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“All rise.”
William watched as Faulkner disappeared out of sight and could only wonder what must be going through his mind.
“Congratulations, Grace,” said Sir Julian. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Thank you, Father. And there are several reasons why I couldn’t have done it without you.”
They both smiled.
“I fear, young lady, that it will not be long before you take silk, and I will no longer be able to call upon your services as my junior. And thank you, too, Clare, even if I suspect that in future you’ll be known as Caviar Clare. But congratulations to both of you on a famous victory.”
“How long do you think the sentence will be?” asked Clare, as they made their way out of court.
“Pick a number,” said Sir Julian, “and you’ll get it wrong.”
* * *
“I don’t suppose there’s the slightest chance you could influence the judge, BW?” said Faulkner, as he sat down on the thin, hard mattress. “You managed it last time.”
“No, I didn’t. It was the judge who influenced you,” Booth Watson reminded him as he pulled up a chair. “I have hinted to the Criminal Appeal Office that as our prisons are so overcrowded they might consider a heavy fine more appropriate than a custodial sentence in this case, but so far the idea has fallen on deaf ears.”
“If only I’d taken your advice, BW, and refused to be cross-examined, we’d be having dinner at the Savoy this evening.”
This was one of those rare occasions when Booth Watson didn’t offer an opinion, personal
or professional.
* * *
“Four million?” repeated Christina.
“Possibly more,” said Mr. Nealon. “I have two or three clients on my books who’ve been looking for a property like this for some time, and once it’s been advertised in all the glossy magazines and journals, who knows how much it might fetch?”
“That sounds promising,” said Christina.
“So, would you like me to put it on the market, Mrs. Faulkner?”
“Yes, but not until I’m no longer Mrs. Faulkner, which shouldn’t be too long now.”
* * *
“All rise.”
Mr. Justice Baverstock entered his fiefdom for the last time in the case of the Crown v. Faulkner. He placed a thick red-leather folder marked EIIR on the bench in front of him, sat down, and adjusted his red robes before looking down on the court and waiting for everyone to settle. He placed a pair of half-moon spectacles on the end of his nose and nodded to the clerk.
“Will the prisoner please rise?”
Faulkner stood up and faced His Lordship. It was clear for all to see that he hadn’t slept the previous night.
The judge opened the red folder, looked down at his handwritten words, and began to deliver his judgment.
“There is no doubt in my mind, Mr. Faulkner, that you are a ruthless, unprincipled, and amoral man, who lacks any sense of decency or decorum, and who, because of your wealth and status, feels you are above the law. With this in mind, and remembering the seriousness of the offense, you are sentenced to serve six years in prison.”
Grace wanted to leap in the air, but somehow managed to control herself, while several of those around her could not. From the look on Sir Julian’s face it was clear that he did consider his daughter’s behavior appropriate, but didn’t comment.
“But, given the circumstances,” continued the judge once he’d regained everyone’s attention, “I have decided to suspend the sentence and fine you one million pounds, over and above any legal costs involved in this trial, which you will also bear.”
Faulkner wanted to leap in the air and cry hallelujah, although he was surprised to see his advocate didn’t appear to share his relief but continued to sit there, looking po-faced.
