Best Kept Secret Page 11

  A tall, elegantly dressed man with a head of silver hair entered the courtroom. Even before he’d taken the witness stand, he’d given the favourable impression Sir Cuthbert had planned. Once the witness had sworn the oath, Sir Cuthbert gave him a warm smile.

  ‘Mr Pym, will you please state your name and occupation for the court record.’

  ‘My name is Michael Pym, and I am the senior surgeon at Guy’s Hospital in the City of London.’

  ‘How long have you held that position?’

  ‘Sixteen years.’

  ‘So you are a man with a great deal of experience in your field. Indeed, one might say—’

  ‘I accept that Mr Pym is an expert witness, Sir Cuthbert. Get on with it,’ said the judge.

  ‘Mr Pym,’ said Sir Cuthbert, recovering quickly, ‘would you please tell the court, with all your considerable experience, what a patient can expect to go through during the last week of his or her life when suffering from such a painful and debilitating disease as cancer?’

  ‘It can vary, of course, but the vast majority of patients will spend long periods of time in a semi-conscious or unconscious state. In their waking moments they are often aware that their life is ebbing away, but apart from that they can lose all sense of reality.’

  ‘Would you think it possible for a patient in this state of mind to make an important decision on a complex legal matter, such as the signing of a will?’

  ‘No, I would not,’ replied Pym. ‘Whenever I require a medical consent form to be signed under such circumstances, I make sure it is done some time before the patient reaches that condition.’

  ‘No more questions, m’lud,’ said Sir Cuthbert, resuming his seat.

  ‘Mr Pym,’ said the judge, leaning forward, ‘are you saying there are no exceptions to this rule?’

  ‘The exception proves the rule, m’lud.’

  ‘Quite so,’ responded the judge. Turning to Mr Todd, he asked, ‘Do you have any questions for this witness?’

  ‘I most certainly do, m’lud,’ said Mr Todd, rising from his place. ‘Mr Pym, did you ever come across Lady Barrington, either socially or professionally?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘So you haven’t had the chance to study her case history?’

  ‘Of course not. She was not my patient, so that would be a breach of the Medical Council’s code of conduct.’

  ‘So you never met Lady Barrington, and you are not familiar with her case?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘So it’s quite possible, Mr Pym, that she could be the exception that proves the rule?’

  ‘Possible, but highly improbable.’

  ‘No further questions, m’lud.’

  Sir Cuthbert smiled as Mr Todd sat down.

  ‘Will you be calling any other expert witnesses Sir Cuthbert?’ enquired the judge.

  ‘No, m’lud, I feel I have made my point. However, in your bundle of evidence I have placed three written statements for your consideration from equally eminent members of the medical profession. If either you, m’lud, or Mr Todd feel they should appear before the court, they are all on hand and available to do so.’

  ‘That’s good of you, Sir Cuthbert. I have read all three statements, and they confirm Mr Pym’s opinion. Mr Todd, do you wish to call any of these witnesses, or indeed all three of them?’

  ‘That will not be necessary, m’lud,’ said Todd. ‘Unless of course any of them knew Lady Barrington personally, or were familiar with her case.’

  The judge glanced at Sir Cuthbert, who shook his head. ‘I have no further witnesses, m’lud.’

  ‘Then you may call your first witness, Mr Todd,’ said the judge.

  ‘Thank you, m’lud. I call Mr Kenneth Langbourne.’

  Mr Langbourne could not have been cut from more different cloth to Mr Pym. He was short, and a couple of buttons were missing from his waistcoat, which suggested either that he had recently put on some weight, or that he wasn’t married. And either the few tufts of hair left on his head had a will of their own, or he didn’t possess a comb.

  ‘Would you please state your name and occupation.’

  ‘My name is Kenneth Langbourne, and I am the senior surgeon at the Bristol Royal Infirmary.’

  ‘How long have you held that position, Mr Langbourne?’

  ‘For the past nine years.’

  ‘And were you the surgeon in charge of Lady Barrington’s case while she was at the Bristol Royal Infirmary?’

