| Welcome to Nikki And Helen. We hope you enjoy your visit. You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. Join our community! If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| Cleanup Time - The Nikki Wade Retrial; Bad Girls Judge John Deed crossover fic | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 22 2007, 07:08 AM (13,910 Views) | |
| richard | Oct 4 2007, 04:16 PM Post #91 |
|
Enhanced
|
Oh wow, the compliments are hugely appreciated. I am sure that you are devoting a lot of depth of understanding which is the ultimate compliment that could be paid. There is plenty more to come. |
![]() |
|
| Nikkis Only Luvver | Oct 4 2007, 06:18 PM Post #92 |
Out of Dorm
|
'There's plenty more to come' to quote Richard. Now that sounds good to me. Love reading your work Richard. Our two favourite ladies - Helen and Nikki and Judge John Deeds. What more could you want? Look forward to more Richard
|
![]() |
|
| solitasolano | Oct 4 2007, 06:42 PM Post #93 |
![]()
|
richard, I'm way behind on your story here, but have certainly enjoyed what I have read....great expansive take on the whole legal thing...At this rate, I can print your story out for my holiday or summer reading. Cheers, ss |
![]() |
|
| richard | Oct 5 2007, 07:28 AM Post #94 |
|
Enhanced
|
Your support , Nikki's Only Luvver and Solitasolano are greatly welcome, and I'm sure you'll appreciate both strands of this fic. This next piece features John Deed's nicely contemptuous view of Judge Jackson who originally tried Nikki and has a nicely romantic piece at the end. It is now the powers that be that are feeling the heat . I took some words Coope's reaction directly from the TV series to lend authenticity. Scene Twenty Three Those who hold the reins of power in their grasping, avaricious hands are fortunate to have a well tamed media that project images of them in the way they like to be seen. In their way, they are part of show business. Ordinary people are a different species. They panic, run round like headless chickens, curse and blaspheme and act in the most counter productive ways possible. Behind closed doors, the reality is markedly different. Certainly, the suave if not outright smarmy Neil Haughton was not behaving the way he did in a party political broadcast when he heard the news that the Wade appeal had come back to haunt him. “I can’t believe it,” he raged to the air while George was hard at work reading a particularly tricky compensation claim that was coming up in the civil court.” I’ve just heard that this lesbian cop killer who was set free on a sheer technicality has the cheek to appeal. If I had my way, I would introduce a bill that restrict the rights of appeal in certain cases where public opinion feels that it endangers law and order. Far too many people feel already that there are too many crackpot judges who haven’t learnt what the real world is. It’s all very well to say that ancient liberties need protecting, we have to get used to the twenty first century. I get plenty of letters from the public on this subject, believe you me and I wouldn’t say they’re not right.” George rolled her eyes in despair. She knew that where Neil said ‘public opinion’ he really meant the Daily Mail or Sun leader writers and the letter writers are ‘Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells.’ She could see that he was working himself up and raising his blood pressure dangerously. “Now calm down, darling. You know what the doctor said about the dangers of getting unduly stressed.” “I tell you somebody’s head is going to roll for this. Some nonentity in some poky little office let this one slip through the net……unless, of course, your ex husband is at the back of this. Yes, I can imagine the pleasure he would get from setting this one up. He’s always had it in for me.” “Don’t you think you’re getting somewhat OTT? Just relax, Neil you are really panicking,” snapped George. “Nonsense, George, I eat stress for breakfast. I’m just totally furious. This wretched appeal case belongs to my predecessor’s time. Why should this be hung round my neck? I wasn’t responsible for it in the first place.” At this point, Neil Haughton had suddenly remembered that he was the politician, supposedly in command of the situation. This assumption of identity brought out that finely tuned sense of demarcation and swift facility in shifting responsibility. “Have it your way but don’t keep going on about it. You’ve got to leave your worries behind you and get dressed for the party and I, for one, want to show off that dress you bought me.” “It did cost rather a lot,” chuckled Neil Haughton, his attention adroitly distracted by George.” You’re right. We need to let our hair down and enjoy ourselves. After all, haven’t we worked hard all our lives to get to where we are now?” One Monday morning, John was at his desk studying some particularly abstruse case law when Coope approached him. He noticed that very faint conspiratorial smile on her lips. “I’ve just been visiting the listings office, judge. There’s a case being prepared which is one that you would be very interested in.” John’s curiosity was easy to ignite and today was no exception. He laid his papers on one side. He mentally put the legal query to one side while Coope’s news demanded his immediate attention. “Tell me more, Coope.” “Can you remember the Nikki Wade appeal? The news is that she’s reappealing the sentence.” John beamed all over his face and his eyes blazed with life. All at once, he was possessed of the overwhelming urge to possess that case immediately. He vividly remembered discussing the case at the time with Jo. He had never really heeded her advice to mentally let go of the case. Judging by the way that all the details sprang to mind, his thoughts had merely gone underground. He even remembered that it was that out and out reactionary Judge Jackson who had been the original trial judge shortly before being quietly pensioned off to expend his energy hunting foxes and shooting pheasants. He had been hugely grateful that capital punishment had been abolished decades ago as that man would have reached for the black cap with relish. “That is splendid news. Of course the case should have judges who have a proper sense of justice and fair play.” Coope’s lips curved into a faint knowing smile at the judge’s obvious enthusiasm to muscle in on the case before she replied on a more serious note. “She certainly has my sympathy. The policeman concerned was about to rape her girlfriend. A friend of mine who I was in the army with wasn’t so lucky to have someone round to defend her. She never got over it. If this trial goes the way it should go, then a clean slate will tell men like him that they can’t get away with ruining women’s lives. Still I’m sure you’ll give her justice if you get the