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

'I'd recognize it anywhere. How on earth did it get in there?' 'Evidence gets in everywhere, old darling,' I told him. 'Just like mice.' When I got home and unlocked the front door, I was greeted with the familiar cry of 'Is that you, Rumpole?' 'No,' I shouted back, 'it's not me. I'll be along later.' 'Come into the sitting-room and stop talking rubbish.' I did as I was told and found the room swept and polished and that She, who was looking unnaturally cheerful, had bought flowers.

'Cousin Everard around, is he?' I felt, apprehensively, that the floral tributes were probably for him.

'He had to go back to Saskatoon. One of his clients got charged with fraud, apparently.' And then Hilda asked, unexpectedly, 'You knew I'd be back, didn't you, Rumpole?' 'Well, I had hoped...' I assured her.

'It seems you almost gave up hoping. You couldn't get along Without me, could you?' 'Well, I had a bit of a stab at it,' I said in all honesty.

'No need for you to be brave any more. I'm back now. That nice Miss Liz Probert was saying you missed me terribly.' 'Oh, of course. Yes. Yes, I missed you.' And I added as quietly as possible, 'Life without a boss...' 'What did you say?' 'You were a great loss.' 'And Liz says you were dreadfully lonely. I was glad to hear that, Rumpole. You don't usually say much about your feelings.' 'Words don't come easily to me, Hilda,' I told her with transparent dishonesty.

'Now you're so happy to see me back, Rumpole, why don't you take me out for a little celebration? I seem to have got used to dining a la carte.' 37 Of course I agreed. I knew somewhere where we could get it on the house. So we ended up at a table for two in La Maison and discussed Hilda's absent relative as Alphonse made his way towards us with two covered dishes.

'The trouble with Cousin Everard,' Hilda confided in me, 'is he's not a "character".' 'Bit on the bland side?' I inquired politely.

'It seems that unless you're with a "character", life can get a little tedious at times,' Hilda admitted.

The silver domes were put in front of us, Alphonse called out,' Un, deux, trois!' and they were lifted to reveal what I had no difficulty in ordering that night: steak and kidney pud.

Mashed spuds were brought to us on the side.

'Perhaps that's why I need you, Rumpole.' She Who Must Be Obeyed was in a philosophic mood that night. 'Because you're a "character". And you need me to tell you off for being one.' Distinctly odd, I thought, are the reasons why people need each other. I looked towards the cashier's desk, where JeanPierre had his arm round the girl I had found so unmemorable.

I raised a glass of the champagne he had brought us and drank to their very good health.

Eг Change and decay in all around I see. Our present masters seem to have an irresistible urge, whenever they find something that works moderately well, to tinker with it, tear it apart and construct something worse, usually on the grounds that it may offer more 'consumer choice'. Now, many things may be said of the British legal system, but it seems odd to me that it should be run as a supermarket, round which you trundle a wire wheelbarrow and pick up a frozen packet of the burden of proof or a jumbo-sized prison sentence, with iop off for good behaviour. By and large, I have always thought there is little wrong with the system and all the criticism should be levelled at the somewhat strange human beings who get to run it, such as the mad Judge Bullingham, the sepulchral Judge Graves or Soapy Sam Ballard, Q.c., the less than brilliant advocate whom an incalculable fate has placed in charge of our Chambers. However, in the summer of which I speak, all sorts of plans were afoot, in Equity Court as well as in Parliament, to streamline the system, to give solicitors the doubtful privilege of appearing before Judge Graves, to abolish all distinctions between barristers and solicitors and to elevate solicitors to the Bench. So the Old Bailey hack, skilled in the art of KJadvocacy, which is his daily bread, would be in danger of extinction. Well, the best that can be said of such plans is that Aey do something to reconcile you to death.

In that same summer, strikes seemed to spread like the measles. One day the tubes didn't run, on another the postman didn't deliver (to my great relief, as I was denied the pleasure ░f those sinister brown envelopes from Her Majesty). In due j course the infection spread to the legal profession and even 39 into the matrimonial home; but I mustn't anticipate the events which began with that more or less simple case of manslaughter, which I think of as the Luxie-Chara killing, and which turned out to be one of my more interesting and dramatic encounters with homicide.

The scene of the crime was a large garage, yard and adjacent office premises in South London. A huge notice over the open gateway read: ernie elver's luxie-charas. toilets.

DOUBLE-GLAZING. VIDEOS. HOSTESS-SERVED SNACKS.

SCHOOLS, FAN CLUBS AND SENIOR CITIZENS' OUTINGS specially catered for. At the window of an upstairs office Ernie Elver, the owner of the business, a large, soft-eyed man with a moustache, a silk suit and a heavy gold ring, was squinting down the sights of a video-camera, recording, for posterity and for ultimate use in the Old Bailey, what had become a common scene that summer in England.

A small crowd of about twenty pickets was guarding the gates.

It consisted mainly of middle-aged coach drivers, but there were a number of young men among them, and a particular youth in a red anorak was joining vociferously in the protest.

The object of the picket was to stop the coaches, driven by non-union men, from leaving the garage. The officer in command of the posse was a tall, gaunt fellow, named Ben, but known affectionately as 'Basher', Baker, a prominent shop steward of the National Union of Charabanc Drivers and Operators (N.U.C.D.O.). The incident began when a coach was driven out of the garage and towards the gateway to be met with cries from the pickets of 'Bash the blacklegs!', 'Kill the cowboy bastards!', 'Scrag the scabs!' and suchlike terms of endearment.

As the coach reached the gateway, Ben Baker stood in front of it with an arm upraised, saying, 'Halt, brother. I wish to reason politely with you as to why you should not cross this picket line in an officially recognized dispute.' This invitation to a debate had no effect whatsoever on the driver. The coach surged forward. Ben stood his ground until the Luxie-Vehicle was almost upon him, then he stepped aside with the unexpected agility of a bull-fighter and was seen to stoop suddenly, perhaps as though picking something up from the ground. Seconds later, the windscreen of the coach was shattered by a hard object, flung with considerable force. The driver was seen twisting the wheel and he then crashed into the gatepost, where the coach came to a full stop. When the door was pulled open, the driver was found to have been cut on the head and neck by flying glass. An artery had been severed and within minutes he was dead.

The police car arrived in a surprisingly short time. Although, when it stopped by the crashed coach, the band of pickets had diminished and the younger men had scarpered. As the dead coach driver was removed by the ambulance men, who had come on the scene. Basher Baker was standing near the body, singing 'The Red Flag': 'Then raise the scarlet standard high!

Within its shade we'll live or die.

Tho' cowards flinch and traitors sneer, We'll keep the red flag flying here.' He was immediately arrested and later charged with the manslaughter of the coach driver. In due course, and thanks to our old legal system still being in operation. Basher was able to obtain the services of the most wily axid experienced member of the Criminal Bar.

Dramatic events were also taking place in our Chambers in Equity Court. Work was a touch thin on the ground at that time and I used to drop into Chambers to dLo the crossword and as a temporary refuge from domestic bliss. I arrived a little late one morning to be told by Henry, our clerk, that a Chambers meeting was taking place and that they were waiting for me.