  ‘Yes, I was. She was referred to me by Dr Raeburn, her family GP.’

  ‘Am I right in saying that after carrying out several tests on Lady Barrington, you confirmed her family doctor’s diagnosis of breast cancer, and informed her that she had only a few weeks to live?’

  ‘Yes, it is one of a surgeon’s more unenviable tasks to have to inform patients of a terminal prognosis. It’s even harder when the patient in question is an old friend.’

  ‘And can you tell his lordship how Lady Barrington reacted to this news?’

  ‘Stoical is the word I would use to describe her. And once she’d accepted her fate, she displayed a determination that suggested she had something important to do, and hadn’t a moment to lose.’

  ‘But surely, Mr Langbourne, she must have been exhausted from the continual pain she was suffering, and drowsy as a result of her medication?’

  ‘She certainly slept for long periods, but when she was awake, she was perfectly capable of reading The Times, and whenever visitors came to see her, it was often they who left exhausted.’

  ‘How do you explain this, Mr Langbourne?’

  ‘I can’t. All I can tell you is that it’s sometimes quite amazing how a human being will respond once they accept that their time is limited.’

  ‘Based on your knowledge of the case, Mr Langbourne, do you consider that Lady Barrington would have been capable of understanding a complex legal document such as a will, and of putting her signature to it?’

  ‘I can’t see why not. During her time at the hospital she wrote several letters, and indeed she asked me to witness her signature on her will in the presence of her solicitor.’

  ‘Is that a task you carry out regularly?’

  ‘Only if I’m confident that the patient is fully aware of what they are signing. Otherwise I would refuse to do so.’

  ‘But on this occasion, you were satisfied that Lady Barrington was fully aware of what she was doing?’

  ‘Yes, I was.’

  ‘No further questions, m’lud.’

  ‘Sir Cuthbert, do you wish to question this witness?’

  ‘I have only one question, m’lud,’ said Sir Cuthbert. ‘Mr Langbourne, how long did Lady Barrington live after you’d witnessed the signature on her will?’

  ‘She died later that night.’

  ‘Later that night,’ repeated Sir Cuthbert. ‘So, just a matter of hours?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No more questions, m’lud.’

  ‘Will you call your next witness, Mr Todd.’

  ‘Yes, m’lud. I call Mr Desmond Siddons.’

  Siddons entered the courtroom as if it was his front parlour, and delivered the oath like a seasoned professional.

  ‘Would you please state your name and occupation?’

  ‘My name is Desmond Siddons. I am the senior partner of Marshall, Baker and Siddons, and I have been the Barrington family’s solicitor for the past twenty-three years.’

  ‘Let me begin by asking you, Mr Siddons, if you were responsible for executing the earlier will, which Sir Giles contends was in fact Lady Barrington’s final testament.’

  ‘I was, sir.’

  ‘And how long ago was that?’

  ‘Just over a year before Lady Barrington’s death.’

  ‘And did Lady Barrington later get in touch to let you know that she wished to write a new will?’

  ‘She did indeed, sir. Just a few days before she died.’

  ‘And how did the latest will, the one that is the subject
of this dispute, differ from the one executed by you just over a year before?’

  ‘All the bequests to charities, her staff, her grandchildren and her friends remained unaltered. In fact there was only one significant change in the whole document.’

  ‘And what was that, Mr Siddons?’

  ‘That the bulk of the Harvey estate was no longer to be passed to her son, Sir Giles Barrington, but to her two daughters, Mrs Harold Clifton and Miss Grace Barrington.’

  ‘Let me be absolutely clear about this,’ said Mr Todd. ‘With the exception of the one change, a significant change I concede, the earlier document remained intact?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘What state of mind was Lady Barrington in when she asked you to make this one significant change to her will?’

  ‘M’lud, I must object,’ said Sir Cuthbert, leaping up from his place. ‘How can Mr Siddons give a judgement on Lady Barrington’s state of mind? He’s a solicitor, not a psychiatrist.’

  ‘I agree,’ said the judge, ‘but as Mr Siddons had known the lady for twenty-three years, I would be interested to hear his opinion.’

