"Mortimer, John - Rumpole A La Carte" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mortimer John)
Hilda held it to her ear and said, 'Yes. Oh, hello, M r.t.' 'A miracle,' I muttered, as I looked up the Latin зu 'he speaks!' In fact Hilda was talking quite jovially. lephone.
'Rumpole told Sam to confess it all to y lid that?' There was a further miracle. She Who Must h,.ed was smiling. 'Gymnastics? Lost four inches...? p). iin the bag? Well, that is a relief, dear, isn't it?' I had made sure that silva was a wood, and quaere to seek, when Hilda put down the telephone and said, '.. ou told Sam Ballard you didn't believe in secrets betwe /ied, ,, '-nma people.
'Secrets between married people? Perish the fi t' I protested and went back to the dictionary. ''Verun, fell, that's obvious.' 'Sam's trousers hang loose.' Hilda had got on to iive subject. 'Your trousers don't hang loose, do they, ile?
Take up gymnastics. Lose four inches round th. r ike Sam Ballard!' wals 'You want me to hop around in a bright purple, ?nt?
To the sound of disco music. Perish the thought!' g' And then I tried a rough translation of Wayfield' c ' "And seek for truth in the groves of Academe.. ,', " se?
Even the Professor of Classics couldn't keep things k urrt'' v~ Mr Justice Graves. What a contradiction in terms! Mr 'Injustice' Graves, Mr 'Penal' Graves, Mr 'Prejudice' Graves, Mr 'Get into Bed with the Prosecution' Graves, all these titles might be appropriate. But Mr 'Justice' Graves, so far as I'm concerned, can produce nothing but a hollow laugh. From all this you may deduce that the old darling is not my favourite member of the Judiciary. Now he has been promoted, on some sort of puckish whim of the Lord Chancellor's from Old Bailey Judge to a scarlet and ermine Justice of the Queen's Bench, his power to do harm has been considerably increased. Those who have followed my legal career will remember the awesome spectacle of the mad Judge Bullingham, with lowered head and bloodshot eyes, charging into the ring in the hope of impaling Rumpole upon a horn. But now we have lost him, I actually miss the old Bull. There was a sort of excitement in the corridas we lived through together and I often emerged with a couple of ears and a tail. A session before Judge Graves has all the excitement and colour of a Wesleyan funeral on a wet day in Wigan. His pale Lordship presides sitting bolt upright as though he had a poker up his backside, his voice is dirge-like and his eyes close in pain if he s treated with anything less than an obsequious grovel.
B This story, which ends with mysterious happenings on the high seas, began in the old Gravestones' Chambers in the Law Courts, where I was making an application one Monday morning.
'Mr Rumpole', his Lordship looked pained when I had outlined my request, 'do I understand that you are applying to me for bail?' 'Yes, my Lord.' I don't know if he thought I'd )ust dropped in for a cosy chat.
121 'Bail having been refused,' he went on in sepulchral tones, 'in the Magistrates Court and by my brother judge, Mr Justice Entwhistle. Is this a frivolous application?' 'Only if it's frivolous to keep the innocert at liberty, my Lord.' I liked the phrase myself, but the Judge reminded me that he was not a jury (worse luck, I thought) and that emotional appeals would carry very little weight with him. He then looked down at his papers and said, 'When you use the word "innocent", I assume you are referring to your client?' 'I am referring to all of us, my Lord.' I couldn't resist a speech. 'We are all innocent until found guilty by a jury of our peers. Or has that golden thread of British justice become a little tarnished of late?' 'Mr Rumpole', the Judge was clearly unmoved, 'I see your client's name is Timson.' 'So it is, my Lord. But I should use precisely the same argument were it Horace Rumpole. Or even Mr Justice Graves.' At which his Lordship protested, 'Mr Rumpole, this is intolerable!' 'Absolutely intolerable, my Lord,' I agreed 'Conditions for prisoners on remand are far worse now than they were a hundred years ago.' 'I mean, Mr Rumpole,' the Graveyard explained, with a superhuman effort at patience, as though to a half-wit, 'it's intolerable that you should address me in such a manner. I cannot imagine any circumstances in which I should need your so-called eloquence to be exercised on my behalf.' You never know, I thought, you never know, old darling. But the mournful voice of judicial authority carried on. 'No doubt the Prosecution opposes bail. Do you oppose bail, Mr Harvey Wimple?' Thus addressed, the eager, sandy-haired youth from the Crown Prosecution Service, who spoke very fast, as though he wanted to get the whole painful ordeal over as quickly as possible, jabbered, 'Oppose it? Oh, yes, my Lord. Absolutely.
