Trelford bowed, and waited for the door to close behind them before he murmured to himself, “She should have been christened Portia.”
“How did you get hold of this?” asked Sir Edward.
Virginia smiled. Sir Edward had taught her that when facing cross-examination, if an answer doesn’t help your cause, you should say nothing.
Sir Edward didn’t smile. “If the judge were to allow Mr. Trelford to present this as evidence,” he said, waving the letter, “I would no longer be confident that we will win the case. In fact I’m certain we’d lose.”
“Mrs. Clifton will never allow it to be presented as evidence,” said Virginia confidently.
“How can you be sure?”
“Her brother intends to fight the by-election in Bristol Docklands caused by Major Fisher’s death. If this letter were to be made public, he’d have to withdraw. It would end his political career.”
Lawyers are meant to have opinions on everything, except their clients. Not in this case. Sir Edward knew exactly how he felt about Lady Virginia, and it didn’t bear repeating, in or out of court.
“If you’re right, Lady Virginia,” said the elderly QC, “and they don’t offer the letter as evidence, the jury will assume it’s because it doesn’t assist Mrs. Clifton’s cause. That would undoubtedly tip the balance in your favor.”
Virginia tore up the letter and dropped the little pieces into the wastepaper basket. “I agree with you, Sir Edward.”
Once again, Desmond Mellor had booked a small conference room in an unfashionable hotel, where no one would recognize them.
“Lady Virginia is the odds-on favorite to win a two-horse race,” said Mellor from his place at the head of the table. “It seems Alex Fisher ended up doing something worthwhile for a change.”
“Fisher’s timing couldn’t have been better,” said Adrian Sloane. “But we’ll still need to have everything in place if there’s to be a smooth takeover of Barrington’s Shipping.”
“Couldn’t agree with you more,” said Mellor, “which is why I’ve already drafted a press statement that I want you to release as soon as the verdict has been announced.”
“But all that could change if Mrs. Clifton allows Fisher’s letter to be read out in court.”
“I can assure you,” said Mellor, “that letter will never see the light of day.”
“You know what’s in that letter, don’t you?” said Jim Knowles.
“Let’s just say I’m confident that Mrs. Clifton will not want the jury to see it. Which will only convince them that our beloved chairman has something to hide. Then they will surely come down in Lady Virginia’s favor, and that will be an end of the matter.”
“As they’re likely to reach a verdict some time tomorrow,” said Knowles, “I’ve called an emergency board meeting for Monday morning at ten o’clock. There will only be two items on the agenda. The first will be to accept Mrs. Clifton’s resignation, followed by the appointment of Desmond as chairman of the new company.”
“And my first decision as chairman will be to appoint Jim as my deputy.” Sloane frowned. “Then I’ll ask Adrian to join the board, which will leave the City and the shareholders in no doubt that Barrington’s is under new management.”
“Once the other board members have read this,” said Knowles, waving the press statement as if it were an order paper, “it shouldn’t be long before the admiral and his cronies decide they have no choice but to hand in their resignations.”
“Which I will reluctantly accept,” said Mellor, before adding, “with a heavy heart.”
“I’m not convinced Sebastian Clifton will fall in with our plans quite that easily,” said Sloane. “If he decides to remain on the board, it might not be quite the smooth transition you have in mind, Desmond.”
“I can’t imagine Clifton will want to be a director of the Mellor Shipping Company after his mother has been publicly humiliated by Lady Virginia, not only in court, but in every national newspaper.”
“You must know what’s in that letter,” repeated Knowles.
Giles made no attempt to change his sister’s mind, because he realized it would be pointless.
Among Emma’s many qualities was a fierce loyalty to her family, her friends and any cause she believed in. But the other side of that coin was a stubbornness that sometimes allowed her personal feelings to override her common sense, even if her decision could result in losing the libel case, and even having to resign as chairman of Barrington’s. Giles knew, because he could be just as obstinate. It must be a family trait, he decided. Harry, on the other hand, was far more pragmatic. He would have weighed up the options and considered the alternatives long before he came to a decision. However, Giles suspected Harry was torn between supporting his wife and loyalty to his oldest friend.
As the three of them stepped back out onto Lincoln’s Inn Fields, the first gas lights were being lit by the lamplighter.
“I’ll see you both back at the house for dinner,” said Giles. “I’ve got a couple of errands to run. And by the way, sis, thank you.”
Harry hailed a taxi, and he and his wife climbed into the back. Giles didn’t move until the cab had turned the corner and was out of sight. He then headed off at a brisk pace in the direction of Fleet Street.
2
Sebastian rose early the following morning and after reading the Financial Times and the Daily Telegraph he just couldn’t see how his mother could hope to win her libel trial.
The Telegraph pointed out to its readers that if the contents of Major Fisher’s letter remained a secret, it wouldn’t help Mrs. Clifton’s cause. The FT concentrated on the problems Barrington’s Shipping would face should its chairman lose the case and have to resign. The company’s shares had already fallen by a shilling, as many of its shareholders had clearly decided that Lady Virginia was going to be the victor. Seb felt the best his mother could hope for was a hung jury. Like everyone else, he couldn’t stop wondering what was in the letter Mr. Trelford wouldn’t allow him to read, and which side it was more likely to help. When he had phoned his mother after returning from work, she hadn’t been forthcoming on the subject. He didn’t bother to ask his father.
Sebastian turned up at the bank even earlier than usual but once he’d sat down at his desk and begun trying to work his way through the morning mail, he found he couldn’t concentrate. After his secretary Rachel had asked him several questions which remained unanswered, she gave up and suggested he go to court, and not return until the jury had delivered its verdict. He reluctantly agreed.
As his taxi drove out of the City and into Fleet Street, Seb spotted the bold headline on a Daily Mail placard and shouted “Stop!” The cabbie swung into the curb and threw on his brakes. Seb jumped out and ran across to the paperboy. He handed him fourpence and grabbed a copy of the paper. As he stood on the pavement reading the front page he felt conflicting emotions: delight for his mother, who would now surely win her case and be vindicated, and sadness for his uncle Giles, who had clearly sacrificed his political career to do what he considered the honorable thing, because Seb knew his mother would never have allowed that letter to be seen by anyone outside the family.
He climbed back into the cab and wondered, as he stared out of the window, how he would have reacted had he been faced with the same dilemma. Was the prewar generation guided by a different moral compass? He wasn’t in any doubt what his father would have done, or how angry his mother would be with Giles. His thoughts turned to Samantha, who had returned to America when he’d let her down. What would she have done in similar circumstances? If only she would give him a second chance, he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.