Bob took me first to chambers, where he went in to collect my mail while I half sat and half lay on the back seat of the car. Bob reappeared with a bundle of papers which he passed in to me through the window. And he also had Arthur in tow.
‘Mr Mason,’ said Arthur through the window, formal as always.
‘Morning, Arthur,’ I said. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘Sir James is very keen to see you,’ he said. I bet I knew why. ‘He needs to speak to you about Monday.’ Monday was the first day of Steve Mitchell’s trial in Oxford.
‘What about Monday?’ I said. I, too, could play this little game.
‘He thinks it may be impossible for him to attend on Monday as the case he is on at the moment is overrunning.’
What a surprise, I thought. I bet it’s overrunning because Sir James keeps asking for delays.
‘Tell Sir James that I will be fine on my own on Monday,’ I said. ‘Ask him to call me over the weekend on my mobile if he wants me to request an adjournment for a day.’ I wouldn’t hold my breath for the call, I thought.
‘Right,’ said Arthur. ‘I will.’
Both he and I were plainly aware of what was going on, but protocol and good manners had won the day. So I refrained from asking Arthur to also inform Sir James that he was a stupid old codger and a fraud, and it was well past the time he should have hung up his silk gown and wig for good.
Next, Bob drove me just round the corner to Euston Road, to the offices of the General Medical Council, where I spent most of the day sitting around waiting and very little time standing on my right foot, leaning on my crutches, arguing my client’s case against a charge of professional misconduct in front of the GMC Fitness to Practise Panel. Each of the three accused doctors had a different barrister and the GMC had a whole team of them. It made for a very crowded hearing and also a very slow one. By the time we had all finished our representations and each of the witnesses had been examined and cross-examined, there was no time left in the day for any judgments and the proceedings were adjourned until the following morning, which was a real pain for me as I wanted to be in Lambourn.
I tut-tutted to my client and told him, most unprofessionally, that it would mean much greater expense, another day’s fees. He almost fell over himself to ask the chairman of the panel if I would be required on the following day. He seemed greatly relieved when the chairman informed him that it was up to the accused to decide if and when they had professional representation, and not the members of the GMC. I was consequently rapidly released by my client. My fellow barristers looked at me with incredulity and annoyance. Two days’ fees may have been better for them than just one but, there again, they hadn’t planned to go and see Eleanor tonight.
I called Arthur on my mobile and asked him to arrange for all my boxes, papers, files, gown, wig, and so on for the Mitchell trial, to be sent direct to my hotel in Oxford, where I would be spending the weekend in preparation for Monday. No problem, he said. Sending boxes of papers by courier all over the country for court hearings was normal practice.
Bob was waiting for me in the Mercedes outside the GMC offices.
‘Back to Barnes?’ he asked.
‘No, Bob,’ I said. ‘Could you take me to Lambourn?’
‘Be delighted to,’ he said with a big smile. Bob was being paid by the mile. ‘Round trip or one way?’ he asked.
‘One way for tonight, I think,’ I said. ‘I need to make a call or two. And, Bob, can we find a photo shop that’s still open, one where you can stop outside to drop me off?’
He found one in Victoria Street and I spent about half an hour at a self-service digital photo machine printing out the pictures I had taken that morning with Eleanor’s camera. I also printed out ten six-by-four-inch copies of the blown-up image of the Millie and foal picture. They weren’t perfect, and looked a little more blurred than on the camera, but they would have to do.
Eleanor was delighted when I called her to say I was still coming to Lambourn, but she seemed a little hesitant when I told her that I had nowhere yet to stay.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I suppose…’
‘I’ll find a pub or a hotel,’ I said, interrupting her.
‘Oh, right,’ she said, sounding relieved. ‘It’s just we have the house rule…’ she tailed off.
‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘I hadn’t expected to stay with you anyway.’
From the house-rule point of view, I was clearly still seen as a casual rather than a long-term relationship. And I suppose that was fair, I thought. Eleanor and I had hardly kissed, so staying the night with her would have been a huge step.
I phoned ahead to the Queen’s Arms Hotel in East Garston, the pub where Eleanor and I had met for our first drink and meal back in the previous November.
‘Yes,’ they said. ‘We have rooms available for tonight. For how many people?’
‘For one,’ I said. ‘But I would like a double-bedded room please.’ Well, you never knew.
Bob took me straight to the hotel, where the receptionist was surprised that I had no luggage, not even a wash bag. It was too complicated to explain, so I didn’t. She kindly allocated me a room on the ground floor in a modern extension alongside the eighteenth-century inn, and I went and lay down on the bed to rest my aching back and to wait for Eleanor to arrive to look after me.
∗
We had dinner at the same table as before but, on this occasion, our evening was interrupted by an emergency call on her pager.
‘I just don’t believe it,’ said Eleanor, disconnecting from her mobile phone. ‘No one who’s been on call this week has been needed and now this.’ She took another mouthful of her fish. ‘I’ll try and come back.’ She stood up.
‘Do you want me to save your dinner?’ I said.
‘No, I’ll be longer than that,’ she said. ‘I’ll call you.’
She rushed off to her car and left me sitting alone. I was disappointed. And, for the first time, I realized that I didn’t feel guilty about being out with someone other than Angela.
I finished my dinner alone, drank my wine alone and, in time, went along the corridor to my bed, alone.
Eleanor did call eventually, at five to midnight.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘Atwo-year-old with a bad haemorrhage in its lung. Still a bit touch and go. I’ll have to stay here. Also it’s a bit late for dessert and coffee.’ She laughed nervously at her own little joke.
‘I’m in bed anyway,’ I said. ‘It’s fine. I’ll call you in the morning.’
‘Right.’ Did she sound relieved? Or was it my imagination? ‘Goodnight.’
‘Night,’ I replied, and disconnected.
Life and love were very complicated, I reflected, as I drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 14
On Friday morning I went shopping in Newbury. A taxi picked me up from the hotel and I spent a couple of hours buying myself, maybe not a complete new wardrobe, but enough to see me through the next few weeks at Oxford Crown Court.
The hotel receptionist raised a questioning eyebrow when I arrived back at the Queen’s Arms with two suitcases of luggage that I hadn’t had the previous night.
‘Lost by the airline,’ I said to her, and she nodded knowingly.
She carried the cases to my room as I struggled along behind her with the damn crutches.
‘Are you staying tonight, then?’ she asked.
‘I’m not sure yet,’ I said. ‘Someone told me at breakfast that late check-out would be OK.’ For a fee, of course.
‘Oh yes, that’s fine,’ she said. ‘The room is free tonight if you want it.’ I presumed she didn’t mean free as in money, but free as in unoccupied.