  ‘She was very tired,’ said Siddons, ‘and she took more time than usual to express herself. However, she made it clear that she wished a new will to be prepared expeditiously.’

  ‘Expeditiously – your word or hers?’ asked the judge.

  ‘Hers, m’lud. She often chastised me for writing a paragraph when a sentence would have done.’

  ‘So you prepared the new will expeditiously?’

  ‘I most certainly did, as I was aware that time was against us.’

  ‘Were you present when the will was witnessed?’

  ‘Yes. It was witnessed by Mr Langbourne and the matron on the wing, a Miss Rumbold.’

  ‘And it remains your submission that Lady Barrington knew exactly what she was signing?’

  ‘Most certainly,’ said Siddons firmly. ‘Otherwise I would not have been willing to go ahead with the procedure.’

  ‘Quite so. No more questions, m’lud,’ said Mr Todd.

  ‘Your witness, Sir Cuthbert.’

  ‘Thank you, m’lud. Mr Siddons, you told the court that you were under considerable pressure to get the new will completed and signed, and for that reason you prepared it expeditiously, to use your own word.’

  ‘Yes. I had been warned by Mr Langbourne that Lady Barrington didn’t have long to live.’

  ‘So, understandably, you did everything in your power to speed things up.’

  ‘I didn’t have much choice.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it, Mr Siddons. Can I ask how long it took you to execute the earlier will, the one that my client contends is Lady Barrington’s authentic testament?’

  Siddons hesitated for a moment before saying, ‘Three, possibly four months.’

  ‘With regular consultations with Lady Barrington, no doubt?’

  ‘Yes, she was a stickler for detail.’

  ‘I’m sure she was. But she wasn’t given much time to consider the details of her later will. Five days to be precise.’

  ‘Yes, but don’t forget—’

  ‘And on the final day, she only just managed to sign the will in the nick of time. Isn’t that correct?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you could put it that way.’

  Sir Cuthbert turned to the clerk of the court. ‘Would you be kind enough to pass Mr Siddons Lady Barrington’s two wills?’

  Sir Cuthbert waited until the two documents had been handed to the witness, before he continued his cross-examination.

  ‘Would you agree with me, Mr Siddons, that the signature on the earlier will is much bolder and more assured than that on the “nick of time” will? In fact, it’s hard to believe they were signed by the same person.’

  ‘Sir Cuthbert, are you suggesting that Lady Barrington didn’t sign the second will?’ asked the judge.

  ‘Certainly not, m’lud, but I am suggesting she had no idea what she was signing.’

  ‘Mr Siddons,’ Sir Cuthbert continued, turning back to the solicitor, who was now gripping the edge of the witness box with both hands, ‘once you’d completed the new rushed will, did you take your client through it clause by clause?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. After all, there was only one major change from the earlier will.’

  ‘If you didn’t take Lady Barrington through the document clause by clause, Mr Siddons, we only have your word for that.’

  ‘M’lud, that is an outrageous suggestion,’ said Mr Todd, leaping to his feet. ‘Mr Siddons has had a long and distinguished career in the legal profession, and does not deserve such a slur on his character.’

  ‘I agree with you, Mr Todd,’ said the judge. ‘Sir Cuthbert, you will withdraw that statement.’

  ‘I apologize, m’lud,’ Sir Cuthbert said, offering a slight bow before turning back to the witness once again. ‘Mr Siddons, in the earlier will, who was it that suggested that all thirty-six pages should be initialled with the letters EB?’

  ‘I believe I did,’ said Siddons, sounding a little flustered.

  ‘But you did not insist on the same rigorous procedure for the second will, the expeditiously prepared document.’

  ‘I didn’t feel it was necessary. After all, there was, as I have said, only one significant change.’

  ‘And on which page will we find this significant change, Mr Siddons?’

  Siddons flicked through the will and smiled. ‘Page twenty-nine, clause seven.’

  ‘Ah yes, I have it in front of me,’ said Sir Cuthbert. ‘But I don’t see the initials EB, either at the bottom of the page or next to the relevant clause. Perhaps Lady Barrington was too tired to manage two signatures on the same day?’

