The Heirs of Owain Glyndwr (41 page)

94

It was after 2
o'clock when Ben and Barratt left court with Eifion, and made their way to the small room where Arianwen was waiting for them. It was the same room in which she had waited for the appeal to begin, more than four hours earlier, but this time, there was no prison officer and the door was not locked. She embraced all three men warmly, holding them in her arms in turn for a long time without speaking. She was still crying softly.

‘We asked for you to be brought here so that the court security staff can smuggle you out of the side entrance,' Barratt explained. ‘The press are gathering like vultures by the front entrance, and we thought you would prefer not to have to deal with them.'

‘Thank you,' she replied. ‘I am in no state to answer questions. I just want to go home and hide away for a long time.'

‘I will arrange that for you,' Barratt said. ‘We will get you back to my office, and when you're ready, one of my staff will take you to Euston and travel home with you, just to make sure you don't get any unwelcome attention. Her name is Mandy, and she is well able to look after you.'

Barratt paused.

‘Then, when you are strong enough, we will talk to the local authority about getting Harri back for you.'

Arianwen looked at Barratt anxiously.

‘Please tell me that won't be a problem,' she said. ‘I couldn't bear it if he has to stay in a foster home.'

‘You've been cleared,' Ben said. ‘They can't have any legitimate reason not to give him back, as far as this Court is concerned. Barratt will arrange a conference with Jess to discuss where you go from here, but it's one step at a time.'

‘I will be writing to the local authority immediately,' Barratt said. ‘It may take some time to get him back, but I am sure you will be able to see him very soon, and that's a start. Look, try not to worry about it. We will be there with you every step of the way.'

She embraced all three men again, and held each of them tight.

Barratt hesitated.

‘Arianwen, it shouldn't be more than another ten minutes or so before we can go. But I promised to tell you that there is someone who would like to see you, just for a minute or two.'

Her jaw dropped.

‘Trevor?' she whispered.

‘Yes. I told him you probably wouldn't want to, especially today. It's entirely up to you. I only agreed to tell you because he insisted. He said he understood that you might tell him to go to hell. If you like, I will slip out now and give him his marching orders.'

She thought for a long time.

‘I will see him,' she said.

‘Are you sure?'

‘Yes.'

They left her alone.

95

‘Hello, Arianwen,' he said.

She got to her feet, almost involuntarily, as he entered the room, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looked at him. He was standing before her abjectly, in complete misery, his hands in his pockets. It was painfully obvious that he had told the Court of Appeal the truth when he said that he was ashamed of himself. He was looking down, but he raised his eyes for a fraction of a second, and she saw nothing but pain and regret. Once again, she found herself confused by the hopeless assortment of feelings inside her. Again, she found herself wanting to despise, even hate this man who had betrayed her; yet once again her mind and emotions would not cooperate with her. Even more confusingly, there was still a fondness, perhaps even a love for him. Most of all, something about his despair and hopelessness moved her in ways she could not account for. But she did not speak.

‘I am going to resign from the police force,' he said hesitantly, after some time. ‘I have no idea what I am going to do. I haven't been able to think about anything except the case until today. I will have to find myself a job eventually. God knows what it will be. I don't know anything except being a police officer…

‘I thought I might take some time off, go away, maybe to Europe somewhere, for a while, and think it through…

‘The thing is, Arianwen… what I want to ask you… and I am not asking you to say anything now…

‘I know it's hopeless for us,' he said at last. ‘I know it's over. I know that it is my fault, and I know there is nothing I can do about it. I know all that.'

His words struck her like a physical blow. She sat down abruptly, afraid that she might fall if she remained standing. She still did not speak.

‘I am sure you are ready to tell your solicitor to get you a divorce. I don't blame you at all. I won't fight it. All I ask is that you let me see Harri sometimes. I don't ask any more than that. I will provide for him, of course…

‘I am truly sorry, Arianwen. I have no excuse for what I did. I know that doesn't mean much now. But I am truly sorry.'

His voice trailed away once more. She stared at him, and they looked at each other for a long time. At length he took his hands from his pockets, where they had been since he had entered the room, and nodded.

‘I understand,' he said. ‘I didn't expect anything else really. I will go now. I just wanted to say sorry.' He turned towards the door and opened it.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, her voice returned.

‘Is it true?' she asked. ‘What you said in your affidavit about still loving me? Is that true, or were you just trying to make yourself feel better about what you were doing?'

‘It is true,' he replied quietly. ‘I have always loved you, and I always will.'

They were silent together for some time, she in her chair, he half way out of the door with his back to her. Abruptly, she stood and walked over to him and took his hand.

‘I will never stop you seeing Harri,' she said. ‘You are his father. He loves you and he needs you.'

‘Thank you.'

