‘Yes.’
‘And Lesley’s right, about the possible use of publicity. You duck and run you stand the very real – almost inevitable – chance of having your skin nailed to the barn door, for everyone to see. You fight it and we knock away the foundations of every claim and allegation, one by one, you’re a guy who’s done what thousands of married guys and married gals are doing right now, even as we speak. And Appleton loses, not you. But here’s a very necessary warning. This particular divorce legislation in this particular state is an absolute bastard, everything in favour of the plaintiff.’
‘If I contest it I have to come to New York?’
‘And North Carolina, to face everything down like the wrongly accused man that you are.’
‘I’d like you to represent me and defend me against this action,’ decided Jordan, formally.
‘And I’d like to do it,’ accepted Beckwith. ‘I want all the original correspondence from Bartle couriered to me, today if possible, so that I can issue an official response. I’ll courier my contractual terms and conditions back, to be completed with you by Lesley, who can also take a preliminary personal statement, telling me all about you, and when we’ve got the wheels turning we can meet here, in New York. Everything will obviously be decided in Raleigh, the capital of North Carolina.’
‘I’ll handle everything from this end,’ promised the woman. ‘I think it’s been a good meeting.’
‘So do I,’ said the American.
‘Don’t you, Harvey?’ she encouraged.
‘Very good indeed,’ said Jordan, recognizing his first lie but knowing there were going to be a lot more.
‘I really did think it went well,’ said Lesley Corbin, as she disconnected the telephone link.
‘I wasn’t very comfortable,’ admitted Jordan.
‘Men never are when they’re caught in public with their trousers down; women, neither,’ she said and smiled. ‘You’d better get used to it, Harvey. It’s going to get a hell of a lot more embarrassing. What you’ve got to hope is that it’s contained within the four walls of a closed divorce court.’
Seven
After the constant bustle of the week’s beginning, particularly the dodging and weaving that started off each day, Harvey Jordan welcomed his first opportunity to remain the following morning in his flat, his next appointment with Lesley Corbin not until the afternoon. But it wasn’t a chance to relax; the opposite, in fact. The forthcoming meeting was to provide the personal information the American lawyer had asked for during their transatlantic telephone conversation and Jordan recognized how well and how carefully he had to evaluate – but most importantly of all, not to forget – anything and everything he told the woman. Jordan worked hard to convince himself that after going through most of his life successfully being somebody else it shouldn’t be overwhelmingly difficult for him to keep his story straight. But it had been a bad mistake not to realize how he was being ensnared in France. And he was determined against any further disasters, most definitely in any courtroom setting where any information he provided today could be publicly challenged and shown to be a lie.
Overnight, questions that he should have asked – were essential he ask – Daniel Beckwith or at least obtain guidance from Lesley Corbin crowded in upon him and Jordan spent the morning listing them, prompted as he did so to add others. The biggest imponderable factor was what exactly the American enquiries in France had discovered and which could be put to him. It was also vital that he remember everything he had told Alyce Appleton, whom it was logical to assume would have told her legal team and with which he could be confronted, either by her or her husband’s lawyers. There’d been his lie that he was independently wealthy, from a family inheritance which he successfully utilized as a venture capitalist investor. And the sympathy-seeking improvization built around his divorce. Beckwith hadn’t minimized the financial implications of the damages claims, which made his income and its source directly relevant. None of which Jordan could substantiate beyond the returns accepted by the British Inland Revenue as a professional gambler. Jordan couldn’t imagine the lost love of his life nonsense being introduced in any court examination or record, except for its connection with his supposed occupation and income, but it was something not to ignore but rather to be explained away if it were raised. He couldn’t think of any awkward personal information in the South of France, apart from his address lodged at the Carlton Hotel in Cannes which Appleton’s side appeared already to have obtained, by which he could be confronted. Neither did he imagine any of his previous conquests about whom Beckwith had questioned him being traced: he couldn’t himself remember all of their names and he’d determinedly avoided being photographed with or by any of them. Alyce hadn’t carried a camera and shunned the approaches from any of the restaurant photographers as forcefully as he had, although there were those that he’d already anticipated having been snatched of them together. And he’d paid every bill in cash, the deposit for the car rental going against his hotel bill.
Jordan was at Lesley Corbin’s Chancery Lane office fifteen minutes before the appointed time, his query list memorized but in his inside pocket if he needed any reminders, together with all the official personal documents she’d asked him the previous day to bring, which he had although reluctantly, professionally aware of their illegal usefulness.
The package Daniel Beckwith had couriered from New York appeared the same size as he remembered Alyce Appleton completing at the hotel, although substantially thicker, topped by a copy of the lawyer’s terms and conditions of engagement.
‘I’ve never heard of agreeing contracts with lawyers?’ said Jordan. It was one of the questions on his list.
The woman shrugged. ‘It’s sometimes done here between solicitors and barristers, on behalf of clients. Maybe it’s to do with the particular circumstances of this situation, different jurisdictions and regulations in different countries, in addition to different American states being involved. I’ve gone through it. I didn’t find any reason why you shouldn’t sign: it’s as much for your protection in an American court as it is for his being paid his fees.’
‘You think they’re reasonable?’ seized Jordan, wanting to concentrate on finance as quickly as possible.
‘I warned you about costs,’ reminded the woman. ‘The court refreshers are $2,000 a day. What can’t be quantified at the moment from what Beckwith provided – or what he hasn’t yet been provide with , from the other sides – is exactly how many days the case might take. It’s obviously a contested case – you contesting the claims against you, presumably as Alyce will be doing even if they are conniving – so it definitely won’t be a short hearing.’
‘Give me a ballpark figure,’ demanded Jordan.
‘Impossible,’ refused the lawyer. ‘You want to do some sums on the back of an envelope, allow a month…’ She paused. ‘A minimum of a month.’
‘Presuming the court won’t sit on a Saturday or Sunday, that will be something like $40,000 in court refreshers alone?’
‘And there’s the hourly $500 for all the preliminary consultations,’ added Lesley. ‘There’ll also be search fees, impossible at this stage to estimate. And if you’re going to have to go back and forth, possibly several times, and pay hotel bills while you’re in New York and Raleigh, you’ve got to calculate travel and living expenses. Also impossible to estimate. And my fees and expenses, which I haven’t got around to thinking about yet. That’s why I can’t give you a ballpark guess. But I did warn you that it wasn’t going to be cheap.’