Utterly and entirely opposed. Utterly.' He looked startled * when the Judge asked, 'On what precise grounds do you oppose bail, Mr Wimple?' But he managed the quick-fire answer, 'Grounds that, if left at liberty, another offence might be committed. Or other offences. By the defendant Timson, my Lord. By him, you see?' 'Do you hear that, Mr Rumpole?' The Judge re-orchestrated the piece for more solemn music. 'If he is set at liberty, your client might commit another offence or, quite possibly, offences.' And then, losing my patience, I said what I had been longing to say on some similar bail application for years. 'Of course, he might,' I began. 'Every man, woman and child in England might commit an offence. Is your Lordship suggesting we keep them all permanently banged up on the off-chance? It's just not on, that's all.' 'Mr Rumpole. What is not "on", as you so curiously put it?' The Judge spoke with controlled fury. It was a good speech, but I had picked the wrong audience. 'Banging up the innocent, my Lord.' I let him have the full might of the Rumpole eloquent outrage. 'With a couple of psychopaths and their own chamber-pots. For an indefinite period while the wheels of justice grind to a halt in a traffic jam of cases.' 'Do try to control yourself, Mr Rumpole. Conditions in prisons are a matter for the Home Office.' 'Oh, my Lord, I'm so sorry. I forgot they're of no interest to judges who refuse bail and have never spent a single night locked up without the benefit of a water closet.' At which point. Graves decided to terminate the proceedings and, to no one's surprise, he announced that bail was refused and that the unfortunate Tony Timson, who had never committed a violent crime, should languish in Brixton until his trial. I was making for the fresh air and a small and soothing cigar when the Judge called me back with 'Just one moment, Mr Rumpole. I think I should add that I find the way that this matter has been argued before me quite lamentable, and very far from being in the best traditions of the Bar. I may have to report the personal and improper nature of your argument to Proper authorities.' At which point he smiled in a nauseating manner at the young man from the Crown Prosecution Service d said, 'Thank you for your able assistance, Mr Harvey simple.' * 123 'Had a good day, Rumpole?' She Who Must Be Obeyed asked me on my return to the mansion flat.
'Thank God, Hilda,' I told her as I poured a glass of Pommeroy's Very Ordinary, 'for your wonderful sense of humour!' 'Rumpole, look at your face!' She appeared to be smiling brightly at my distress.
'I prefer not to. I have no doubt it is marked with tragedy.' I raised a glass and tried to drown at least a few of my sorrows.
'Whatever's happened?' She Who Must Be Obeyed was unusually sympathetic, from which I should have guessed that she had formulated some master plan. I refilled my glass and told her: 'I could a tale unfold', Hilda, 'whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, ; Thy knotted and combined locks to part, / And each particular hair to stand on end, / Like quills upon the fretful porpentine:...' ' 'Oh come on, I bet it wouldn't.' My wife was sceptical.
'What you need, Rumpole, is a change!' 'I need a change from Mr Justice Graves.' And then I played into her hands, for she looked exceptionally pleased when I added, 'For two pins I'd get on a banana boat and sail away into the sunset.' 'Oh, Rumpole! I'm so glad that's what you'd do. For two pins. You know what I've been thinking? We need a second honeymoon.' 'The first one was bad enough.' You see I was still gloomy.
