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  ‘Yes, my Lord.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Newent,’ said the judge. ‘There’s only one other question I want to ask you. How long was it after your admitted act of adultery that your husband left you?’

  ‘About a couple of months, my Lord.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Newent,’ said the judge.

  Suddenly Roger thought he scented danger.

  ‘Are you sure your husband never knew of your adultery, Mrs Newent?’ he asked.

  ‘Well,’ said the judge, ‘that is, I’m afraid, a leading question, but, now it’s asked, she’d better answer it.’

  ‘Quite sure,’ said Mrs Newent firmly. ‘He never knew or suspected a thing.’

  ‘Did you treat your husband in exactly the same way, after your adultery with Mr Storrington, as before?’

  ‘How d’you mean, my Lord, the same way?’

  ‘Well, for instance, you say that you were ashamed the next morning. Your shame might have resulted in your treating your husband rather differently, don’t you think?’

  ‘I don’t really know, my Lord.’

  ‘You continued to share the same room?’

  ‘The same room, my Lord, but not the same bed. We hadn’t for some time.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Thursby,’ said the judge. ‘Any further questions?’

  Roger thought for a moment. He could not think of anything else to ask.

  ‘No, thank you, my Lord,’ he said. There was then a pause while Roger made up his mind what to do next. You ask for a decree, don’t you, he said to himself. That’s it, I think. Or is there anything else first? I’m not sure. Oh, well – ‘Upon that evidence, my Lord–’

  ‘Acknowledgment of service, Mr Thursby?’

  ‘I’m sorry, my Lord.’

  Of course, he would forget that. That made at least two things he’d forgotten, but thank Heaven the case was almost over. In a moment or so he would be outside the Court. It had been pretty bad, but it could have been worse. The witness identified her husband’s signature on the document acknowledging receipt of the petition and then she left the witness box.

  ‘Yes, Mr Thursby?’ said the judge.

  ‘Upon that evidence, my Lord, I ask your Lordship to exercise your discretion and grant a decree nisi with costs.’

  There, he’d said it and his first case was about to be over.

  Not much credit winning an undefended case, but still – what was that? What was the judge saying?

  ‘It’s not quite as simple as that, Mr Thursby.’ What on earth was he talking about? Surely he knew about Herod and Herod.

  ‘You see, Mr Thursby,’ went on the judge, ‘your client committed adultery before her husband left her.’

  ‘Yes, my Lord,’ began Roger with no clear realization of what he was going to say, ‘but – but–’ very tentatively he started to say, ‘Her – Herod–’

  ‘But is it quite clear,’ went on the judge, ‘that Herod and Herod applies to a case where adultery is committed before the other spouse leaves? It strikes me as a bit odd that a wife who commits adultery should still have the right to the consortium of her husband, provided she’s a good enough liar.’

  Good Heavens, thought Roger, that’s exactly what Sally said.

  ‘How can you desert someone who hasn’t the right to be lived with?’ went on the judge.

  ‘My Lord,’ began Roger, but it was much too difficult. He wanted to say something about Herod’s case, but had no idea how to put it. As if reading his thoughts, the judge continued: ‘I know there’s a passage in Herod which helps you, but is it more than a dictum? We’d better look at it, hadn’t we?’

  The judge sent for that case and for some others. After reading several passages aloud and talking to Roger, who was almost unable to say anything except, ‘Yes, my Lord,’ or ‘No, my Lord,’ the judge eventually said: ‘Well, Mr Thursby, much as I regret it, you have convinced me that the principle must be the same in each case, although with the greatest respect to the judges concerned, I cannot think that it is the law of this country that the adulterer who can lie well enough is entitled to the consortium of the other spouse, and that it is only the less efficient liar who loses the right to be lived with.’

  Roger was now extremely pleased. The judge had said – quite untruthfully – that Roger had convinced him. They were words to be treasured. And so he’d won his case after all. And there had been a struggle, which made victory all the sweeter.

