Douglas Kennedy - A Special Relationship

'Sounds good to me'.

'Well, come by the office tomorrow around noon - and I'll take you through the basic parameters of it, and then I can buy us both lunch somewhere pleasant, if that's agreeable'.

'You're on', I said.

Two days later, I was back at work, slowly inching my way through this fat critical compendium. And when Sandy asked me how I could mentally handle long stretches of such detailed work, I said, 'I just fall into it - and black everything else out for the next couple of hours. So it's a bit like novocaine - a temporary, fast-acting anaesthetic, which keeps everything else numb for a short amount of time. The pay's not bad either'.

Around three weeks into this job, I received a phone call from Maeve Doherty. Whatever about her childhood in Dublin, her accent was Oxbridge, tempered by a pleasant phone manner. She explained that Nigel Clapp had given her the brief. As she liked to be instructed well before the date of the hearing and always met the individuals she would be representing, she would also like to meet me as soon as our mutual schedules permitted.

Four days later, I took an afternoon off. I hopped the Underground to Temple, walked up to Fleet Street, and entered a passageway called Inner Temple, which brought me into what seemed to be a miniature Oxbridge college, of mixed Tudor and Gothic design: a small, calm enclave of the law, hidden away from London's continuous din. I came to a door, outside of which was a wooden board, upon which had been painted, in immaculate black letters, the names of fifteen barristers who made up these chambers. Miss M. Doherty was near the top of the list.

Her office was tiny. So was she, with petite features to mirror her small stature. She wasn't pretty - in fact, she almost could be described as plain - but there was an attractive studiousness about her, and the hint of a deeply strong resolve that she had latched on to as a way of countering her diminutive size. Her handshake was firm, she looked me directly in the eye when talking to me, and though she was all business, she was likeably all business.

'Let me say from the start that I do think you've been unfairly vilified. And I gather from Mr Clapp that the barrister who acted for you during the Interim Hearing was only briefed on the case around a half-hour before the actual hearing. What was his name again?' she asked, rummaging through the file. 'Ah yes, Mr Paul Halliwell...'

'You know him?' I asked, picking up the hint of contempt in her voice.

'It's a small world, the law. So, yes, I do know Mr Halliwell'.

'Well, the culpable party really was my solicitor, Virginia Ricks, of Lawrence and Lambert...'

'No, formerly of Lawrence and Lambert. She was let go last month after fouling up a very big divorce proceeding involving a very substantial Dubai client. She's now considered an untouchable'.

She then talked strategy for the better part of a half-hour, quizzing me intensely about my marriage to Tony, about his personal history, centring in on the way he shut himself away in his study all the time after the baby was born, the late nights out on the town, the fact that he was so evidently involved with Diane Dexter during my pregnancy.

'I saw that letter you wrote your husband just a few weeks ago, as well as his reply. Very adroit strategy - especially as it got him to state, in writing, that theirs was just a platonic relationship. And if Nigel Clapp's investigations into her background yield what we hope they'll yield, then we really should have an interesting case to present against them'.

'Nigel Clapp is having the Dexter woman investigated?'

'That's what he told me'.

'By whom?'

'He didn't say. Then again, as you've probably gathered by now, Mr Clapp is someone who, at the best of times, has difficulty with compound sentences. But, whatever about his interpersonal skills, he just might be the best solicitor I've ever worked with - utterly thorough, conscientious, and engaged. Especially in a case like this one - where he feels, as I do, that our client has been seriously wronged'.

'He told you that?'

'Hardly', she said with a smile. 'But we've worked together often enough that I know there are times when he's passionately committed to seeing things set right. This is definitely one of those instances. Just don't expect him to admit that to you'.

I certainly didn't expect such an admission - though when I did ask him, during our next phone call, if he had hired a private investigator on my behalf, he suddenly turned all diffident and defensive, saying, 'It's... uhm... just someone who looks into things for me, that's all'.

His anxious tone persuaded me to ask no further questions.

In the coming weeks, I concentrated on what I had to do: get this damn manuscript finished. Long days of work, the weekly visit with Jack, the twice-monthly consultations with Dr Rodale and Jessica Law, the occasional phone call from Nigel Clapp, in which he would give me an update of how the case was proceeding - and also informing me that, as things stood now (and after consultation with Tony's legal team), it looked as if the Final Hearing would last around two days. I had two further telephone conversations with Maeve Doherty, in which she cleared up a few points with me, and also assured me not to worry about whatever judge would be hearing the case - we wouldn't know his name until the afternoon before the hearing.

Then, just two weeks before the date of this Final Hearing, I received a call from Nigel Clapp. It was nearly eight at night - an unusually late time for him to be calling me.

'Uhm... sorry to be phoning so late'.

'No problem. I was just working'.

'How's work?' he said, in an awkward attempt to make conversation.

'Fine, fine. Stanley is actually talking about another proofing job to follow this one. It looks like I might have a steady income soon'.

'Good, good', he said, sounding even more distracted then ever. This was followed by another telltale Clapp pause. Then, 'If you were... uhm... free tomorrow afternoon...'

'You want to see me?'

'Well, I don't have to see you. But... I think...'

He broke off. And I knew something was very wrong.

'You need to tell me something face-to-face?' I asked.

'It would be better...'

'Because it's bad news?'

An anxious silence. 'It's not good news'.

'Tell me now'.

'If you could come to my office in Balham...'

'Tell me now, Mr Clapp'.

Another anxious silence. 'Well... if you insist...'

'I do'.

'Uhm... it's two-fold difficult news, I'm afraid. And the first part of it has to do with Ms Law's CAFCASS report...'

I felt a cold hand seize the back of my neck.

'Oh, my God, don't tell me she ruled against me?'

'Not precisely. She actually reported herself very impressed with you, very impressed with the way you have handled yourself in the wake of being separated from your son, very impressed as well with your recovery from your depression. But... uhm... I'm afraid she was also very impressed with your husband and Ms Dexter. And although it isn't her business to make a recommendation, she has let it be known that the child is in very good hands with his father and surrogate mother'.

I felt the phone trembling in my hand.

'Do... uhm... understand that this doesn't mean she's advised that the child stay with Ms Dexter' -

'And the second piece of bad news?'

'Well, this only arrived around an hour ago and... uhm... I'm still trying to digest it. It's a letter to me from your husband's solicitor, informing me that your husband and Ms Dexter are professionally relocating to Sydney for the next five years, where Ms Dexter has been engaged to start up a major new marketing concern'.

'Oh, God...'

'Yes... and their solicitor informs me they're planning to take Jack with them'.