few more
minutes, and then Newberry sat down on the grass and gazed across the Vale of
Evesham. Brakespeare joined him.
Newberry turned towards him.
"You know, I'm not worried about death. I don't believe in an afterlife or
anything of that sort, but I shall miss the sheer beauty of this place. Listen.
Silence."
He paused and Brakespeare
could see that he was thinking about something. Then he spoke.
"If my heart were to simply
stop beating,
And if I should pass away.
I would be so perfectly happy
To have left on this beautiful
day."
Brakespeare felt not a little
moved.
"That's nice. Who wrote
it?"
"I did. Just now! Verses
often come into my head. I keep meaning to write them down."
Brakespeare was happy just to
sit and share the serenity of the Hills. Minutes passed without either of them
saying a word.
Newberry stood up again.
"I feel better now. Better go back I suppose."
They started to go down the
way that they had come up. Brakespeare found that the descent was harder than
the ascent, and soon his knee joints began to hurt.
"That was beautiful, I
can see why you would not want to move to London, but back to business; the
second trip to Paris. It wasn't the same was it?"
"What do you mean? "
"Who are Mrs Potter and
Master Potter. "
"Friends." The
aggressiveness came back.
"Good friends?"
"Yes."
Brakespeare felt his temper
rise. The prick was pissing him about again. He stopped in his tracks with a
jolt.
"For fuck's sake."
Newberry who by now was
slightly ahead of him stopped also and swung round.
"What did you just
say?" Brakespeare ignored him.
“ You're a married man. Have
children?"
Newberry nodded.
"Married men with
children don't go on holiday with other married women and presumably her son
unless they're rather more than friends - or was this business entertaining
also? What business were you putting her way that she was happy to go on a
dirty weekend with you.?!"
They stared at each other for
several seconds, then Newberry visibly sagged. By now they had descended to St
Ann’s Well, and he gestured to an iron bench. They both sat down and Newberry
bent forward; his head in his hands.
"Christ how did I get
into this mess. Do you know what it feels like to have every aspect of your
life dug over when you've done nothing wrong. This isn't fucking justice."
Brakespeare feeling that he
had gained the upper hand, and now had this difficult client under control,
needed to take advantage of the moment.
"This is preparation for
‘fucking justice’. Who is Mrs Potter?"
Newberry paused to collect his
thoughts.
"Kate and I go back a
long way. She was my girlfriend when I worked at the Council; she was a
secretary in my department. Then we had a bust up and she found someone else
and married him. They moved away to London. I didn't see her for years. I got
married and had kids ... "
"How many?"
"Two, a boy and a girl.
The girl's married and the boy’s in his first year at University. Then when I
started to go down to London, I met her again. She was working for one of the
large estate agents. Her marriage hadn't worked, and she'd been on her own for
quite a while. Waiting for me to come back she said." He laughed.
"She said she knew that I would. Well, what can you do when a woman says
that?" He looked up and across at Brakespeare.
"Say no?"
"There speaks the lawyer.
Well my marriage had dried up by then and so the inevitable happened."
"Dried up?"
"I haven't had sex with
my wife for eighteen years. Not since my son was born."
One thing a solicitor learns
to do is to control himself. Day in, day out clients will matter of factly,
drop a bombshell. A solicitor just has to nod appreciatively and stifle all
desire to laugh, cry or express surprise, shock, amusement, or indignation.
Brakespeare had often wondered why it was that people will say things to a
complete stranger that they would not say to their nearest and dearest.
"So you started an affair
with Mrs. Potter again. Did she have
minutes, and then Newberry sat down on the grass and gazed across the Vale of
Evesham. Brakespeare joined him.
Newberry turned towards him.
"You know, I'm not worried about death. I don't believe in an afterlife or
anything of that sort, but I shall miss the sheer beauty of this place. Listen.
Silence."
He paused and Brakespeare
could see that he was thinking about something. Then he spoke.
"If my heart were to simply
stop beating,
And if I should pass away.
I would be so perfectly happy
To have left on this beautiful
day."
Brakespeare felt not a little
moved.
"That's nice. Who wrote
it?"
"I did. Just now! Verses
often come into my head. I keep meaning to write them down."
Brakespeare was happy just to
sit and share the serenity of the Hills. Minutes passed without either of them
saying a word.
Newberry stood up again.
"I feel better now. Better go back I suppose."
They started to go down the
way that they had come up. Brakespeare found that the descent was harder than
the ascent, and soon his knee joints began to hurt.
"That was beautiful, I
can see why you would not want to move to London, but back to business; the
second trip to Paris. It wasn't the same was it?"
"What do you mean? "
"Who are Mrs Potter and
Master Potter. "
"Friends." The
aggressiveness came back.
"Good friends?"
"Yes."
Brakespeare felt his temper
rise. The prick was pissing him about again. He stopped in his tracks with a
jolt.
"For fuck's sake."
Newberry who by now was
slightly ahead of him stopped also and swung round.
"What did you just
say?" Brakespeare ignored him.
“ You're a married man. Have
children?"
Newberry nodded.
"Married men with
children don't go on holiday with other married women and presumably her son
unless they're rather more than friends - or was this business entertaining
also? What business were you putting her way that she was happy to go on a
dirty weekend with you.?!"
They stared at each other for
several seconds, then Newberry visibly sagged. By now they had descended to St
Ann’s Well, and he gestured to an iron bench. They both sat down and Newberry
bent forward; his head in his hands.
"Christ how did I get
into this mess. Do you know what it feels like to have every aspect of your
life dug over when you've done nothing wrong. This isn't fucking justice."
Brakespeare feeling that he
had gained the upper hand, and now had this difficult client under control,
needed to take advantage of the moment.
"This is preparation for
‘fucking justice’. Who is Mrs Potter?"
Newberry paused to collect his
thoughts.
"Kate and I go back a
long way. She was my girlfriend when I worked at the Council; she was a
secretary in my department. Then we had a bust up and she found someone else
and married him. They moved away to London. I didn't see her for years. I got
married and had kids ... "
"How many?"
"Two, a boy and a girl.
The girl's married and the boy’s in his first year at University. Then when I
started to go down to London, I met her again. She was working for one of the
large estate agents. Her marriage hadn't worked, and she'd been on her own for
quite a while. Waiting for me to come back she said." He laughed.
"She said she knew that I would. Well, what can you do when a woman says
that?" He looked up and across at Brakespeare.
"Say no?"
"There speaks the lawyer.
Well my marriage had dried up by then and so the inevitable happened."
"Dried up?"
"I haven't had sex with
my wife for eighteen years. Not since my son was born."
One thing a solicitor learns
to do is to control himself. Day in, day out clients will matter of factly,
drop a bombshell. A solicitor just has to nod appreciatively and stifle all
desire to laugh, cry or express surprise, shock, amusement, or indignation.
Brakespeare had often wondered why it was that people will say things to a
complete stranger that they would not say to their nearest and dearest.
"So you started an affair
with Mrs. Potter again. Did she have
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