chance.” John raised his eyebrows. He knew that Coope, while being basically conventional in her outlook, had strong views on rape but it was surprising that her sympathy wasn’t bluntened by the killing of a policeman. It might have called for a mixed response. “Coope, you are terrible,” laughed John, knowing very well how he might have influenced her in her outlook over the years. She just smiled. She knew very well that a part of John’s mind was angling on how to secure a post on the court of appeal. John went back to his work but couldn’t settle down for quite some while despite his appearance of studious concentration. As the days and weeks passed, so did the bitter coldness and darkness of January and February. The days gradually lengthened even if the wind cut through Nikki and Helen to the bone the second they left their flat. Somehow it didn’t reach them any more than Nikki’s job had driven her to despair. There was a new sense of steely self-discipline about her that enabled her to get through one day at work after another. In this way, the pressure on Helen had eased. Together, they were set to do battle with whatever faced them. “Come on, Helen, it’s just about bearable outside,” Nikki suddenly called out one Saturday morning,” let’s have a walk on the park, say Regent’s Park.” It was like her to suddenly come up with the spontaneous ideas. Helen jumped at the chance as the vision of greenery and open spaces came into her mind. It was the quickest and easiest way of getting to the countryside. They both put on their warmest clothes, as the bright spring day only looked warm from the inside of their flat. Soon, they were bowling on through the built up traffic and finally parked their car within sight of the park. They walked rapidly past the line of privet hedges and found the entrance. Even though the trees were still bare and had yet to put on their finest greenery, the sight was glorious. They passed over a bridge and soon they were outside in the open air and the scattered handful of similar enthusiasts. In no time at all, they were dispersed in the vastness of the park that opened up around then. Helen slipped her arm round Nikki’s waist and she leant her head against her shoulder. The rhythms of their gentle walking moulded together and they both sensed that feeling of freedom that was normally held in by the frenetic hours of work. It seemed that the intensity of their love meant that they had spent a lifetime together. “It seems like we’ve known each other ages,” murmured Helen and felt the pressure of Nikki’s arm in return. This was life, as it should be lived. “We have, sweetheart. You’ve known me for two and a half years when I first came to Larkhall.” “Come on,” laughed Nikki,”we were a million miles part, you as the brand new suit and me as the archetypal hard case.” “Not so much that there wasn’t something stirring in me though I didn’t know it at the time,” came Helen’s soft, soulful tones. Though the cold bright wind chilled Nikki’s face, she was warmed up inside by Helen’s declaration of sexual desire. In their avoidance of talk about Larkhall, she had never known this. “You mean you fancied me from that far back, sweetheart.” “Looking back on it, I had all the reasons in the world to think that I was ‘improving your chances to make something of yourself.’ I know now that when I first gave you that copy of ‘Sophies World’ you looked pretty good to me from behind.” It was by chance that their feet had taken them to a small wooded area and a seat in the open glade so that they had come to the spot that their rising desire for each other. They turned to face each other and kissed deeply and longingly and gently caressed each other. All the time in the world passed them by and the sun smiled down on the two forms locked together. Time drifted lazily by and all the strife in the world could be forgotten. “This is an outside theatre doing Shakespeare this summer,” Nikki declared excitedly as they strolled onwards and quite by chance they came across the boarded up open-air theatre. Lights were dancing in her brown eyes ”We must come here when it’s summer.” “It isn’t so far off,” Helen replied dreamily. “The seasons can’t be stopped.” The conversation drifted away in a companionable silence. It was in this mood of dreamy content that Nikki could at last talk about the last appeal. The time felt right. “There’s so much difference between this time and last. I remember when we were going through it last time around, Helen. I was locked up in a cell and we had to pretend like we were just friends. There was of course the little dramas as me inadvertently setting off a prison riot and busting out of Larkhall to make up with you, dressed in a nurse’s uniform and a seriously bad fashion style blonde wig. Looking back on it all, it was that wig that scared me the most,” Nikki observed drolly. Helen burst out laughing at Nikki’s humour. This day more than any other, they found more to laugh and love about in life. This was what Nikki was saying in not so many words. It was a pretty good way of bolstering their defences. Whatever they had to face in the future, they were secure in themselves. “Look back at where we’ve come from, sweetheart. Can you remember the way back?” It was Nikki’s turn to laugh. There was this tenaciously organized streak in Helen that would not concede to absent-mindedness. She thought she could remember just where they had picked their way out into such open spaces. She hugged Helen with all the affection in the world. At last, there came the time when the cold finally drove them to retrace their steps to head back to the warmth of their flat. The day had taken them out of themselves and they felt so much the better for it. They certainly needed this golden moment when they got back to the grind of daily living. In this period of working and waiting, they kept in touch with Claire and her calming influence worked further wonders on them, both in further meetings and in socializing with her and Peter. Still more reassuring was that they would meet up with Jo Mills in whom they had placed their not easily won trust. |
![]() |
|
| Emms | Oct 5 2007, 10:07 PM Post #95 |
![]()
G2 landing
|
Richard, how is it you've got another chapter posted before I can even formulate fb for the 2 previous chapters? Love it. xoxo Emms |
|
I registered at G Wing and all I got was this lousy tshirt. “After my time at Larkhall, I deserve to take it easy for a long, long while. I’ve been there, done it, and worn the bloody T-shirt..."~ Helen in: Unfinished Business by Richard | |
![]() |
|
| FanFicCrazy | Oct 6 2007, 12:47 AM Post #96 |
Down the Block
|
Exceptional you write with such eloquence richard. Cheers
|
![]() |
|
| zena | Oct 6 2007, 02:06 AM Post #97 |
I said SIT IN THAT CHAIR
|
YES you do Richard. I second that.