  ‘Then, my Lord,’ began Roger, ‘I ask–’

  ‘But I’m afraid,’ went on the judge, ‘that isn’t the end of the matter. Herod and all the other cases make it quite plain that it is for the petitioner to prove that the adultery has not caused the desertion. That’s so, is it not, Mr Thursby?’

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’

  ‘Well – have you proved it?’

  ‘The evidence is, my Lord, that the husband did not know of it.’

  ‘I agree that is the evidence and though I was not much impressed by your client, I’ll assume for the moment that he didn’t know. But is that enough?’

  Roger was now completely out of his depth. There was nothing he could say.

  ‘I don’t know whether you’re prepared to argue the point today,’ said the judge. ‘If not, I’ll give you an adjournment to enable you to do so on a later occasion.’

  ‘That’s very good of your Lordship,’ said Roger, having no idea what the point was.

  ‘The point is this, Mr Thursby. I know that you can show me cases where it has been said on high authority that, if a husband or wife does not know of or suspect the other’s adultery, that adultery cannot be said to have caused the desertion. But, with the greatest respect to the learned judges who have said this, is it correct? There are many things which a husband or wife who has been unfaithful may do or refrain from doing as a result of being unfaithful, and any one or more of those acts or omissions may cause the other spouse to leave. In such a case surely the petitioner would not have proved that the adultery had not caused the desertion, even though it was not known or suspected. Now, Mr Thursby, d’you think you’re in a position to argue that point today?’

  Whether I shall ever be, thought Roger, is most uncertain, but one thing is quite certain, I can’t do it now. I must get help.

  ‘I should be most grateful for an adjournment, my Lord,’ he said.

  ‘You shall have it,’ said the judge. ‘It isn’t at all an easy point. Adjourned for fourteen days if that’s convenient for you and many thanks for your help today.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Post Mortem

  The judge went on with the next case and Roger, very hot and very red in the face, gathered up his papers and went out of the Court. There he was joined by Mrs Newent.

  ‘What’s all that in aid of?’ she asked. ‘Why haven’t I got my divorce? What’s happened?’

  ‘It’s a little difficult to explain,’ said Roger.

  ‘There’s nothing difficult about it at all,’ said Mrs Newent. ‘It’s what comes of having schoolboys to do one’s case for one. I ought to have known from the start. How old are you, anyway?’

  The humiliation was so great that Roger could have burst into tears. He felt like throwing his brief at Mrs Newent, running to the Embankment and jumping into the Thames. What was the good of anything? He wished the earth would swallow him up.

  ‘Well, how old are you?’ persisted Mrs Newent. Even at that stage of his misery Roger remembered for an instant the image he had built up of Mrs Newent before he met her, the poor girl abandoned by her callous husband. Now he was all on the side of Mr Newent. He wondered how he had stood her for as long as he had.

  ‘Lost your voice?’ said Mrs Newent. ‘Not very much to lose anyway,’ she added.

  This at last spurred Roger into action.

  ‘If you’re not satisfied with the way I am doing your case, madam,’ he said, with as much dignity as red-faced twenty-one could muster, ‘you can ask your solicitors to instruct someone else to continue
it. I do not propose to stand here listening to your abuse. Good morning.’

  He left Mrs Newent with Mr Smith and went hurriedly to the robing-room. He still felt it was the end of the world. But, as he went, he went over in his mind the way the case had gone before Judge Ryman. What had he done wrong? Well, he had made mistakes once or twice, but they wouldn’t have made any difference, surely? He had persuaded the judge that Herod and Herod applied – well, if he hadn’t persuaded him, he’d at any rate mentioned Herod and the judge had gone into the matter. The judge had decided the first point of law in his favour. How on earth could he have imagined the second point would arise? Would anyone else have thought of it? Besides, the judge had thanked him for his help. He knew quite well he hadn’t given any help, but the judge must think well of him to say it. But then the word ‘schoolboys’ started ringing in his ears again and he again had an urge to jump into the Thames.

  ‘Warm, isn’t it, sir?’ said the attendant who helped him off with his gown.

  ‘Yes,’ said Roger. ‘Very warm. Thank you.’

