Jeffrey Archer - Mightier than the Sword

He turned to page eleven. He and the editor had always been on good terms, so he had rather hoped... but he didn’t get beyond the headline.

He tossed the paper aside and didn’t turn on the light as the sun disappeared behind the highest building.

The phone rang at twelve minutes past ten. He grabbed the receiver, and immediately recognized the voice of the local party chairman. “Good evening, Peter.”

“Good evening, major. I won’t beat about the bush. I’m sorry to say that the committee didn’t support you.”

“Was it close?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Maynard. “It was unanimous. So it might be wise for you to write a letter offering your resignation rather than waiting for the executive committee to formally deselect you. So much more civilized that way, don’t you think? I am sorry, Alex.”

No sooner had he put the phone down than it rang again. It was a reporter from the Post asking him if he wanted to comment on the unanimous decision to call for his resignation. He didn’t even bother to say “No comment” before slamming the phone back down.

In an alcoholic blur, he walked unsteadily through to his study, sat down and placed his head in his hands while he thought about the wording of the letter. He took a sheet of House of Commons paper from the letter rack and began to write. When he’d finished, he waited for the ink to dry before he folded it, sealed it in an envelope, and placed it on his desk.

He leaned down and opened the bottom drawer of his desk, took out his service revolver, put the muzzle in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.

The courtroom was packed, the two combatants ready. All that was needed was for the bell to ring so the first punch could be landed.

On one side of the ring sat Mr. Trelford, who was going over the order of his questions for the last time. Giles, Emma, and Seb sat behind him, talking quietly, making sure they didn’t disturb him.

Giles looked up as a police constable entered the courtroom, walked across to counsel’s bench and handed Mr. Trelford an envelope. The word URGENT was written below his name. Trelford opened it, extracted a letter, and read it slowly. Giles learned nothing from the expression on the barrister’s face, but he recognized the familiar green portcullis crest at the head of the paper.

Sir Edward sat alone with his client on the other side of the ring, delivering his final instructions. “Be calm, take your time before answering each question,” he whispered. “You’re not in a hurry. Face the jury, and never forget that they are the only people in the room who matter.”

The crowd fell silent, and everyone rose when the bell rang for the first round and the referee entered the ring. If Mrs. Justice Lane was surprised to find the press and public galleries of her courtroom packed on a Monday morning, she didn’t show it. She bowed, and everyone in the well of the court returned the compliment. Once they’d all settled back into their seats, with only Sir Edward still standing, she invited the eminent silk to call his first witness.

Virginia walked slowly up to the witness box, and when she took the oath, she could barely be heard. She wore a black tailored suit that emphasized her slim figure, a black pillbox hat, no jewelery, and little makeup, clearly wanting to remind all those present of Major Fisher’s untimely death. Had the jury retired there and then to deliver their verdict, the result would have been unanimous, and Sir Edward would happily have settled for that.

“For the record, would you tell the court your name and where you live,” asked Sir Edward, as he adjusted his wig.

“Virginia Fenwick. I live alone in a modest flat in Cadogan Gardens, SW3.”

Giles smiled. My name is Lady Virginia Alice Sarah Lucinda Fenwick, only daughter of the ninth Earl of Fenwick, and I have homes in Scotland and Tuscany, and a large apartment on three floors in Knightsbridge, with a butler, maid, and chauffeur, would have been more accurate.

“Can I confirm that you were formerly married to Sir Giles Barrington, from whom you are now divorced?”

“Sadly yes,” said Virginia, turning toward the jury. “Giles was the love of my life, but his family never considered me good enough for him.”

Giles would have happily throttled the woman, while Emma wanted to jump up and protest. Mr. Trelford crossed out four of his well-prepared questions.

“But despite that, and all you’ve been put through, you still don’t bear a grudge against Mrs. Clifton?”

“No, I do not. In truth, it was with a heavy heart that I finally issued this writ, because Mrs. Clifton has many admirable qualities, and has unquestionably been an outstanding chairman of a public company, making her a role model for aspiring professional women.”

Mr. Trelford began to write out some new questions.

“Then why did you issue the writ?”

“Because she accused me of wilfully attempting to destroy her family company. Nothing could be further from the truth. I simply wanted to know on behalf of ordinary shareholders, like myself, if one of her directors had disposed of all his stock the weekend before the AGM, because in my opinion that would have greatly harmed the company. But rather than answer my question, she chose to belittle me, giving everyone in that crowded hall the impression that I didn’t know what I was talking about.”

“Word perfect,” said Giles under his breath, which caused Mr. Trelford to smile. He turned and whispered, “I agree, but then while Sir Edward is on his feet, she knows what questions to expect. She’ll have no crib sheet to rely on when I cross-examine her.”

“In particular,” continued Sir Edward, “you are referring to Mrs. Clifton’s reply to the quite valid question you raised at the AGM.”

“Yes. Rather than answer that question, she decided to humiliate me and ruin my reputation, in front of a packed audience, many of them my friends. I was left with no alternative but to seek the recourse of the law.”

“And you were referring on that occasion, not to Major Fisher, as Mrs. Clifton erroneously suggested, but to Mr. Cedric Hardcastle, who, as you pointed out, sold his entire stock over the weekend before the AGM, thus placing the company in jeopardy.”

“That is correct, Sir Edward.”

“Did she really just flutter her eyelids?” whispered Giles.

“And the late Major Fisher was one of your financial advisors?”

“Yes, and whenever he recommended I should buy or sell shares, I followed his advice. I always found him honest, trustworthy, and utterly professional.”

Emma couldn’t bring herself to look at the jury. Giles did, to find they were hanging on Virginia’s every word.

Sir Edward lowered his voice, like a great thespian demanding silence before he delivered his closing line. “Let me finally ask you, Lady Virginia, if you have any regrets about issuing this libel writ against Mrs. Clifton?”

“Yes, I do, Sir Edward. The tragic and unnecessary death of my dear friend, Major Alex Fisher, makes the outcome of this trial unimportant. If by withdrawing this action I could have saved his life, I would have done so without hesitation.” She turned to the jury, took a handkerchief from her sleeve, and dabbed away an imaginary tear.

“I am sorry you have been put through this ordeal, Lady Virginia, so soon after the death of your friend and advisor Major Fisher. No more questions, my lady.”

If they had been alone together in chambers, Trelford would have congratulated his learned friend on a quite masterful cross-examination. He opened his file to see the words Giles had advised, written at the top of the first page. MAKE HER LOSE HER TEMPER . He then looked down at his first question, newly minted.