|
![]() |
|
| LahbibLover | Oct 6 2007, 03:47 AM Post #98 |
|
I said SIT IN THAT CHAIR
|
I am so giddy over finding another scene to read. I am just gobsmacked by your writing Richard. The words just flow so smoothly. cheers, Brenda |
![]() |
|
| richard | Oct 6 2007, 01:15 PM Post #99 |
|
Enhanced
|
That's really lovely of you all. I'm grateful for your perseverence in following this fic which I wanted to develop and build up to the point where all the pieces will finally fit together. |
![]() |
|
| Emms | Oct 6 2007, 07:48 PM Post #100 |
![]()
G2 landing
|
hi Richard. I'm afraid my feedback is long overdue. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get back to it, 'cos I really do love this story lots! Okay so, Helen and Nikki's fight. Really well done and very believable (as fights go) I really felt for Nikki and her lashing out at Helen was sort of inevitable...like it was more her letting off steam than being really angry with Helen,. She just needed her space. And I really like the way you didn't reconcile them right away, because that's really how it happens most of the time; you have a fight and then the pair of you sort of stew in it for a while, each wrapped up in your own individual side of things--you're not really angry with each other, but you're not fully ready to kiss and make up either. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's a process, one you've captured perfectly. Helen's dream was a bit crazy--I was really scared for her by the end of it when Fenner appeared. That was a great way, Richard, of illustrating that Helen has fears of her own about the trial and going through all of it again. right then. Moving on to the next chapter. It's good that they paid a visit to Claire to sort of put to bed their worries about what could happen if Nikki lost. It put my mind (and more importantly their minds) at ease when jo made the comment that Nikki couldn't be charged twice for the same crime.
I liked that bit. I think Nikki was pretty impressed by Jo and Claire’s descriptions of John Deed's character. I was a bit worried, however, when talk turned to Nikki and Helen's relationship inside of Larkhall. I don't like the idea that Helen could get into trouble for what happened between she and Nikki. *bites nails* Great chapters, Richard! xoxo Emms |
|
I registered at G Wing and all I got was this lousy tshirt. “After my time at Larkhall, I deserve to take it easy for a long, long while. I’ve been there, done it, and worn the bloody T-shirt..."~ Helen in: Unfinished Business by Richard | |
![]() |
|
| richard | Oct 6 2007, 08:14 PM Post #101 |
|
Enhanced
|
That is absolutely great feedback, Emms, and I'm glad you think I got the Nikki Helen fight correct. I've written Nikki as having more self restraint and self control than she is normally portrayed but things had got to a pitch that it was the final straw. It's great that you find this scene credible and exactly why. I'm also incredibly glad that you interpreted the dream scene exactly right. In the next scene, Jo is politically acute in making absolutely sure of being prepared for any dirty tricks to be used against them. What is interesting is how Helen and Nikki react to this without a blink. It suggests that their experience of Larkhall have well prepared them for facing this trial and implies comparisons. And yes, I enjoyed writing that bit you quoted. |
![]() |
|
| richard | Oct 7 2007, 09:08 AM Post #102 |
|
Enhanced
|
The next part shows the establishment feeling the heat and laying their plans and, for the second part, I have woven in a chunk of Bad Girls Series 4 storyline. I must preface this with a chunk from a real news story today of the Brit Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, cranking up press speculation for a general election and 'bottling out' yesterday. In the plans laid, the Independent had this to say. "The fact that the Prime Minister's crack election team had not been aware that the nights drew in early in November, nor that the electoral roll was out of date, was bound to be greeted with incredulity among MPs." If I had written this in fanfic of establishment machinations, even I might have felt that I was pushing it but the reality?????? Anyway, enough of this diversion (?) and back to the story. Scene Twenty-Four By contrast with the quiet positivism elsewhere, Sir Ian and Lawrence James sat in stony silence in the ancient fortress of the Lord Chancellor’s Department. Sir Ian’s ears were still ringing from the repetitive ear bending that both Neil Haughton and the Lord Chancellor had given him. They weren’t interested in his problems, they just demanded that he achieved a favourable result . As the man in the hot seat, he was unusually jumpy and snappish as he talked to Lawrence James. “How on earth did this troublemaking lesbian have the cheek to reappeal her sentence? How and why did she get to do it?” Sir Ian demanded. The other man was stuck for answers and wasn’t sure whether or not the question was rhetorical. “I’m afraid I don’t know,” came the halting, lame reply. “You would have thought that the wretched woman would be only too glad to get her freedom. She ought to be keeping her nose clean, keeping herself out of trouble. So what or who is behind it? Is there some gay rights group behind the scenes that’s out to cause us trouble?” “I’m not exactly sure. This came as a complete bolt from out of the blue. The only thing we know is that Jo Mills is taking the case on.” “I might have known that she’d be at the back of it. Now I definitely get the feeling that there’s some conspiracy going on.” The two men brooded darkly. It was a pity that libertarian groups and like-minded individuals of all political complexions couldn’t have witnessed this scene. It would have greatly heartened them to see how paranoid the Establishment are about mysterious groups and individuals somewhere out there in some suburban street. What scared them was what their sheer lack of knowledge of what they might be up against. Being used