Ultimate Issue (6 page)

And as clerk of Daventry’s chambers Pettifer did not take kindly to surprise visitors, especially when their names meant nothing to him.

Daventry took off his reading glasses.

“Miss Howard?” he said, puzzled.

Pettifer sniffed. “The lady says you and your wife know her. She wonders if you could spare her a few minutes.”

Daventry was trying to recall where he had met her. The name was familiar, yet …

“Shall I tell her you are busy, sir?” suggested Pettifer hopefully. It would bring the situation back onto its orderly rails.

“Did she say what it’s about?”

“No, sir.” He looked over Daventry’s shoulder. ‘A gather it’s personal.”

The rebuke was implicit.

Then Daventry remembered. The Howard girl. Of course. She had been introduced to Alex and himself at a Sunningdale garden party. Her father was something at the Foreign Office. They had made small talk for a few minutes. What on earth did she want?

“All right, I’ll see her for a minute,” said Daventry.

“I can easily get rid of her, sir.” Pettifer was making his last stand.

“Ask her in,” Daventry said coldly. The way Pettifer exercised his proprietary rights over him sometimes got on his nerves.

She came in nervously. She was blond and wore little makeup. She seemed very tense. Last time he had seen her it had been strawberries and cream time in the lovely Sunningdale grounds.

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Daventry rose. “This is an unexpected surprise,” he

She gave a little tight smile. “I know this is unforgivable,” she said. “It’s very kind of you to see me, Mr. Daventry. You don’t know … how much I appreciate it.”

“Sit down, Miss Howard.”

He tried to recall what her father did at the Foreign Office. Something quite high up. One of the Under Secretaries? He made a mental note to ask Alex; she always remembered such things.

She perched on the edge of the chair. “I ” She stopped. She was trying to pluck up courage to say something.

“Yes?” prompted Daventry.

“I feel so silly,” she blurted out. Her eyes were troubled. There were dark circles under them from lack of sleep.

“I’ll get us some tea,” said Daventry, and picked up the old-fashioned house phone. The instrument had been installed in the thirties, but few things got modernized in the chambers. Pettifer didn’t believe in change.

“Two cups of tea, please,” instructed Daventry.

It had given her a chance to compose herself. She took the plunge.

“I need some advice, Mr. Daventry,” she said.

Daventry sighed. “Look here, Miss Howard “

“Please, Serena.”

He cleared his throat. He knew this was going to be awkward.

“If you want legal advice, I must tell you straightaway that you shouldn’t even be here. I am not allowed “

There was a tap on the door and Pettifer came in, balancing two cups of tea on a tray. Normally, Judy, the typist, would do it, but Daventry knew Pettifer couldn’t resist the chance of intruding.

He put down the cups. There was a single digestive biscuit in each saucer.

“Thank you, Charles,” said Daventry.

Pettifer removed himself, but not before he had given the girl a hard look.

“As I was saying,” continued Daventry. “I can’t possibly discuss anything professional with you. We have very strict rules. If you need a barrister, you must go through a solicitor.”

“I know that,” she said in a low voice.

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He frowned. “In that case, you will realize that we can’t discuss whatever it is any further.”

She was silent.

“How is your father?” asked Daventry, changing the subject as quickly as possible.

“Hess fine,” she said in a dull voice. “He’s in Washington at the moment. But he’ll be back soon.”

She was pale. “Mr. Daventry.”

“What is it?”

“Please help me. Please.” Her eyes were pleading too. She looked helpless, almost trapped.

“The best thing you can do is to go to your solicitor,” he told her. “Whatever it is, he’ll help you. Tell him everything, and leave it to him. It’s his job.”

He smiled at her encouragingly.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Nonsense,” said Daventry. “A solicitor is like a father confessor.”

She bit her lip. “I haven’t got a solicitor.”

“Your father must have one. Go to him.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Well …” He paused. “I suppose I could give you the name of somebody. Unofficially, of course.”

She was holding herself upright and trying to stop herself from crying.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She reached for her handbag, pulled out a handkerchief, and started dabbing her eyes. Then she blew her nose.

