"Mortimer, John - Rumpole A La Carte" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mortimer John)

And sort of dusty.' 'Dusty?' He frowned.

'In the nicest possible way. Dreamy, with all sorts of ideals.

You do believe in freelance barristers, don't you, Claude?' 'I believe in them passionately, Elizabeth. Radical ones too, of course.' Men in love will say anything.

'Then would you mind saying so at the next Chambers meeting?' Liz got straight down to business. 'That is, if you're not too much in awe ofBallard.' 'In awe of Ballard! I'll show you if I'm in awe of Ballard.

Elizabeth', he tried to hold her hand, 'do you think we'll ever sing the love duet together?' 'Not now, Claude.' She released her hand.

'When?' 'Perhaps after the next Chambers meeting.' And then the bells rang and Wagner called them both to another, sterner duty.

Whilst these historic events were taking place, I slept the 73 peaceful sleep of the just and went off to the Bailey with a light step, ready to fire off my considerable ammunition at Mr Gerry Jebb, who was to be recalled as the last prosecution witness. But when a somewhat shaken Guthrie resumed his seat on the Bench, he was faced with nothing but a flustered and apologetic Soapy Sam Ballard. 'My Lord,' the discomforted Prosecutor started. 'I gave the Court an undertaking that the witness Gerald Jebb would return today. He was warned that he must be available. But I regret to inform the Court that Jebb has vanished.' 'Not unexpectedly,' I whispered for all the world to hear.

'Vanished, Mr Ballard?' The Judge clearly didn't believe in miracles.

'The Inspector thinks he has probably left the country.' 'Try Marbella,' I suggested.

'My Lord, the flight of this witness, for it must be described as a flight, must cast considerable doubt on his evidence,' Ballard admitted, and then threw in, 'if it can be described as evidence. Our inquiries have also disclosed that the defendant was in fact laying bricks in his garden, which could account for the brick dust on his clothing.' And Ballard concluded, 'I therefore feel that it would not be right for the Prosecution to persist with these charges.' 'Mr Rumpole?' His Lordship asked my view of the matter, so I rose politely. 'I'm sure we are all grateful to my learned friend. It's a wise decision. And I have no doubt your Lordship has other matters to attend to?' 'Oh, yes, indeed. I have an important meeting,' and Guthrie added, with some apprehension, 'with the Lord Chancellor.' So Basher Baker was set at liberty and walked out, after a gruff 'Thanks, Brother Rumpole', to the world of pay claims and union meetings, and Mr Justice Featherstone prepared to face a higher tribunal.

Henry Fairmile had been a rather dusty, tall, scarecrow of a Q.C. and M.P., with a voice like dead twigs snapping in the wind. He had been an ultra-loyal member of his party and had been promoted, by way of such dull jobs as Solicitor-General 74 з81' and Attorney-General, to the woolsack and the splendour of the Lord Chancellor's office. Now in command of the Judiciary, Lord Fairmile developed a quirky and ironic sense of humour and he enjoyed teasing the Judges who had not taken much notice of him at the Bar. He also enjoyed discovering character weaknesses, drink, women or holidays in the Greek islands with young men in advertising, which would debar ambitious advocates from the Bench. He constantly lectured his colleagues on 'judgeitis', which he defined as pomposity and self-regard, whilst congratulating himself on his peculiar modesty for one who has, in his keeping, the great seal of the Realm. When the Government he served decided to reform the Bar, in the interests of consumer choice and the free market economy, he welcomed such plans as giving him ample scope to irritate the other judges. When the papers came out with news of Guthrie's industrial action, the Lord Chancellor sent for his striking Lordship, who naturally turned up in the office in the House of Lords in fear and trembling, fully expecting to be asked to hand in his resignation, as an alternative to being dismissed by a special act of Parliament. It was not, after all, the first time, that Featherstone j. had been hauled up before the Chancellor.* When he arrived in the big room and saw the lanky old man sitting in his white bands and tailed coat, his gold-encrusted robe and purse and the long full-bottomed wig on stands ready for his appearance at the woolsack, he was surprised by the warmth of the Chancellor's welcome. 'Come along in, my dear old fellow. Drink? Beer and sandwiches.' The long-abandoned symbols of conciliation stood on a side table.

'That's very kind, but not at the moment. Look, Lord Chancellor', Guthrie embarked on his long-prepared explanation, 'all that business about striking...' 'That's why I wanted to see you, Guthrie.' Lord Fairmile abandoned his usual pastime of fitting a large number of Paper clips into a sort of daisy-chain and stood up, whether vsm:.