  Siddons looked as if he wanted to protest, but said nothing.

  ‘Let me ask you, Mr Siddons, on how many occasions in your long and distinguished career have you failed to advise a client to put their initials on every page of a will?’

  Siddons didn’t reply. Sir Cuthbert looked first at Mr Todd and then at the judge, before his eyes returned to the witness box. ‘I’m still waiting, sir.’

  Siddons stared desperately up at the bench, and blurted out, ‘If you were to read the letter, m’lud, that Lady Barrington addressed to you, it might help you decide if she knew exactly what she was doing.’

  ‘Letter?’ said the judge, looking puzzled. ‘I know nothing of a letter. It was certainly not among the court’s bundle of papers. Are you aware of such a letter, Sir Cuthbert?’

  ‘It’s the first I’ve heard of it, m’lud. I’m as much in the dark as you are.’

  ‘That’s because,’ Siddons spluttered, ‘it was handed to me only this morning. I haven’t even had time to alert Mr Todd to its existence.’

  ‘What are you talking about, man?’ said the judge.

  Every eye was fixed on Siddons as he took an envelope from an inside pocket and held it aloft as if it were on fire. ‘This is the envelope that was given to me this morning, m’lud.’

  ‘By whom, Siddons?’ demanded the judge.

  ‘Mr Harry Clifton. He told me it had been given to him by Lady Barrington just hours before she died.’

  ‘Have you opened the envelope, Mr Siddons?’

  ‘No, I have not, sir. It is addressed to you, as the presiding judge.’

  ‘I see,’ said the judge. ‘Mr Todd and Sir Cuthbert, would you be kind enough to join me in my chambers?’

  ‘This is a rum business, gentlemen,’ said the judge as he placed the unopened envelope on his desk in front of the two barristers. ‘Given the circumstances, I confess I don’t know what the best course of action is.’

  ‘Both of us,’ said Mr Todd, ‘could put forward a compelling argument that the letter should be treated as inadmissible evidence.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Sir Cuthbert, ‘but frankly we’re damned if we do, and we’re damned if we don’t. Because if you don’t open the envelope now it’s found its way into court, whichever side loses this case wil
l certainly have grounds for an appeal.’

  ‘I fear that may well be the case,’ said the judge. ‘If you both agree, perhaps it might be wise for you, Simon, to call Mr Clifton as a witness under oath, and see if he can throw some light on how he came into possession of this envelope in the first place. What do you think, Cuthbert?’

  ‘I have no objection to that,’ said Sir Cuthbert.

  ‘Good. However, let me assure you,’ continued the judge, ‘that I will not open the envelope until I’ve heard Mr Clifton’s evidence, and I will only do so then if you both approve. And should I do so, it will have to be in the presence of anyone who might be affected by the outcome of these proceedings.’

  14

  ‘CALL MR HARRY CLIFTON.’

  Emma gripped Harry’s hand before he rose from his place and walked calmly across to the witness box. Once he’d taken the oath, the judge leaned forward and said, ‘Mr Clifton, I propose to ask you a few questions. When I have finished, if learned counsel wish to clarify any points, they will be free to do so. Can I confirm for the record that you are the husband of Emma Clifton, and the brother-in-law of Miss Grace Barrington, the two defendants in this case?’

  ‘I am indeed, sir, and also the brother-in-law of Sir Giles Barrington, my oldest and closest friend.’

  ‘Could you tell the court about your relationship with Lady Barrington?’

  ‘I was twelve when I first met her at a tea party to celebrate Giles’s birthday, so I knew her for almost twenty years.’

  ‘That does not answer my question,’ pressed the judge.

  ‘I considered Elizabeth a dear and close friend, and I mourn her untimely death as deeply as anyone in this room. She was a truly remarkable woman, and if she had been born a generation later, the board of Barrington’s shipping line wouldn’t have had to look outside the family for a new chairman when her husband died.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said the judge. ‘And now I would like to ask you about this envelope,’ he said, holding it up for all to see, ‘and how it came into your possession.’