‘As far as Trevor Hughes is concerned, my relationship with him is over for good. There is no way back. You must understand that.'

‘I understand…'

He bowed his head, his eyes closed, but to his surprise she lifted his head gently and waited until he opened his eyes.

‘But I don't know about Trevor Finch,' she said. ‘I don't know Trevor Finch, you see. I saw him do something good this morning. I watched him rescue a woman he cared about who was in terrible danger, and I think I would like to meet him. So, go wherever you are going to sort yourself out, and don't come back too soon. But when you get back, find me and introduce me to Trevor Finch.'

96

Friday 17 July 1970

Ben was poring over
the prosecution's latest schedule of false and inflated invoices when Gareth came into his room at about 5 o'clock. His fraud trial was now in its third week, and the end of the prosecution's case was not even in sight. His life seemed to have become an endless round of arithmetic and futile efforts to reconcile huge bundles of invoices. But the fraud had served to take his mind away from Wales and from Arianwen Finch, and for that he was grateful. That case had too many ghosts, the ghosts of Wales, and he was glad that their hold on him was beginning to fade. He and Jess had discovered a new closeness, a new gentleness, since the case ended. She had never asked him any more about Arianwen. She knew that she had nothing to fear.

‘Still drowning in paper?' Gareth smiled. ‘Can I drag you away for a pint?'

‘I wish I could, Gareth,' he replied. ‘But I have to be on top of this to cross-examine another of the prosecution's accountants tomorrow.'

‘What does it look like?' Gareth asked.

‘I think the ship is going down with all hands.'

Gareth laughed.

‘Well, you can't win them all, you know.' He brandished a newspaper he had been carrying under his arm. ‘Anyway, I won't interrupt. I just wanted to ask whether you had read
The Times
today?'

‘No. Please don't tell me there is a new case on fraud.'

‘No, no,' Gareth replied. ‘I'm not talking about the law report.' He turned to the page he wanted, and laid it before Ben. ‘I'm talking about the Court Circular.'

‘Oh?'

Ben picked the paper up and read the passage Gareth had circled in red ink.

The Queen has been pleased to approve the appointment of Evan Lloyd Roberts to be a Judge of the High Court of Justice. The Lord Chancellor has assigned Mr Justice Roberts to the Queen's Bench Division.

Ben sat back in his chair.

‘They are rewarding Evan Roberts for that fiasco? Please tell me this is some kind of joke.'

‘Apparently not,' Gareth said.

Ben sat silently, shaking his head, for some time.

‘My God, they're kicking him upstairs to cover it all up, aren't they?' he said. ‘This will immunise him against any inquiry. There's going to be a cover up. And what's the betting Jamie Broderick will get Silk in a year or two? This is unbelievable.'

Gareth smiled. ‘My word, you are getting cynical in your old age.'

‘Well, what else can it mean?'

Gareth spread his arms out in front of him.

‘It may not mean anything at all. Evan was senior civil Treasury Counsel. It's not unusual for someone to go up to the High Court after some time in that role. It may have been planned for quite a while, and our case may have nothing to do with it.'

‘It is a bit of a coincidence that he should be appointed now, though, isn't it?' Ben replied. ‘I know the Court made no findings…'

‘They couldn't,' Gareth interjected. ‘There was no evidence.'

‘I know,' Ben said. ‘But Roberts didn't exactly come out of it smelling like roses, and the Court said no one should be immune from suspicion when they set up the inquiry.'

‘
If
they set up an inquiry,' Gareth corrected him. ‘It is only a recommendation, and the recommendations of the Court of Appeal are not always followed.'

Ben shook his head.

‘So, this isn't a reward for a job well done?'

‘Well, in a sense it may be,' Gareth replied. ‘Let's not forget that he did successfully prosecute two would-be bombers, who got their just deserts. The powers that be are always impressed by that. I know Arianwen got caught up in it all. I know it was very murky in some ways, and what happened to her shouldn't have happened. But the Court of Appeal straightened it out for her, and what I had to say didn't even make a dent in the case against Dai Bach or Caradog – well, except for the sentences, I suppose. You can't insist on seeing conspiracy in everything, Ben, otherwise you will drive yourself mad.'

‘I know, but I would hate to think that they are trying to protect him or, even worse, buying his silence.'

‘That did occur to me, of course,' Gareth said, ‘but after some reflection I have decided that I have not yet become a complete cynic and, accordingly, I have decided to give the Lord Chancellor the benefit of the doubt.'

‘You are more charitable than I am,' Ben replied.

He brooded for some moments, then threw the newspaper down on his desk and smiled.

‘To hell with it. I never asked you, Gareth. As a Welshman, what effect did the case have on you? Are you a nationalist at heart?'

Gareth laughed.