'It wouldn't've been, Rumpole, if you hadn't thought we could manage two weeks in the South of France on your fees from one short robbery.' 'It was all I had about me at the time,' I reminded her.
'Anyway, you shouldn't've ordered lobster.' 'What's the point of a honeymoon,' Hilda asked, 'if you can't order lobster?' 124 'Of course, you can order it. Nothing to stop you ordering,' I conceded. 'You just shouldn't complain when we have to leave three days early and sit up all night in the train from Marseilles.
With a couple of soldiers asleep on top of us.' 'On our second honeymoon I shall order lobster.' And then she added the fatal words, 'When we're on the cruise.' 'On the whatT I hoped that I couldn't believe my ears.
'The cruise! There's still a bit of Aunt Tedda's money left.' As I have pointed out, Hilda's relations are constantly interfering in our married lives. 'I've booked up for it.' 'No, Hilda. Absolutely not!' I was firm as only I know how to be. 'I know exactly what it'd be like. Bingo on the boat deck!' 'We need to get away, Rumpole. To look at ourselves.' 'Do you honestly think that's wise?' It seemed a rash project.
'Moonlight on the Med.' She Who Must became lyrical.
'The sound of music across the water. Stars. You and I by the rail. Finding each other, after a long time.' 'But you can find me quite easily,' I pointed out. 'You just shout "Rumpole!" and there I am.' 'You said you'd sail away into the sunset. For two pins,' she reminded me.
'A figure of speech, Hilda. A pure figure of speech! Let me make this perfectly clear. There is no power on this earth that's going to get me on a cruise.' During the course of a long and memorable career at the Bar, I have fought many doughty opponents and won many famous victories, but I have never, when all the evidence has been [heard and the arguments are over, secured a verdict against She Who Must Be Obeyed. It's true that I have, from time to tune, been able to mitigate her stricter sentences. I have argued successfully for alternatives to custody or time to pay. But I have never had an outright win against her and, from the moment she suggested we sail away, until the time when I round myself in our cabin on the fairly good ship S.S. Boadicea, steaming out from Southampton, I knew, with a sickening 125 certainty, that I was on to a loser. Hilda reviewed her application for a cruise every hour of the days that we were together, and at most hours of the night, until I finally threw in the towel on the grounds that the sooner we put out to sea the sooner we should be back on dry land.
The Boadicea was part of a small cruise line and, instead of flying its passengers to some southern port, it sailed from England to Gibraltar and thence to several Mediterranean destinations before returning home. The result was that some of the first days were to be spent sailing through grey and troubled waters. Picture us then in our cabin as we left harbour.
I was looking out of a porthole at a small area of open deck which terminated in a rail and the sea. Hilda, tricked out in white ducks, took a yachting cap out of her hat box and tried it on in front of the mirror. 'What on earth did you bring that for?' I asked her. 'Are you expecting to steer the thing?' 'I expect to enter into the spirit of life on shipboard, Rumpole,' she told me briskly. 'And you'd be well advised to do the same. I'm sure we'll make heaps of friends. Such nice people go on cruises. Haven't you been watching them?' 'Yes.' And I turned, not very cheerfully, back to the porthole.
As I did so, a terrible vision met my eyes. The stretch of deck was no longer empty. A grey-haired man in a blue blazer was standing by the rail and, as I watched, Mr Justice Graves turned in my direction and all doubts about our fellow passengers, and all hopes for a carefree cruise, were laid to rest. ' "Angels and ministers of grace defend us!" It can't be. But it!' 'What is, Rumpole? Do pull yourself together.' 'If you knew what I'd seen, you wouldn't babble of pulling myself together, Hilda. It's him} The ghastly old Gravestone in person.' At which I dragged out my suitcase and started to throw my possessions back into it. 'He's come on the cruise with us!' t, 'Courage, Rumpole', Hilda watched me with a certain contempt, 'I remember you telling me, is the first essential in an advocate.' 'Courage, yes, but not total lunacy. Not self-destruction.
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