Free Rumpole and the Primrose Path by John Mortimer

me.’
    ‘She showed you the cleaners’ estimate?’
    ‘Nothing about the cleaners.’
    ‘Well, what do you say it was then?’
    ‘It was mainly about custard.’
    ‘Custard?’ The man seemed, for a moment, totally mystified. ‘Why on earth should I be e-mailing our Marketing and Administration Director on the subject of custard?’
    ‘Suppose you tell me.’
    ‘I have absolutely no idea.’
    ‘Could it be because you want to pour the stuff over her naked body?’
    At which our Head of Chambers gave an earth-shaking groan, sank his face into his hands, called several times on his God and began, with every sign of panic, to activate his mouse in an agitated fashion while exclaiming, ‘What an idiot I am! That’s what I did! That’s exactly what I did! What an idiot!’
    I didn’t quarrel with the description, but had to ask the question, ‘What did you do, exactly?’
    ‘It was a note for my case. Part of the letter the stalker was going to send to Jenny. I was preparing my cross-examination. I must have pressed the wrong button! What an idiot!’
    ‘You mean you were going to cross-examine your stalker about the new office cleaners? That might have taken him by surprise.’
    ‘Worse than that. I’ve made that terrible suggestion to Luci Gribble.’
    ‘Don’t worry.’ Rumpole the conciliator moved in to settle the case. ‘I don’t think she found it so terrible. Curious. Perhaps unusual. She felt that it showed, at least, that you cared.’
    ‘Cared?’
    ‘I mean, that you were interested.’
    ‘Of course I’m interested in Luci Gribble. She’s a first-class business woman.’
    ‘I think she wants you to see her as rather more than that.’
    ‘I’ll ring her immediately and tell her I made a horrible mistake.’
    ‘Take my advice, Ballard. Don’t do that. Whatever you do, don’t tell her that it was all a horrible mistake.’
    ‘Good heavens, Rumpole, why ever not?’
    ‘Because she loves you, Ballard. She has tender feelings for you. She believes now that you have tender feelings for her.’
    ‘Does pouring custard show tender feelings?’
    ‘In certain circumstances it may. Yes. So what effect is it going to have on her if you tell her that your amorous message was just a horrible mistake?’
    ‘What effect are you suggesting, Rumpole?’
    ‘Devastation. Bitterness. Gloom. She’ll forget her flip charts and muddle up her target figures and Administration and Marketing will fall into complete chaos.’
    ‘So what shall I do?’
    I was, I have to confess, touched. Ballard the Head of Chambers had become Ballard the client, anxious, indeed terrified, begging his brief to find a solution to an impossible case.
    ‘Tell her you love her. And you couldn’t resist telling her what you’d like to do with or without custard. But tell her that you’re married to Matey and any hint of scandal would seriously damage the Chambers image. So you’ll both just have to be extraordinarily brave about it. That way you won’t come out as an idiot who can’t manage his e-mail and she’ll still feel loved.’
    ‘Rumpole,’ Soapy Sam still seemed sunk in gloom, ‘I can’t possibly tell her that.’
    ‘Can’t you? Why ever not?’
    ‘Because it’s not true.’
    ‘Perhaps not, but at least it’s kind.’
    ‘All the same, I can’t see myself saying it. I’d get it all wrong. It wouldn’t be convincing.’
    ‘What you need,’ I had to tell him, ‘is a decent barrister to represent you.’
    ‘Oh, Rumpole.’ The Head of Chambers’ face lit up with gratitude. ‘Would you really take it on?’
     
    The next morning the bullring was, once again, bathed in sunshine. The Judge beamed on all of us, but kept his warmest smiles for Marcia Endersley in the witness box. She stood there, her white lock adding, it seemed, a sort of elegance and distinction to the proceedings, and described her voluntary work for Urchins Anonymous and her practice of taking groups of deprived, perhaps homeless