to conspiring secretly, they imagine that opposing forces do the same. Their authoritarianism grew like an addiction, measured by their increasing tendency to amass knowledge and secrets to itself and start moving towards a twenty-four seven surveillance culture. These tendencies were a demonstration of their collective insecurity, not of their power. “You don’t mind me asking but what was the reasoning behind the terms of the original appeal judgment?” “We wanted to appear magnanimous without letting that woman totally off the hook. Once their infernal solicitor had dug up damaging information that would make the CPS and the police look vindictive in the initial trial hearing, we had to go for a damage limitation strategy,” admitted Sir Ian tersely. He hated to admit that his sophisticated strategy had run off its track. “The whole thing is an awkward embarrassment. There are a number of controversial cases that are coming up for hearing right now. We could do without this case that we had thought was done and dusted months ago,” volunteered Lawrence James, somewhat unwisely. “All right, all right. I suppose it doesn’t do any good in flapping like wet hens about it. We’d better come up with a strategy to handle this delicate situation,” came the very irritated reply. “ If this goes wrong, every extremist pressure group will climb on the bandwagon. We need to be sure that this appeal goes nowhere.” “Since Huntley is excluded from hearing the fresh appeal, we need this trial in a safe pair of hands. Who do you recommend?” demanded Sir Ian snappishly. “Joseph Channing is the obvious candidate. He is no bleeding heart liberal who will let sentiment get in the way of a favourable outcome,” pronounced Lawrence James confidently, trying to retrace his diplomatic blunder. “I was a bit disappointed with him over the Partridge case. I was sure that his intervention with Deed would secure us a lenient sentence for the young man.” Sir Ian spoke in puzzled and mournful tones. He had known Joseph Channing for years and expected better of him. “Weren’t you rather optimistic in hoping he would bring Deed round. As his ex father in law whose only daughter was involved in a messy divorce from Deed, the man would be hardly susceptible to an approach from him. Joseph Channing has always had hard words for Deed over the years. Anyway, for this trial, we need someone with a sharp mind and plenty of natural authority. We have the ideal candidate in Joseph Channing,” Lawrence James persisted with the tone of voice of a second hand car salesman sensing the deal to be within his grasp. “That seems sound to me,” Sir Ian said, his spirits brightening.”…and who do you suggest as wingers?” “Monty Everard comes to mind. His principles are unwavering and won’t be pushed around in court. Besides they get on well together and make a natural team. I have checked with them and they are both available for the expected time slot.” “Hmm, and what about the third member?” came Sir Ian’s cautious reply. He couldn’t think of an obvious candidate. “There we have a problem. I cannot find anyone who has either the time or the ability for a very sensitive trial. There is a certain nervousness amongst the brethren in picking up what may be a poisoned chalice.” “So where does this leave us? I would rather this case doesn’t hang around too long as there is already pressure on me for definite arrangements.” “I have one idea which may be a little risky but that may pay off….” Lawrence James said in a hesitant fashion. Sir Ian looked sharply at him “And what might this bright idea be?” “What about Deed? He is available and, much though I hate to admit it, he has the ability and isn’t afraid of controversial cases….” “That’s because he causes controversy,” snapped Sir Ian petulantly.” He would find controversy in a traffic violation.” “….but the advantage is that the trial is in Joseph Channing’s hands with Monty Everard’s worthy assistance. Joseph can keep him under his wing, powerless as a very new and inexperienced winger. It will also keep him out of trouble in cases on his own. There are a couple of tricky cases in the offing.” Sir Ian pondered the dilemma very thoughtfully. When he weighed the balance of risks, he thought that there was something in the other man’s subtle plan. Deed had risen fast up the judicial ladder and even his priggish values might take second place to this tempting morsel, with the implicit promise of a seat on the Appellate Bench in the long run. “I think you have the ideal solution, Lawrence. I’ll have a word to the Lord Chancellor that we have a sound strategy in place. I’ll tell you what he thinks of it and, most likely, we’ll set the wheels in motion.” Of course, he hadn’t promised his subordinate who would get the credit for the plan but his position of responsibility required the odd perk. In the meantime, Donald Frobisher had been doing some thinking. He wanted to know a bit more background on this Nikki Wade, what she was doing right now. He picked up the phone and spoke to his solicitor for him to do the running around. That wasn’t his job, he reasoned. He did the theatrics in court and check up the case law. Solicitors were there to do the legwork on his instructions. This was how things went in his life. . The phone rang in the wing governor’s office at G Wing, Larkhall. Seated behind the desk wasn’t the blue suited figure of Jim Fenner or the plump figure of Sylvia Hollamby. It was Karen Betts, dressed again in her favourite black suit who picked up the phone. “Karen Betts here. How can I help you?” “I wanted to talk to you for some information that would help our enquiries?” drawled a Scottish voice who reminded her, in its presumptive tone, of the hated D I Sullivan who had carried out a heavy handed investigation into the suspicious death of Renee Williams. Wrong person, wrong timing, she thought, breaking the pencil that she was holding between her slim fingers. Instead of being pushy, this man was trying in his crude way, to charm her. Life had