Douglas Kennedy - A Special Relationship

Virginia Ricks was in her late twenties. As I expected, she was blonde, slightly horsey in the face, but immaculately polished: the sort of woman who spent a good hour putting herself together in the morning before showing her face to the world. But what immediately struck me about her was a certain 'noblesse oblige' manner - a slightly flippant superiority, no doubt taught to her at a young age by the kind of upscale parents who masked their own doubts behind an overweening public face.

'Ginny Ricks', she said, hurrying into the conference room into which I had been ushered, proffering her hand. It was now almost five o'clock. As she settled herself into the chair opposite mine, she kept up a steady, nonstop line of chat:

'So sorry to be so late. Ghastly day in court. It's Sally, right? Trudy fix you up with some tea, I hope? Hope she didn't take you aback, our Trude. A bit Estuary for some of my clients' taste - but she's brilliant with all the footballers' wives we always seem to be representing. Puts them right at their ease, for some curious reason. So now, you have my complete, uninterrupted attention... though we will have to curtail things in about a half-hour. Ghastly Friday night traffic again. Know the Sussex Downs, do you? Perfect romantic weekend spot, if you're...'

But she stopped herself.

'Oh, dear', she said, half-laughing to herself. 'Can you believe such rubbish? So sorry. Well now, let's make a start. You were recommended to us by... ?'

'Alexander Campbell'.

'Sorry, never heard of him'.

'He ran Sullivan and Cromwell's London office for three years'.

'But he never had business with our firm?'

'No - he just told me, through his wife, that you were the best divorce lawyers in London'.

'Quite right too', she said. 'And I presume that, because you're here, you want to get divorced'.

'Not precisely', I said. And then I quickly took her through the entire story, right up to the bombshell court order. Ginny Ricks asked to see the order. I handed it over. She speed-read it.

'Evidently your husband got his barrister to convince a sympathetic judge that you were an unfit mother, and to grant this temporary order. Which, in turn, raises the unpleasant, but most necessary question: were you, in your opinion, an unfit mother?'

I shifted uneasily in my chair because I was aware that Ginny Ricks was now studying me with care.

'I don't know', I said.

'Well, let me ask you this: did you ever physically abuse your child? Shake it when it was crying, toss it across the room, that sort of thing?'

'No. I did get angry once or twice...'

'Nothing unusual there. Parents often get angry at children and say angry things. But words is cheap, as you Americans love to say'.

Actually, we don't love to say that.

'As long as you didn't physically harm your child, we're on strong ground here. And during your stay at St Martin's... you were never sectioned, were you?'

'No - it was a voluntary stay'.

'No problem then. Postnatal depression is such a commonplace thing these days. Though we will naturally investigate what evidence they used against you, the way I see it, your husband really doesn't have much of a case'.

'Then how did he get this court order?'

'You were out of the country, and his legal team obviously put together a case against you, in which it was argued that the safety of your child was at risk... oh, by the way, is it a boy or a girl?'

'His name's Jack'.

'Well, they probably chose a judge who was known for his misogynist credentials - and as you were not represented at the hearing, he heard just what they wanted him to hear...'

'But could he rule against me like that without listening to my side of the story?'

'With the alleged safety of the child in question... absolutely'.

'But does this mean that, for the moment, I'm barred from seeing Jack?'

'I'm afraid so. The good news, however, is that this ex parte order can come to an end at the next hearing, which is fixed for ten days' time - which means that we have just five working days, not counting both weekends, to build our case'.

'Is that enough time?'

'It has to be'.

'And do you also think you might be able to find out who this Dexter woman is?'

'Ah yes, the femme fatale? Another of her giggles. 'Sorry - bad joke. But yes, that shouldn't take much effort. Now - just a little spot of housekeeping. My fees are £200 an hour, I'll need to put an assistant on to this immediately to help me with the research, and she'll cost around £50 an hour. Then we will also have to instruct a barrister, though that'll only be for the hearing itself. So, say a £2500 retainer to get us started...'

I was prepared for such an initial sum, but I still blanched.

'Is that a problem?' she asked.

'No, I have it. However...'

I then explained about him stopping the bank accounts, and what the guy at Nat West told me.

'But if you never insisted on a proper joint account...' she said, with a little supercilious shrug.

'I thought it was a joint account'.

'You're obviously a very trusting person'.

'What about him trying to sell the house?'

'You are joint owners, right?'

'So I thought'.

'We'll search the Land Registry and check who owns the house. Anyway, if you put money into the house you'll get it back on divorce. And if you get to keep Jack, you'll probably get to keep the house... or, at least, while he's still at school'.

'And when it comes to getting some sort of support from my husband... ?'

'That's Monday's job', she said, glancing at her watch. 'So, Monday morning - we'll need the retainer and a list of assorted health care professionals and people who know you who can vouch for your good character and, most tellingly, your relationship with your son. That's critical...'

She pulled over a diary, opened it, and glanced down a page.

'Now Monday's rather ghastly... but shall we say four forty-five?'

'Isn't that late in the day, if we only have this week to build the case?'

'Sally... I am trying to fit you in at a time when I really shouldn't be taking on any more clients. Now if you feel you can do better elsewhere...'

'No, no, Monday afternoon is fine'.

She stood up and proffered her hand. I took it.

'Excellent. Until Monday then'.

Later that night, while talking with Sandy, I said, 'She strikes me as a bit young, but ultra-arrogant... which might be a good thing under the circumstances. She certainly seems to know what she's doing'.

'Good, because you need a bitch in your corner. And she sounds like she fits the bill'.

The weekend was endless. On Monday morning, I went to the bank. The American money had arrived. I bought a sterling bank draft for £2500. This left me with just under $6000 - or around £4000... which I could certainly live on for a bit, as long as my legal bills didn't spiral beyond the initial retainer fee.

I brought this concern up with Ginny Ricks later that afternoon. Once again, I was kept waiting more than a half-hour, as she was 'tied up' with another client.

'So sorry about that', she said, breezing in.

I showed her the list of contacts I'd drawn up. There were only four names: Dr Rodale, Ellen the therapist, my GP, and Jane Sanjay, the health visitor. I mentioned that Ellen was out of town. 'Don't worry - we'll track her down', Ginny Ricks said. She also wondered out loud if there was a friend in town - preferably English ('It will play better in front of the judge, show you've found a footing here, that sort of thing') - who could vouch for my good character.

'You see, Sally, before the next Interim Hearing next week, we will already have submitted witness statements to the judge. So the more people who have positive things to say about you as a mother...'