  As he disrobed, he prayed that neither his mother, nor Sally nor Joy would be at the entrance to the Courts when he got out. He wanted to go and lock himself up somewhere out of sight of everyone. So this was the mighty Roger Thursby Esq, QC! Called a schoolboy by his own client! He looked through the window of the door of the robing-room to see if the coast was clear. It seemed to be. So he went out hurriedly and rushed across the Strand in almost as fast a time as Mr Grimes usually put up. He went back to chambers.

  ‘Get on all right, sir?’ asked Alec.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s been adjourned.’

  ‘When to?’

  ‘Fourteen days, I think.’

  ‘Why was that, sir? Witness missing?’

  ‘No – I think he wants some point argued further.’

  ‘I understand, sir,’ said Alec, an expression into which Roger read a wealth of meaning which was not in fact there. As he started to go into his room, Henry came into the clerks’ room.

  ‘Hullo,’ he said. ‘How did you get on?’

  And then before Roger could reply, he went on: ‘Like to come and have a chat with me about it?’

  Roger gratefully accepted and went into Henry’s room, where he told him as best he could what had happened in Court.

  ‘My dear chap,’ said Henry, ‘I think you did damned well. Much better than I should have done at your age. I shouldn’t have been able to open my mouth. Jolly good show. There’s nothing to be depressed about. And you seemed to have got on with old Ryman all right. He enjoys an argument. All right, we’ll give it him.’

  ‘I shall never be able to argue,’ said Roger miserably. ‘I’ve made a mess of it. I’m hopeless.’

  ‘My dear old boy,’ said Henry, ‘if you could have seen me coming away from my first County Court cases almost sobbing, you wouldn’t worry half so much. I used to lose cases which quite definitely ought to have been won. All the way home I used to try to convince myself that there was nothing else that I could have done, but I knew darned well there was. As far as I can see, you did everything you could and you’ve got an adjournment to get ready for the argument. That’s very much better than I did in my first case.’

  ‘I can’t think you did worse,’ said Roger.

  ‘I did indeed,’ said Henry. ‘Mark you, it’ll happen to you too. Or you’ll be extraordinarily lucky if it doesn’t. My only point is, it hasn’t happened this time. Your case is still on its feet. You can win it yet. Or maybe in the Court of Appeal, if necessary.’

  ‘Me in the Court of Appeal?’ said Roger.

  ‘Why not?’ said Henry. ‘They’ll be very nice to you.’

  ‘They’ll need to be,’ said Roger. ‘But what was your first case?’

  ‘Just a simple little accident case. Absolutely plain sailing. One just couldn’t lose it. The defendant’s driver had turned down a street which had stalls in the road and had then hit one of the stalls, damaged it and some of the stock. After the accident he said he was sorry but he’d misjudged the distance. Said that to a policeman. So there couldn’t be any doubt about it. He was prosecuted for careless driving and fined. It was a sitter. The only question was the amount of damages and there I’d got evidence to prove everything up to the hilt. It was given to me because it was reckoned it was a case that couldn’t be lost. The only reason the defendants were fighting it was because the insurance company doubted the amount of the damage. And, as I’ve told you, I could prove every penny of the damages and I did. The judge was quite satisfied about the damages. Oh, yes, it was the perfect case for a beginner. Excellent experience and no one could come to any harm. You couldn’t lose it.’

  Henry paused for a moment. ‘I lost it all right,’ he went on. ‘I lost that perfect, unanswerable, copybook case. I lost it. The defendant’s driver does a man twelve pounds worth of damage and what does the plaintiff get for it? The privilege of paying about twenty pounds costs in addition to bearing the whole of his own loss. And why? Because he briefed me. That’s why. Simple enough.’

  ‘But how did you come to lose it?’