not treated her kindly after Helen had left Larkhall behind her. First, she had been raped by Jim Fenner, the man she thought she’d known, whom she’d defended against Helen Stewart’s accusations and then she was let down by her boss, Neil Grayling, who’d talked her out of pressing criminal charges. She’d just come back from the holiday she was supposed to have shared with Mark Waddle who’d transferred to another prison up north after she’d split up with him. She’d been greeted by Ritchie Atkins with a rose on her first day back, declaring his undying love for her. It seemed that the ‘bad boy image’ and their monumental shag hid a softer side to the man. He at least seemed sincere although, just to cover her back, she was going to see Neil Grayling and fill him in on the details later on today. Just when she was on the point of leaving for her holiday, she had picked up a letter from her insurance company giving her the bad news of the claim made against her. Running into the back of Helen’s car was the result of one of those stupid moments of inattention, one she could do without and which she would pay heavily for. She’d driven round with a crumpled front end on her pride and joy and had only just picked it up from the garage before going to work. Against these specific events lay an emotional backdrop of gloom, which suffused her thoughts, that everyone in whom she’d placed any trust in had let her down and she’d turned against those whom she ought to have known better to trust. Ritchie had come into her life at just the right time but that didn’t stop her from being in her edgiest mood imaginable, especially as she was due to go through face the embarrassment in telling a certainly angry Yvonne about her affair with Yvonne’s son. More than ever, she vowed to play things by the book. “Who are you?” she asked sharply. “I am Mr. Woolley of Robinson and Fletcher. Solicitors. I would be very grateful if you could help me out with some enquiries.” “Why do you think I’m going to be in a position to help you?” “Come on, you’re wing governor, you’re most likely to know what’s going down here.” “I might be the wrong wing governor for all you know. Can you please come to the point?” “I have a direct interest in the welfare of one of your ex prisoners, Nikki Wade. She was released after an appeal that made all the news. You do remember her, don’t you?” “Yeah, I remember her,” Karen said guardedly. “I was wondering if you’d heard from her since her release. There’s a distant relation who’s left her a legacy and I’m trying to trace her whereabouts. I was wondering if you might be able to help us out.” “Unfortunately, we don’t possess the information. The way that prisons are these days, we are hard put to look after the ones in our care, let alone ex-convicts.” “That’s unfortunate. She will miss out on a lot of money if we can’t trace her. You won’t have seen her out and about at all and got to know what she’s doing with her life by any chance?” Instantly, alarm bells rang in Karen’s mind. This man was overdoing the casual enquiry line by a mile or more. This was what he was really after, not some act of benevolence. Her mind drifted back to the car accident. Helen had been bloody angry with her but no more than she deserved. Nikki had acted in a mature controlled fashion and her words rang in her ear even as this solicitor tried to cajole her. ‘If you’ve got anything about you, you’ll carry on where we left off and look after the women. You owe it to them big time.’ She might have related this story to the man and let him draw whatever conclusions he cared to choose. However, she was determined to honour her debt even if neither Nikki nor Helen would know of it. It was the act that mattered. “I’m sorry that I can’t help you that way either. I agree that it would be a shame for her to miss out on a legacy but I’m sure there are ways round this. You could place an advert in the paper, for instance,” Karen replied smoothly. It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest he put the request in writing but you could never tell who would open the letter. “Well, thanks for your time. Maybe I’ll take you up on your suggestion,” he said smoothly. Inwardly, he was cursing this awkward bitch and not looking forward to letting Donald Frobisher know the bad news. He wasn’t looking forward to the prospect as that man could be bloody rude in his stuck up, superior lordly fashion. Ah well, he sighed to himself, the firm would get a fat fee for the work he was doing. Nikki and Helen were blissfully ignorant of all this. If only the phone call had come some weeks earlier, either Sylvia Hollamby or Jim Fenner would have picked up the call. Their world would have been so much different. |
![]() |
|
| richard | Oct 9 2007, 07:09 AM Post #103 |
|
Enhanced
|
The scene between the three trial judges reminds me irresistably of a male version of Zandra's party (without the tragedy) and has the nice irony of how all the judges have ended up in John's camp, unknown to the establishment. It is backed up by a Nikki and Helen scene. Scene Twenty-Five Monty Everard was a curious member of the judiciary. His manner was something of an English bulldog and could so be easily pictured as wearing the traditional red coats, jodhpurs and boots of the fox hunting fraternity. He was solid in appearance, manner and politics who could be touchy, prickly and obstinate in his views. However beneath this conservative exterior, there was a side of him that he had only half suspected. He didn’t like being pushed around by anyone and could quite easily take offence at left wing political correctness as much as at an arrogant political elite who considered him as a mere functionary. Above all else, he loathed being taken for a ride and could make a very bad enemy. He had been fooled by Neil Haughton’s smooth assurances that he had no intention of restricting the powers of the judiciary. He had believed it because he wanted to believe it. He did not want to face the thought that the traditional freedoms of Old England were gradually being whittled away, bit-by-bit. Nevertheless, he was a man who took his own council, watched and waited. The train of thought was beginning to penetrate his senses and made him feel more and more uncomfortable. What began to perturb him was the easy assumption by Sir Ian that he was a ‘safe pair of hands.’ It wasn’t a great stretch of the imagination to think that, more and more, he was being taken for granted. He began to take a close interest in the judicial guidelines from the Home Office that were taking up more and more space in his in tray. It never used to be like this, he began to be in the habit of saying. He found that snatches of Deed’s utterances over the last few years began to echo back in his waking memory, which he had heard at the time and dismissed as just his typical left wing crankish conspiracy theories. Little by little, he started to become less certain in his rejection of that point of view. “Whatever happened to the separation of powers between the executive and judiciary?” he heard himself saying. As a rule, he and other judges held court over the barristers, witnesses and juries as before and nothing seemed to change except that he became more and more conscious of looking over his shoulder. He and other judges worked alone and their only sense of the collective were the cases that came to general attention amongst the brethren. Opinions cast about this or that trial were the mechanism by which each judge became centred, aware of his place in the grand scheme of trials. While all judges tended to be prima donnas as a result of their position in the grand scheme of things, they also needed to belong to a wider calling. The term, ”brethren” summed up this feeling of community, even if it had had to come up to date and become partly sororial. That being said, it did not stop the petty quarrels and differences between then, Deed being at the centre of these differences because of his outsider status. Despite his immaculate manners, the tag ‘baker’s son’, a description of his humble beginnings, had stuck to him in his early days. Afterwards, he gained a reputation of intellectual brilliance and political recklessness, which attracted mixed feelings of envy, exasperation and scorn. These feelings had been shared by Monty except for a growing undertow of suspicion that the man may be right all along. This explains why, when Joseph Channing phoned him and told him the news about the forthcoming appeal hearing, he went along with the suggestion that they had a get together in his chambers after the afternoon session. He was willing to give it a go, keep an open mind and see which way it went. He made his way to Joseph Channing’s chambers a fraction before John and, there they were, like three new boys on the first day of term, immediately sizing each other up, Monty being particularly watchful. “Before we get down to business, I wondered if we could have a preliminary drink. I suggest my malt whisky.” There was a murmur of agreement. Joseph Channing’s choice of refreshments was well known to be of the highest quality. He produced shining glasses and poured out equal measures. “I suppose you are wondering why the need to get together in the first place when we are all kept busy enough,” ventured Joseph. “It seems a very practical idea since the three of us might have differing approaches to conducting trials. We need to work together harmoniously. I have the least experience of the three of us of this level of justice.” Monty couldn’t help but be impressed by John’s unassuming tones. He was making a visible effort to be tactful and constructive, qualities not normally associated with him. “There might be an argument to consider that ‘it will be all right on the night.’ I am acting as ‘devil’s advocate,’” he responded, just to test the water. “As flattering as the thought is, it might not be the wisest course of action. We are, after all, hardy individualists, accustomed to work alone in the judge’s throne and, before that, as barristers, where we have learnt to develop the art of performance. I’m not disparaging our profession, merely describing it. Our experience of working collectively is not great, at least mine isn’t, and we have each grown accustomed to developing our own ideas. For this reason, Joseph’s suggestion of a preliminary get together seems very sensible.” Joseph Channing beamed at John. From first impressions, the man’s idea of teamwork sounded very splendid. “My thought entirely. Well, this has the makings of a pleasant social occasion as well as necessary business.” Monty nodded assent and sipped the fine whisky very appreciatively. A mellow feeling was beginning to spread through him and it was not just the whisky. “You have a reputation amongst barristers of taking over the line of cross examination on either side of the house. Are you sure that you won’t give way to temptation, John?” Joseph asked with an amused gleam in his eye. “I would not class resisting temptations as a virtue that I am overburdened with. In this case, it is more the case that there are occasions when my desire for the truth, in asking the critical question that isn’t asked outruns my respect for due procedure. While some barristers are only concerned about appearing before me because they do a slipshod job, I must admit that I do irritate Jo Mills from time to time.” “How do you know, John?” “Because she has asked me on more than one occasion to leave the questioning to her. The opposing barrister invariably agrees with her.” Monty chuckled. It showed John in a more appealing, whimsical light than he had imagined the man. He relaxed back on the sofa and was content that the dialogue lazily ambled its way along. “I think it would be wrong at this stage in speculating on what arguments might come up though I’m sure we have our own thoughts on the case…...” “Agreed,” pronounced John “……but I take it that we examine the case totally impartially without fear or favour. If we arrive at a