Law and Disorder (19 page)

‘How very gallant,’ I replied.

‘Well, quite,’ said Worrier, not picking up the sarcasm of my last comment.

Wednesday 11 April 2007

Day 133 (week 28): UpTights’s briefs

One thing I miss about TheBoss now that I’m forced to hang around with UpTights and her lofty attitude is that he may be a low-down, snivelling coward, but at least he is honest in one significant respect. He accepts he is driven by greed. Plain and simple. UpTights, on the other hand, can mention Atticus Finch with no sense of irony as she settles into defending an insurance company against a father of four who’s lost both legs. At least she does seem to be softening, anyway. Mid-afternoon yesterday and she blessed me with the first smile of my pupillage when I mentioned the story of my mum coming into chambers and embarrassing me with a cake. There might even be a human being lurking beneath that stretched exterior.

Meanwhile, TopFirst is looking smugger than ever. He’s made it known around chambers that I went to court without my robes and he knows full well that I won’t drop him in it as it would look even worse that I had relied on the word of a fellow pupil rather than finding out for myself. Even the clerks have been teasing me with ‘Don’t forget your suit for court tomorrow, Sir.’ I hope at least that TopFirst’s hubris will only make him more blind when it comes to meeting Ginny on Monday.

Thursday 12 April 2007

Day 134 (week 28): Phone manner

On returning from court today, I had the pleasure of overhearing UpTights deal with a call centre operative. I’m sure you can imagine. It was a call to her telephone-banking service which she had on loudspeaker, presumably so that she could successfully ‘multitask’, as she likes to call it. She’d obviously been on the phone for a while by the time I arrived.

‘Yes, I realise it’s late but all I want you to do is to transfer some money for me from one account to another.’

‘Well you can do that with internet banking these days, madam.’

‘Look, young man, if I had wanted to use the internet, I would have used the internet. Now please take my account number.’

‘Actually madam, I am not authorised to deal with financial transactions.’

‘Well are you a bank or a bunch of jokers?’

‘I am neither, madam. I am simply doing my job. I will put you through to someone in our problem resolution division.’

‘I am not a problem. All I want to do is to transfer some money. It is you who is the problem.’

‘And because you have a problem with me I am obliged to put you through to that department. Please hold.’

If she were a cartoon character (which in many ways she sometimes seems to be), steam would by now have been coming out of her ears, her hair would have been standing completely on end and she would be looking more Cruella De Vil than ever before.

‘No. No. I don’t want to be . . .’

‘Hello, I am sorry for the delay . . .’

‘Ah good. So am I. Now listen to me, young lady . . .’

‘. . . My name is Andrea, the automated telephone system for problem resolution and I will be taking you through the next procedure . . .’

‘No. No. No. I want a human being. Bring me back a human being.’

‘. . . Press one if you have a problem with internet banking . . . Press two if you have a problem with one of our operatives . . .’

By this point UpTights had hold of the phone and was pressing almost all of the buttons furiously. Eventually it elicited a result and we heard the following, ‘. . . Please hold whilst you are transferred to an operator . . .’ followed by some annoying music and then, ‘. . . We apologise for the delay. We very much appreciate your custom and are very sorry for any inconvenience . . .’

Then after about another thirty seconds of UpTights winding herself up even more tightly than might be thought humanly possible, a female voice came out of the ether,‘Hello madam. Sorry for the delay. How can I help?’

‘Ah, finally. I want to transfer some money.’

She had started to sound like the guy who sings that song ‘Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps’, where he starts screaming, ‘I’ve got all the right money and everything’ and continues ‘Why won’t somebody serve me?!’

‘Well, madam. We are the problem resolution department. You need money transfers for that. What has the problem been, exactly?’

As if to show her exactly what the problem had been she answered, ‘Look. I’ve had enough of this nonsense. Just put me through to someone with an ounce of authority.’

‘Certainly, madam. Please hold while I . . .’

‘No. Don’t cut me off. Just give me the direct number I can call.’

‘Certainly, madam. Please hold while I transfer you to the person who . . .’

‘No! Look. Please just pass the phone over to your manager.’

‘Please hold, madam . . .’

‘What on earth is this world coming to, BabyB? You can’t even pass wind without getting put on hold by some dozy little worker who’s too busy polishing her nails to actually do any work.’

‘Hello, madam, I’ve been told that you want to transfer some money from one account to another?’

‘Finally,’ she screeched.‘Finally,I have found the one sane person in the whole organisation. Yes, that is exactly what I want to do. Immediately.’

‘Well madam, I am sorry to tell you that our computers are down and you will have to call back later, I am afraid.’

It was at this point that she completely lost it and threw the phone across the room and stormed out,screaming,‘I need a drink.’

Which for a strict teetotaller was an interesting reaction.

Friday 13 April 2007

Day 135 (week 28): FakeClaims&Co

Claire and I did some research into FakeClaims&Co last night. Found a bit written about them in a number of comments on an anonymous blog. It appeared to be written by a disgruntled employee. The suggestion is that FakeClaims were in some way connected to an accident management firm which fabricates personal injury cases in the south-east. It seems they get their ‘clients’ to drive in front of another car and then stop suddenly. Rear-end shunts are near impossible to defend and it means that insurers often have little option but to pay up for the whiplash claims that follow. Claims not only for the driver but generally for three or four ‘phantom’ passengers who suddenly appear when a claim is entered. I left a message on the blog from an anonymous email account saying that I was a journalist investigating car scams and would be very interested to chat. With a bit more evidence, it might even be enough to encourage FakeClaims to withdraw their complaint against TheBoss.