  ‘You may well ask. I’ll tell you. No one actually saw the collision. The plaintiff heard a bang, looked round and saw his stall on the ground with the lorry half over it and half the stock ruined. Counsel for the defendant objected to the evidence of what the defendant’s driver said to the policeman on the ground that the driver wasn’t the agent of the defendant to make admissions. I didn’t know what that meant but the judge said it was quite right and wouldn’t allow that bit of evidence to be given. I wasn’t so worried because, after all, the lorry had run into the stall, hadn’t it? At the end of my case counsel for the defendant got up and calmly submitted that his client had no case to answer. No one had seen the accident, the driver might have had to swerve to avoid a child or a cyclist or anything. It was for the plaintiff to prove that the accident was due to the negligence of the defendant’s driver. Well, although it was my first case, I thought I’d done rather well, because I’d brought down a case to quote to the judge if necessary. It was called Ellor and Selfridge and in it the Court held that where a motorist knocked somebody down on the pavement that was prima facie evidence of negligence as motor cars don’t usually go on pavements. It was, therefore, for the motorist to show how he got there.

  ‘“What do you say to that?” said the judge to my opponent.

  ‘“The answer to that is quite simple,” was the reply. “In Ellor and Selfridge the accident was on the pavement. I agree that lorries do not usually go on pavements, but here the accident was on the roadway. Lorries do go on roadways. It’s the only place they do go. After the accident the lorry was still on the roadway. I don’t complain about the plaintiff having a stall on the roadway, but he has it there at his risk. If an accident happens to it while it’s in the roadway, he’s got to prove that the accident was due to someone’s fault. The mere fact that the accident happened doesn’t prove that. As I said, it might have been due to some emergency.”

  ‘“Well, what do you say to that?” said the judge to me. I stammered and stuttered and got very red in the face. I said everything I could think of. I knew that if I could ever get the driver into the witness box I was bound to win because he would have to admit that there wasn’t any emergency and that all that had happened was that he’d misjudged the distance. The thought that the defendant was going to get away with it was horrible. I did not become hysterical, but I felt like it. I said the same thing over and over again. The one thing I did not say was that if a lorry runs into a stationary stall on the highway, such an accident is normally caused by the fault of the lorry driver and it is therefore for him to explain how the accident happened, just as much as if the accident had happened on the pavement. The same would apply to an empty car which was standing stationary in broad daylight in the street. If it’s run into it’s obviously for the person who runs into it to explain how it happened. But I didn’t say any of this, or thin
k of it, till I was halfway back to the Temple. I just talked nonsense until suddenly the judge said: ‘“Yes, I’ve got your point, Mr Blagrove. Do you want to add anything?”

  ‘Well, of course, I sat down on that and the judge proceeded to give judgment against me.

  ‘“Ask for leave to appeal,” said the solicitor’s clerk behind me.

  ‘I did as I was told.

  ‘“No,” said the judge, “it’s a plain case. I’m sorry for the plaintiff, but I can’t let my judgment be blinded by sympathy. Leave to appeal refused.”

  ‘Well, you should have seen the plaintiff outside the Court after that. He was hopping mad at first. I don’t blame him. And then he said something which I’ve never forgotten – he said it just as I was leaving him. He’d calmed down by then.

  ‘“Hadn’t you better do a bit more studying, boy, before you do your next case?” he said.

  ‘He said it in quite a kindly tone. That made it worse. “I can’t think,” he went on, “the law’s such an ass as all that.” Well, of course, it isn’t, but I was. And when I suddenly realized in the train on the way home what I ought to have said, I felt like jumping out on to the line, I can tell you. Then, of course, I started to explain to myself that it wouldn’t have made any difference. One always ends up that way, but I knew it would really.’

  ‘I must say, it’s a relief to hear that,’ said Roger, and he then told Henry what Mrs Newent had said.

  ‘Of course, it is pretty dreadful for her to be represented by me,’ he went on, ‘when one comes to think of it. And I do look so young, too.’

  ‘Well, you know my views on that,’ said Henry. ‘I don’t think anyone should be allowed to address a Court until he’s read for a year in chambers. But that isn’t the case. And I’m quite sure you did as well as anyone with a first brief could have done. And you can still win, you know.’

  ‘You’ve cheered me up no end,’ said Roger. ‘I suppose everyone feels like this to begin with.’

  ‘Of course they do. We’ll look up the point together if you like. I’ve nothing to do. Let’s go and have lunch and then go to the Bar Library.’