verdict that threatens to embarrass the government, that is their problem, not ours.” The three of them felt all the more determined and resolute in talking this way. They buoyed each other up. “I have one suggestion that might help,” John offered helpfully. “Let’s hear it,” Joseph insisted. “However, if any one of us is unhappy with the way the case is being handled, we should agree to adjourn and sort out any differences behind closed doors rather than in the full glare of public, if not press attention. This is only a precaution.” “A very sound idea, John,” Joseph pronounced to mutual satisfaction. “Are there any other developments which we ought to be watchful for?” Monty asked. “My experience is of controversial cases. I have found that Ian and his sidekick, Lawrence James, regularly favour me with their presence to report back to their masters and are very generous with their unasked for advice in my chambers. I feel that this case is politically sensitive and we should prepare ourselves for the possibility of being leaned on.” “Good Lord, I’ve never had that experience but, yes, I see what you mean.” “We are, I take it, not faint- hearted so as to be deflected in following our principles in case they are inconvenient to a weasel like Haughton.” “Damn second hand car salesman type,” grumbled Monty.” He had the cheek to come up to me in his oily fashion and congratulate me on being amenable to the wishes of the Home Office. He actually assumed I’d take it as a compliment.” “That sounds typical of the man,” agreed John. “Needless to say, that has started me seriously rethinking my position. Ian has kept harping on about me being a ‘safe pair of hands,” Monty sneered.” You’re fortunate, John, in being regarded as highly unsafe.” “Nonsense,” boomed Joseph.” John has worked hard at it over the years. I’m willing to pick up a few tips from him. By the way, did either of you drive down here,” Joseph Channing asked with a conspiratorial leer. “I came by taxi,” John grinned. “So did I. Your hospitality is legendary,” chuckled Monty. “So that means that none of us have to worry greatly about how much of this malt whisky and I won’t have to drink it on my own,” Joseph laughed gleefully. The three of them laughed heartily and settled down to a pleasant evening drinking and socializing. Their behaviour was that of three naughty public schoolboys sneaking off for illicit pleasures and mentally thumbing their noses at the humourless, priggish prefects enforcing petty discipline. The bitter winds of winter gave way to March squalls and sudden showers and, most of all lighter days and nights. It was fortunate that Nikki had spent time in prison on gardening duties or she would never have noticed the passing of the seasons. In this time of the year as the first shoots were starting to push their shoots to the surface, she felt a sense of life’s renewal. The days were passing and the time was ticking ever onwards for the trial to take place. Both women had experience enough not to get preoccupied about the trial when there was nothing they could do about it. They were just driving home after a normal day’s work. “I’ve been thinking, Helen. I ought to warn my parents that there’s a trial in the offing. It would be a bit rude just to let them read or hear about it in the press now that we’ve mended our fences.” “I’d agree with that one, Nikki. I just regret that I’ve got a father that’s several hundred miles away in physical distance and a million miles emotionally,” Helen said in disconsolate tones. “How come?” “He’s a Presbyterian minister who was widowed when I was little. For all his good works in the community, he’s never turned his attention to the one ‘good cause’ that was right under his nose, me. He’s never appreciated anything positive I’ve done in my life, pursuing a career in the civil service, getting engaged…”Helen replied with heartfelt bitterness. Nikki has noticed that Helen had never talked about her family. This hadn’t been unusual in her own experience, as she hadn’t done so till recently. “Jesus, Helen, that sounds a total downer. By any conventional standards, you’ve always done the right thing with your life.” “You’re making the mistake of thinking logically, Nikki,” Helen replied in a more even tone of voice. That isn’t the way that a Presbyterian minister thinks and feels. Try to picture a middle aged man who’s twisted up inside with religious guilt who views simple pleasures with suspicion. Above all else, he can never express his feelings simply and honestly. That’s something that I learned from you, which he hasn’t a bloody clue about. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about him.” Nikki shrugged her shoulders and let it go. It was clear that Helen was carrying the same sort of burden. By contrast, she had emotionally let her parents go a long time ago and, by some mysterious process, they had come back together. It was plain to her that Helen had never really made that emotional break. When they got home, Helen picked up the morning post. Laying aside the usual junk mail, she focused in on a square shaped letter whose wring stirred ancient memories. She ripped it open and stared at it for a long time. The expression on her face was understandably unfathomable as Helen had great problems in getting to grips with her own feelings. Her childhood upbringing in distant Scotland reached out of the depths of her psyche to try and claim her even as much as she intellectually rejected it. “Here, you take a look at it,” Helen said tonelessly, dropping it on the side. My dear Helen Today is a busy time of the year as I have to prepare myself for the round of service round Easter time but I thought it my duty to keep in touch with you, if only from afar. Life in the further reaches of Scotland away from the busy metropolis has carried on much as it has ever done with only a few minor changes in the rhythm of life. The appeal fund to restore the church tower to its former glory is proceeding well. As you will remember, the