letter remained a secret, it wouldn’t help Mrs. Clifton’s cause. The
FT
concentrated on the problems Barrington’s Shipping would face should its chairman lose the case and have to resign. The company’s shares had already fallen by a shilling, as many of its shareholders had clearly decided that Lady Virginia was going to be the victor. Seb felt the best his mother could hope for was a hung jury. Like everyone else, he couldn’t stop wondering what was in the letter Mr. Trelford wouldn’t allow him to read, and which side it was more likely to help. When he had phoned his mother after returning from work, she hadn’t been forthcoming on the subject. He didn’t bother to ask his father.

Sebastian turned up at the bank even earlier than usual but once he’d sat down at his desk and begun trying to work his way through the morning mail, he found he couldn’t concentrate. After his secretary Rachel had asked him several questions which remained unanswered, she gave up and suggested he go to court, and not return until the jury had delivered its verdict. He reluctantly agreed.

As his taxi drove out of the City and into Fleet Street, Seb spotted the bold headline on a
Daily Mail
placard and shouted “Stop!” The cabbie swung into the curb and threw on his brakes. Seb jumped out and ran across to the paperboy. He handed him fourpence and grabbed a copy of the paper. As he stood on the pavement reading the front page he felt conflicting emotions: delight for his mother, who would now surely win her case and be vindicated, and sadness for his uncle Giles, who had clearly sacrificed his political career to do what he considered the honorable thing, because Seb knew his mother would never have allowed that letter to be seen by anyone outside the family.

He climbed back into the cab and wondered, as he stared out of the window, how he would have reacted had he been faced with the same dilemma. Was the prewar generation guided by a different moral compass? He wasn’t in any doubt what his father would have done, or how angry his mother would be with Giles. His thoughts turned to Samantha, who had returned to America when he’d let her down. What would she have done in similar circumstances? If only she would give him a second chance, he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Seb checked his watch. Most God-fearing people in Washington would still be asleep, so he realized he couldn’t phone his daughter Jessica’s headmistress, Dr. Wolfe, to find out why she wanted to speak to him urgently. Was it just possible…?

The taxi pulled up outside the Royal Courts of Justice in the Strand. “That’ll be four and six, gov’nor,” said the cabbie, interrupting his thoughts. Seb handed him two half-crowns.

As he stepped out of the cab, the cameras immediately began to flash. The first words he could make out above the melee of hollering hacks was, “Have you read Major Fisher’s letter?”

*   *   *

When Mrs. Justice Lane entered court fourteen and took her place in the high-backed chair on the raised dais, she didn’t look pleased. The judge wasn’t in any doubt that although she had firmly instructed the jury not to read any newspapers while the trial was taking place, the only subject they would be discussing in the jury room that morning would be the front page of the
Daily Mail
. She had no idea who was responsible for leaking Major Fisher’s letter, but that didn’t stop her, like everyone else in that courtroom, from having an opinion.

Although the letter had been sent to Mr. Trelford, she was certain it couldn’t have been him. He would never involve himself in such underhand tactics. She knew some barristers who would have turned a blind eye, even condoned such behavior, but not Donald Trelford. He would rather lose a case than swim in such murky waters. She was equally confident that it couldn’t have been Lady Virginia Fenwick, because it would only have harmed her cause. Had leaking the letter assisted her, she would have been the judge’s first suspect.

Mrs. Justice Lane looked down at Mrs. Clifton, whose head was bowed. During the past week she’d come to admire the defendant and felt she would like to get to know her better once the trial was over. But that would not be possible. In fact, she would never speak to the woman again. If she were to do so, it would unquestionably be grounds for a retrial.

If the judge had to guess who had been responsible for leaking the letter, she would have placed a small wager on Sir Giles Barrington. But she never guessed, and never gambled. She only considered the evidence. However, the fact that Sir Giles was not in court that morning might have been considered as evidence, even if it was circumstantial.

The judge turned her attention to Sir Edward Makepeace, who never gave anything away. The eminent silk had conducted his brief quite brilliantly and his eloquent advocacy had undoubtedly assisted Lady Virginia’s case. But that was before Mr. Trelford had brought Major Fisher’s letter to the court’s attention. The judge understood why neither Emma Clifton nor Lady Virginia would want the letter to be disclosed in open court, although she was sure Mr. Trelford would have pressed his client to allow him to enter it in evidence. After all, he represented Mrs. Clifton, not her brother. Mrs. Justice Lane assumed it wouldn’t be long before the jury returned and delivered their verdict.

*   *   *

When Giles phoned his constituency headquarters in Bristol that morning, he and his agent Griff Haskins didn’t need to hold a long conversation. Having read the front page of the
Mail
, Griff reluctantly accepted that Giles would have to withdraw his name as the Labour candidate for the forthcoming by-election in Bristol Docklands.

“It’s typical Fisher,” said Giles. “Full of half-truths, exaggeration and innuendo.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” said Griff. “But can you prove it before polling day? Because one thing’s for certain, the Tories’ eve-of-poll message will be Fisher’s letter, and they’ll push it through every letterbox in the constituency.”

“We’d do the same, given half a chance,” admitted Giles.

“But if you could prove it was a pack of lies…” said Griff, refusing to give up.

“I don’t have time to do that, and even if I did, I’m not sure anyone would believe me. Dead men’s words are so much more powerful than those of the living.”

“Then there’s only one thing left for us to do,” said Griff. “Let’s go on a bender and drown our sorrows.”

“I did that last night,” admitted Giles. “And God knows what else.”

“Once we’ve chosen a new candidate,” said Griff, quickly slipping back into election mode, “I’d like you to brief him or her, because whoever we pick will need your support and, more important, your experience.”

“That might not turn out to be an advantage in the circumstances,” Giles suggested.

“Stop being so pathetic,” said Griff. “I’ve got a feeling we won’t get rid of you quite that easily. The Labour Party is in your blood. And wasn’t it Harold Wilson who said a week is a long time in politics?”

*   *   *

When the inconspicuous door swung open, everyone in the courtroom stopped talking and turned to watch as the bailiff stood aside to allow the seven men and five women to enter the court and take their places in the jury box.

The judge waited for them to settle before she leaned forward and asked the foreman, “Have you been able to reach a verdict?”

The foreman rose slowly from his place, adjusted his spectacles, looked up at the judge and said, “Yes, we have, my lady.”

“And is your decision unanimous?”

“It is, my lady.”

“Have you found in favor of the plaintiff, Lady Virginia Fenwick, or the defendant, Mrs. Emma Clifton?”

“We have found in favor of the defendant,” said the foreman, who, having completed his task, sat back down.

Sebastian leapt to his feet and was about to cheer when he noticed that both his mother and the judge were scowling at him. He quickly resumed his seat and looked across at his father, who winked at him.

On the other side of the court sat a woman who was glaring at the jury, unable to hide her displeasure, while her counsel sat impassively with his arms folded. Once Sir Edward had read the front page of the
Daily Mail
that morning, he’d realized that his client had no chance of winning the case. He could have demanded a retrial, but in truth Sir Edward wouldn’t have advised his client to put herself through a second trial with the odds tipped so heavily against her.

*   *   *

Giles sat alone at the breakfast table at his home in Smith Square, his usual routine abandoned. No bowl of cornflakes, no orange juice, no boiled egg, no
Times,
no
Guardian,
just a copy of the
Daily Mail
laid out on the table in front of him.