‘I love my country, of course, and my language, and I applaud all the efforts to promote Welshness, whatever that may be. But we can't live in the Middle Ages. Edward I is dead and gone, and so is Owain Glyndŵr. We have to let them go.'

He turned back on his way to the door.

‘Besides,' he said, ‘we can still give you English a good kicking at the Arms Park, or even at Twickenham, and as long as we can still do that, as far as I am concerned, Welsh honour is more than satisfied.'

‘I'm not sure Caradog would agree with you about Glyndŵr,' Ben said.

‘Glyndŵr was a freedom fighter,' Gareth replied, ‘but he wasn't an extremist. He was a civilised man. He did what he thought he was driven to do, but it wasn't out of any sense of ideology. That's something later writers ascribed to him. Personally, I don't think the likes of Caradog and Dai Bach would have been welcome in his army.'

He paused with his hand on the door handle.

‘And they certainly wouldn't have been his heirs.'

Author's Note

Two books in particular were of great assistance to me in my research for this novel.
Investiture: Royal Ceremony and National Identity in Wales, 1911-1969
, by John S. Ellis (University of Wales Press, Cardiff, 2008) provides a detailed history of the two recent Investitures held in Caernarfon Castle, that of the future Edward VIII (and Duke of Windsor) in 1911, and that of Prince Charles in 1969. Ellis offers an intriguing analysis of public attitudes to the two events, both in England and Wales, and shows how those attitudes changed or evolved from one period in history to the other. He also offers an interesting, if necessarily incomplete, account of the rise of Welsh nationalism, the emergence of extremist elements, and of the resort to violence in Wales in response to certain events.

The Investiture of HRH The Prince of Wales at Caernarvon Castle 1 July 1969: Record of Procedures adopted by the Ministry of Public Building and Works, Central Office for Wales
(MPBW, date and place of publication not stated) may be the single most staggeringly useful publication I have had available to me for research for any book I have written. It is a complete record of every facet of the planning, organisation and conduct of the 1969 Investiture, and includes details of: everyone involved in any capacity, from the Earl Marshal to the lowliest chorister or trumpeter; every committee appointed; every security measure taken; every piece of equipment used; every contract entered into; every piece of pomp and ceremony adopted; and every expenditure made; down to the last penny and paperclip. It also has wonderfully helpful photographs and plans, showing who was where, and when, on the day. It was a veritable treasure trove for an author.

But best of all were the people I myself met in Caernarfon. One lady, who insists on remaining anonymous, recounted several intriguing stories of events surrounding the Investiture. But my main insight came from a fortuitous, and fortunate, meeting with Emrys Llewelyn, town guide
extraordinaire
of Caernarfon who, once he understood my purpose in being there, gave me, not only an extended tour of the town, but also the benefit of his lifetime of residence there. He took extra time to show me many things I suspect tourists rarely see, and to tell me of his own experiences of the time of the Investiture, which were invaluable. He took me to a bookshop, whose layout inspired my imagination of the physical structure of the
Siop Llyfrau'r Tywysog
, and where I purchased his book,
Stagio Dre
, which I intend to read as soon as my Welsh is up to it. Emrys has remained in touch ever since, sending me contemporary pictures of Caernarfon, and patiently answering any questions I cared to put to him.

I have consistently used the Welsh spelling for Caernarfon, with the Welsh F rather than the English V, because this is a book set in Wales, even though much of it takes place in London, if that makes sense, and because I think the Welsh spelling is more elegant. There is inevitably some Welsh in the book, hopefully explained and hopefully not enough to put non-Welsh speakers off; I count myself among that group, though I intend to remedy it. Emrys and his wife Mari, who teaches the language, gave me some help with my Welsh, but any errors which remain are my own.

Finally, this is the time to thank those involved with the Ben Schroeder series, without whom Ben would never have made his first appearance in a courtroom. First, thanks to Ion Mills and Claire Watts at No Exit Press, for their faith in my writing. It was Ion's idea, not mine, that Ben would make a good protagonist for a series – he was a relatively minor character in my original draft of
A Higher Duty
– and it is such a pleasure to have a publisher who is happy to hold our business meetings at the pub we both regard as the best in London, where we can chat about things over a pint or two. Thanks, too, to fellow author Clem Chambers, creator of the Jim Evans series, who introduced me to No Exit after a chance meeting at dinner; and to my agent, Annette Crossland of A for Authors, who diligently promotes Ben to a wider audience. I owe so much to my editor, Irene Goodacre, whose eagle eye and painstaking fact-checking, not to mention her extensive knowledge of a wide variety of subjects including rugby, have saved me from many an error. It's a shame she can't be a Wales supporter, but her skills and her fierce support for the characters in the series, especially Jess Farrar, more than make up for that. Last, but of course not least, my wife Chris. Without her love and support over many years, I would not have been able to write as I do, and in many ways these books are hers as well as mine.