upkeep of a country church is an onerous burden but one which I will continue to shoulder. The church has stood these many centuries and will continue to do so. I will have need at some check the slates on the vicarage roof but otherwise it continues to withstand the forces of nature. The snow is still lying on the hills in places and the weather blows cold. I manage to continue to visit those of my parishioners who are troubled in spirit. It is my duty to do so. You will, of course, remember Mrs McDonald who lives at the bottom of the lane. Life in the big city may have its superficial comforts and pleasures but there is something reassuring about the Spartan life in the Scottish hillsides where I was brought up many years ago. I hope and pray that one day you will finally settle down as, you will find in time, none of us are getting any younger. I trust that your work in the prison service will prosper though I have never quite understood just why you chose that career path in the first place. With love Your father “Not very personal, it it?” Nikki commented dryly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Come on, you’d better phone your dad. After all, you’ll be more in the firing line from the press, just like you said.” Nikki’s father came over one Saturday after rather a curt conversation on the phone. He was not happy that his daughter was going to drag his family onto the front pages of the press once again. He suggested coming over to talk the matter over. “So your face is about to be spread across the nation’s newspapers once again, Nicola? Quite frankly, I’m not happy about that. What’s the point of going back to court after you’ve got your freedom? That doesn’t seem a very wise decision to my way of thinking,” Nikki’s father pronounced in stern disapproving tones. This immediately wound Nikki up who was on the point of flying off the handle. Somehow, she veered away from reenacting her battles with him when she was in her teens. Instead, she gained access to a fluent reasoning mode of thinking. “Listen dad, the last thing I am or ever will be is a headline junkie. I’d spent thirty odd years of my life just getting along quietly and making something of a success of my life. The last thing I ever wanted or needed was some policeman with very twisted ideas about my then partner. When I got my freedom that seemed enough at the time. The problem is that in leaving my club days behind for the benefit of my relationship, I’m forever condemned to a second rate job. Just imagine that you were transferred to the army and found yourself a sergeant major instead of a naval captain. Just how would that make you feel?” “Hmmn, you have got a point there.” “And on top of this, some idiot has blocked my passport application. My barrister feels that there may be a hidden agenda, that I’m being punished to somehow to pay me back for daring to win my case on appeal.” “That sounds like a crank conspiracy theory,” Nikki’s father retorted in dismissive tones. “You’re talking about a barrister, dad, a very level headed woman whose job is to be absolutely objective about my case. Think about it.” “Whatever the reason for your passport being turned down, I do feel that you’ve been treated very shabbily. After all, an Englishman has the inalienable right to travel the world, wherever he might go.” “Man?” “Generically speaking, Nicola. You must realize that the English language has an unfortunate lack of distinction between mankind and the sub species, men. Don’t confuse the two,” Nikki’s father came back strongly with a smug expression on his face, knowing very well that this was one up to him in his lifelong battle with his daughter for the last word on the subject. Helen looked on in amusement and wished that she could have the same affectionately free and easy relationship with her family that Nikki had with hers. “All right, dad, I’ll concede that one.” “So what help do you want from me, Nicola? That’s what it’s all about.” Nikki was temporarily flummoxed by that question. She was still used to thinking in terms of parental disapproval. “Just your approval and understanding. I don’t suppose you’ll be up for chaining yourself to the railings outside the court of appeal.” Her father chuckled at Nikki’s droll humour but the look in his eye took in the serious element of her remarks. “What would my friends in the Navy club make of me being on the front page as well as you……?” Nikki smiled at the prospect of her oh so respectable father committing such an act and noted that he hadn’t precluded such active support. She didn’t know how to feel if he did come to lend his support. She noticed the broad grin, which spread across Helen’s face and was glad for her. “…..well, I’m not one hundred per cent convinced of everything you say, just why you have to throw yourself on the tender mercy of the court but if it means that you get what you deserve out of life, far be it for me to stand in your way. Yes, you have my approval. I am grateful that you’ve done me the courtesy in telling me in advance. I appreciate that. One last question, do you have confidence in your barrister?” “Absolutely, dad. She strongly believes in me and knows everything there is to know about me.” “Well, that’s settled then. I take it that Helen will be keeping you company at the trial. All I can wish you is good fortune.” Nikki shook his hand. It was a novelty for her to get parental approval in advance |
![]() |
|
| ali baba | Oct 9 2007, 09:28 AM Post #104 |
G2 landing
|
Another good update Richard, many thanks for the frequency of them. |
![]() |
|
| Lizi | Oct 9 2007, 09:56 AM Post #105 |
|
G3 Curtain and Duvet!
|
This is sooo good Richard! Thanx for sharing it with us, please update soon
|
![]() SiMoNe LaHbIb Is MiNt! | |
![]() |
|
![]() Join the millions that use us for their forum communities. Create your own forum today. Learn More · Sign-up for Free |
|
| Go to Next Page | |
| « Previous Topic · R / 18 rated On Going Stories · Next Topic » |








Love it.


8:47 AM Jul 11