* See 'Rumpole and the Tap End' in Rumpole and the Age of Miracles, Penguin Books, 1988.

75 Featherstone wanted it or not, to open a bottle of beer. 'I mean, we just fined the drain-clearance operatives a quarter of a million for not taking a ballot. Do you have that sort of money in your trousers? Do change your mind and take a small light ale?' The Chancellor smiled and his ready hospitality gave Guthrie courage. 'Well,' he said and took the proffered glass, 'I think the Judges pretty well agree. Lord Chancellor, that if it came to a ballot, they might well take action.' 'Oh, dear. Oh, my ears and whiskers. I don't think the Cabinet's going to like that. The idea of all the Judges on a picket line with the local elections coming up. I don't think the Cabinet's going to be attracted by that. Got a cloth cap, have you?' Lord Fairmile gave himself a light ale.

'Well, Lord Chancellor, as a matter of fact I have,' Guthrie admitted.

'A little something to eat?' 'Beer and sandwiches? The way they settled disputes in the Labour Government.' Guthrie smiled as he took a sandwich which he found to be filled with Civil Service Class C hospitality fish-paste.

'Sometimes the old-fashioned ways are the best,' the Lord Chancellor admitted. 'Look here. I have no wish to quarrel with you fellows. And I don't really know why these solicitor chaps want to be judges anyway.' 'Quite agree.' Guthrie was further encouraged. 'They can make much more money sitting in their offices selling houses.' 'Or whatever it is they do.' The Lord Chancellor's voice was slightly muffled by a sandwich.

'Well, exactly!' 'In fact I don't know why anyone wants to be a judge.

Unless their practice is a bit rocky. That your trouble, was it?' 'Certainly not!' Guthrie was hurt. 'I felt a call for public duty.' 'Well, I suppose your wife likes it. But no more talk about going on strike, eh? What do you say we leave the whole question t, of solicitors joining the Judges as one for the Judges to decide?' 'Absolutely super!' Mr Justice Featherstone's reaction was enthusiastic.

'I'm thinking along those lines,' the Head of the Judiciary told him. 'Good to talk to you, Guthrie.' 'Thank you. Lord Chancellor. It's been a most successful negotiation. May I tell my committee... I mean, my brother judges?' 'Of course! We'll probably put something rather vague through Parliament. Ought to keep everybody quiet. Now, then. Why don't you try the cheese and tomato?' 'It's all ended happily.' Guthrie was smiling with joy as he took the penultimate sandwich. 'I can't wait to tell Marigold!' Not long afterwards we legal hacks in Equity Court met again round Ballard's boardroom table. Erskine-Brown, who was toying with a small, silver snuff-box which he tapped occasionally, interrupted Ballard's tedious speech about streamlining our Chambers business-wise, to increase productivity and market share, with the following, unexpected contribution.

'With all due respect to you, Ballard,' he said, 'aren't we in danger of throwing the baby out with the bathwater? We mustn't lose our freedom. Our eccentricity.' He looked at Liz.

'That's what makes us, us barristers', he smiled modestly, 'so attractive. Ever since the Middle Ages we have been the great freelancers! The independent radicals! The champions of freedom and against tyranny and oppression wheresoe'er it might be! We must preserve, at all costs, the great, old British tradition!' 'Erskine-Brown', Soapy Sam looked as though he had just sat down on a favourite armchair which had gone missing 'am I to understand I can no longer count on your support, in getting Chambers efficient, business-wise?' 'No, Ballard,' Claude told him frankly. 'I'm afraid you no longer have my support on this one.' 'Does that mean we're not getting a new coffee machine?' Uncle Tom asked hopefully.

'Yes, Uncle Tom. I rather think it does,' I told him.

'Oh, good!' 'Let's stop trying to be a lot ofwhizz-kids,' Claude addressed 77 the meeting. 'Talking about "slimming down" and "productivity targets". It makes us sound like awful little middle managers in suits. Yuk!' At this point he took a large pinch of snuff and broke down in hopeless, helpless sneezing, waving a large silk handkerchief, 'I say, you've got the most terrible cold!' Uncle Tom seemed deeply concerned.

I was looking at Liz, who was holding hands with Dave Inchcape under the table, something poor old Claude didn't see. Not for the first time I felt a distinct pang of sympathy for the chap.