“I do apologize,” she said She was embarrassed, but she also trembled a little. “I’m not really a crybaby.”

“That’s all right,” he said gently.

“I was thinking desperately who I could turn to. There’s nobody Then I remembered meeting you. At the party. Somebody said you’re a fantastic lawyer. And …”

He waited, silent.

She blew her nose again.

“And, well, I thought I could trust you.”

Daventry always felt costly insulated from his clients. He never saw them alone. Etiquette was a very useful barrier. The fact that a solicitor was always present at meetings insured his aloofness.

But Serena Howard was having an effect on him. Sitting there, trembling, begging him to help, the tears she was trying to hold back, looking lonely, vulnerable, afraid. He

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felt sorry for her. He wanted to help. As Pettifer would have said, it was very unprofessional.

“What is the trouble?” Daventry asked gently, and the moment he said it, he knew he had gone too far.

“You won’t tell my parents?”

“Of course not. Now, what’s this all about?”

She licked her dry lips. “I’ve been having an affair,” she said.

Suddenly he felt enormous relief. So that’s all it was! He had imagined something awful had happened. She had committed some crime, stolen something, run somebody down in her car, got caught up in narcotics and drugs.

He tried hard not to smile. Poor, frightened Serena Howard, so secluded in her safe, conformist suburban world that when she has an affair she thinks it’s the end of the world.

“That’s not so terrible,” said Daventry.

She’s become pregnant, of course, he decided. She doesn’t know how to tell her old-fashioned parents. Silly girl, she doesn’t need a lawyer. She wants a doctor.

She looked at him. “He’s American,” she said. “An officer, in the air force.”

“Lots of English girls have fallen in love with American servicemen,” said Daventry encouragingly.

She still had that ashen look.

“He’s going to be courtmartialed.”

“I see,” he said quietly. “What for?”

She swallowed. “Adultery.”

‘Yhat’s the charge? Adultery?”

She nodded. “It’s a crime,” she said. “In the American forces.”

“Good Godl”

“I’m the woman,” she said. “He committed adultery with me.

“That’s why I need help,” she added.

She leaned back in the chair, waiting for his reaction. She was half afraid, half defiant.

“But you’re in no trouble, Serena,” he assured her. “I mean, they can’t drag you into it.”

“Oh yes, Mr. Daventry. They can.”

“Who told you that?”

He was fascinated by the ring she was wearing. It was silver, a mask, leering. It was most unusual. He wondered if it was some sort of engagement ring.

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“An American officer came to see me. He said that John was going to be tried, and that the prosecution might ask me to give evidence. I said I wouldn’t, and he hinted they could make me.”

It was ridiculous. “Nonsense,” said Daventry. “You’re a British citizen, on British soil, adultery is not a crime, and no foreign courtmartial here has jurisdiction over a British national. They can’t force you.”

“That’s not what he said.” She swallowed.

‘They’re to bluff you,” Daventry said firmly.

“No,” she insisted quietly. “I don’t think so. I think they mean it.”

He began to have nagging doubts. She was so positive. He pulled a pad toward him. “What’s his name?”

“John.”

He nodded, gold pencil poised.

“Captain John Tower.”

“Where’s he stationed?”

“In East Anglia. The base is called Laconbury.”

He made a note.

“This officer who came to see you. You know who he was?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember I was in such a state. He may have told me his name, but I’ve forgotten.”

“Didn’t Captain Tower tell you he was in trouble?”

She took a deep breath. “It all happened so quickly. He was due to come to London that weekend. He said he had something important to tell me, but not over the phone. He never came. Instead, this officer turned up and said he was going to be courtmartialed. For adultery.” She lowered her voice. “With me.”

“That must have been quite a shock,” said Daventry. “I’m sorry. But really, I’m sure you don’t have anything to worry about.”

He smiled.

“Tell you what, would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow?”

She stared at him. “You are going to help me?” she asked optimistically

“Not at all,” he said stiffly. “I want to check up on the law and set your mind at rest. I think it’s better if we meet informally. That’s all.”

“Thank you,” she breathed.