Monday 16 April 2007

Day 136 (week 29): Not a penny more

As I write this, TopFirst is on his way to meet Ginny for a drink in Covent Garden. All going to plan as it stands and I shall report tomorrow on the outcome. As for today, Old Smoothie popped round to UpTights’s room. If it doesn’t rain, it pours, and it appears that they have yet another case listed against each other next week and he wanted to try and settle it early. OldSmoothie is representing a mother who was knocked over by a drunk driver and seriously injured.

‘The clerks tell me that I will be having the pleasure of your company once again next week,’ said OldSmoothie.

‘So it seems,’ she replied curtly.

‘Yes, well. As you might imagine, my client’s not in a good way and I’m keen to settle this if we can and avoid her having to go through the ordeal of a court hearing.’

‘I’m sure you are, OldSmoothie. On a no-win, no-fee, by any chance?’

‘Still your old charming self, UpTights, I see. Anyway, my instructions said you might have an offer for me. No point playing games with each other at our age. What’s your bottom line?’

‘Touché, OldSmoothie. At least you’ll always be the elder.’

‘So what can you come up with? We’ve already said we’d go away for £200,000.’

‘Fair enough, OldSmoothie. You’re right. Cutting to the chase, the very maximum we’ll go up to is £120,000 and not a penny more. No games, remember, so that’s the absolute tops. Not a single penny more. Understood? Not a penny.’

‘Understood. Not a penny. I’ll go and take instructions.’

OldSmoothie left and then returned about an hour later.

‘Well, UpTights. I’ve taken instructions on your offer and it is rejected. However, we do have a counter-offer of £120,000 and . . .’ he paused, for effect, ‘. . . one penny.’ He smirked directly at her.

‘I hope you’re joking. I don’t believe that’s what your client would have said.’

‘Funny sense of humour, my client.’

‘As if. Completely out of order. What if I say no and your client loses the offer?’

‘But you won’t, UpTights. I know you too well. You wouldn’t want to lose face with your beloved cash cow of an insurance company over one penny. Now, off you go and take instructions if you really need to. You might want to get back by 3 p.m. as my solicitors will start preparing the trial bundle and incurring even more costs after that. Cheerio!’

As he waltzed out, UpTights was fuming, as you might imagine. She didn’t say a word to me even though she was walking round the room at a hundred miles an hour, fists clenched and muttering curses under her breath which would have had her burned as a witch in days gone by.

At one minute to three, she dialled the number and fired into the phone, ‘Agreed, OldSmoothie. Never, ever do that to me again,’ before slamming it back down.

Tuesday 17 April 2007

Day 137 (week 29): First meeting

Last night TopFirst finally met Ginny the HoneyTrap. All recorded on digital video camera discreetly placed in her handbag. Her instructions were to play it quite cool but at the same time hint that she is available and even that she might find him attractive. Not that Ginny needed any help with these matters.

Today she uploaded the video onto a secure site and I’ve just had a chance to watch it. Not great quality, to be honest, but it shows that she certainly did the job. Though it seems from what I saw that the job had pretty much been done even before she arrived, as he was flirting from the off. Pretty swanky bar they were at too. I shudder to think what the bill would have been for the evening but hey, not me paying, so who cares? The video starts with Ginny introducing the place to the camera and then hiding it away. You don’t actually see TopFirst walk through the door but you hear him arrive and there’s an awkward, ‘Ginny?’

‘Yes. TopFirst?’

‘Definitely. Nice to meet you, babe.’

Babe? What planet is he on? Babe is possibly the very last word that would usually come from TopFirst’s lips, which showed that he was already feeling awkward, I guess.

‘And you too.’

‘You look as stunning as I imagined you would.’

‘Thank you very much. You look very casual for a barrister.’

As he sat down you could see on the video that he was wearing chinos and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt with a pair of Ray-Bans perched on top of his head.

‘Yeah.You know how it is.They let me get away with it,basically. Kind of nice that they give me extra little privileges.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Oh. Who knows. They’re probably pretty keen to take me on so maybe they give me a little extra leeway.’

I mean. Come on. What a pathetic thing to lie about.

‘Anyway, let’s get some champagne.’ He clicked his fingers at a waiter.

‘Sounds lovely.’

Two bottles later and they were staggering around as they moved on to a swanky restaurant nearby. ‘They know me there and so we’ll get a little peace and quiet.’

Which didn’t turn out to be quite true. They arrived only to discover that not only was he not known, but they didn’t even have a record of his booking. Then the cool façade came tumbling down and he ended up begging.

‘But I came here a couple of months ago with my parents. You said that I should give you a ring if I ever needed to book a table.’

‘I’m sure I did, Sir, but that does not make us friends and simply leaving a phone message for me is not the way that you go about making a booking, I’m afraid.’

‘But, but . . .’

He was obviously at a loss and tailed off with, ‘. . . but, please. I’m on a date and well, you know. Please . . .’

‘I am sorry, Sir, but we are fully booked for the next month. I suggest you try the local pasta place around the corner.’

Which eventually they did, but not before TopFirst had turned nasty.

‘Do you know who I am?’

‘Yes, I do. You’ve already told me that you are TopFirst and a barrister. I am very pleased for you.’

‘Well let me speak to the manager.’

‘I am the manager.’

‘Well let me speak to your boss.’

‘My boss lives in the Bahamas. I really don’t think he wants to be disturbed by you.’

‘Well . . . well . . . I will complain, I promise.’

‘I am sure you will, Mr TopFirst. I look forward to it. Goodbye now.’

When they finally settled into the next restaurant, Ginny led TopFirst into a bit of FiancéeDenial.