“One o’clock,” he said, writing it down in his leather

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desk diary. “The Isola Bella, in Frith Street. You know it?”

“Don’t worry,” she said eagerly, “I’ll find it.”

He walked her to the door. She stopped.

“My parents …” she began. and faltered.

“They don’t know about you and Captain Tower, correct?”

“Please,” she said. “I don’t want them to find out about this business.”

“It might be better if you told them,” he suggested.

“No,” she said fiercely.

He regarded her gravely. “You sure?”

“Quite sure,” she said firmly.

She held out her hand. “Tomorrow. One o’clock.” Then she was gone.

He returned to his desk. He sat down and looked at the entry in his diary.

He knew one thing. He had made a big mistake.

London

They’re all alike, thought Verago, sitting at his table in the corner. The Columbia Club was like the Casino club in Frankfurt, and the Von Steuben in Wiesbaden, and all the rest of them. And the people were the same. Well scrubbed, cast out of the same mold, talking the same talk, eating identical food.

When he first came to Europe, in fifty-nine, he couldn’t understand what a major had meant when he’d said that if you stayed within the confines of the U.S. military complexes it didn’t matter what country you were stationed in. France, England, Germany, Italy, they all looked identical from inside the fence.

You could get born in the base hospital, be educated at the base school, meet a girl in the club or at the base movies, marry her in the base chapel, break the law and get tried on the post, serve your time in the stockade, die and have the autopsy done on your body in the base mortuary. You didn’t have to leave to cash checks, or go shopping, go bowling, go dancing, change your religion, have an affair, or commit suicide.

There was only one time you did have to leave the base. When you died they didn’t bury you. For that you got shipped into the outside world.

The major had been right, Verago thought as he glanced round the room. Although Hyde Park was out

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side the window, they could all be having dinner in Heidelberg or Frankfurt.

He finished his chopped steak and house salad with roquefort dressing.

“Was everything all right?” asked the waiter in the red monkey jacket. Verago was a new face in the officer’s open mess and might be a good tipper. One never knew. It was worth investing a little special attention.

“Fine,” said Verago.

“You care for some dessert?”

“Just coffee.”

There were a lot of civilians around. At least they wore civilian clothes. English-type blazers with brass buttons, club ties, and tweed coats. They spelled “headquarters” in great big letters. Verago had to grin.

The waiter put the cup and saucer in front of him, ready to pour coffee, but Verago stood up.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “I think I’ll go to the bar.”

It was crowded. People were sitting in little groups. A two-star admiral was holding court, surrounded by a fawning group of naval officers dutifully smiling at his jokes.

Verago managed to find a niche at the bar. “Scotch,” he ordered. “Make it a double.”

He felt restless. It had been a frustrating day.

He wondered what sort of man Captain Tower would turn out to be. Not popular, he was sure of that. Nobody gets charged with adultery whose face fits. Maybe the guy had fallen foul of somebody. Maybe he had screwed the colonel’s wife. A sardonic smile crossed Verago’s face at the thought.

They were in a hurry to get him tried, that was obvious. They had rushed through the Article 32 hearing, so that the courtmartial could be set up as quickly as possible.

“Give me another,” Verago told the barman.

He had an etiquette problem on his hands too. The counsel Third Air Force had appointed would hardly welcome his arrival. Tower was fully within his rights to ask for his own counsel, and an army lawyer at that. The other fellow was bound to resent it.

Verago had already decided to play it softly. He didn’t want to antagonize the man. He hoped they could work

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together, it wouldn’t do Tower any good to have his de” tense feuding.

He picked up his glass and then stopped, his hand frozen halfway. At a table by the wall sat the girl with the violet, almondshaped eyes. Kincaid’s secretary.

She was smiling at something the man sitting opposite her was saying. He was a big, heavily built man, and Verago disliked him instantly. He didn’t know why; maybe because he was with her.

Since Verago had seen her that afternoon, she had changed. She had more mascara on, and she wore an eyecatching black-and-white dress, which looked expensive. Verago studied her. She had small breasts, a slim waist, and long attractive legs.