Purgatory Read online

  9.00 am

  We’re banged up for an hour owing to officers’ staff training.

  10.00 am

  Pottery. I make my way quickly across to the art class as I need to see Shaun, and find out if he now has all the art materials he needs. I’m disappointed to find that he’s not around, so I end up reading a book on the life of Picasso, studying in particular Guernica which he painted in support of his countrymen at the time of the Spanish Civil War. I know it’s a masterpiece, but I desperately need someone like Brian Sewell to explain to me why.

  2.00 pm

  Gym. Completed my full programme, and feel fitter than I have done for years.

  6.21 pm

  Tagged onto the end of the news is an announcement that Iain Duncan Smith has been elected as the new leader of the Conservative Party. He won by a convincing margin of 155,935 (61 per cent) to 100,864 (39 per cent) for Kenneth Clarke. A far better turnout than I had expected. Having spent years trying to convince my party that we should trust our members to select the leader, the 79 per cent turnout gives me some satisfaction. However, I would have to agree with Michael Brown, a former Conservative MP who is now a journalist with the Independent: a year ago you could have got odds of a hundred to one against a man who hadn’t served in either Margaret Thatcher’s or John Major’s governments - at any level - ending up as leader of the Tory party in 2001.

  10.00 pm

  I watch a special edition of Question Time, chaired by David Dimbleby. I only hope the audience wasn’t a typical cross-section of British opinion, because I was horrified by how many people were happy to condemn the Americans, and seemed to have no sympathy for the innocent people who had lost their lives at the hands of terrorists.

  My feelings went out to Philip Lader, the popular former American ambassador, as he found himself having to defend his country’s foreign policy.

  I fall asleep, angry.

  DAY 58 - FRIDAY 14 SEPTEMBER 2001

  6.17 am

  Today is one of those days when I particularly wish I were not in jail. I would like to be in the gallery of the House of Commons following the emergency debate on the atrocities in America, and attending the memorial service at St Paul’s.

  12 noon

  Watching television this afternoon, I find myself agreeing with almost everything the prime minister says in his speech to the House. Iain Duncan Smith responds in a dignified way, leaving the PM in no doubt that the Opposition is, to quote IDS, ‘shoulder to shoulder’ on this issue. It is left to George Galloway and Tam Dalyell to express contrary views, which they sincerely hold. I suspect it would take a nuclear weapon to land on their constituencies - with Osama bin Laden’s signature scribbled across it - before they would be willing to change their minds.

  The service at St Paul’s sees the British at their best and, like Diana, Princess of Wales’ funeral, it strikes exactly the right note, not least by the service opening with the American national anthem and closing with our own.

  I am pleased to see Phil Lader sitting amongst the congregation. But it is George Carey, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who rises to the occasion. He delivers an address that leaves no one in any doubt how he feels about the terrorists, but also expresses the view that this is a time for cool heads to make shrewd judgements, rather than macho remarks demanding immediate retaliation.

  2.00 pm

  Visit. Mary is among the first through the door into the visitors’ room.

  Her news is not good, and she doesn’t try to pretend otherwise. KPMG are going at a snail’s pace, making it clear that they have no interest in my plight, and will deliver their report when they are good and ready. They are hoping to interview me on Monday week, so it looks as if I’ll be stuck at Wayland for at least another month. I feel sure that is not what Sir Nicholas Young, the CEO of the Red Cross, intended when he instigated an internal enquiry, even if it will delight Emma Nicholson. Mary has so obviously done everything she can to expedite matters, but, as she says, it’s an accountant’s duty to leave no piece of paper unturned.

  We discuss our appeal. Mary describes it as our appeal, partly, I think, because she was so offended by Mr Justice Potts aiding and abetting Mrs Peppiatt when she was in the witness box, while in my view not affording Mary the same courtesy when she was put through a similar ordeal.

  We talk about the boys, how admirably they are coping in the circumstances, and the fact that Will is desperate to see me before he returns to New York. Thank God he wasn’t in Manhattan this week. Mary reports that my adopted sister, Elizabeth, is alive and well. Elizabeth had been at work in the city when she heard the explosion and looked out of her window to see the flames belching from the World Trade Center.

  There is a restrained announcement over the intercom asking all visitors to leave. Where did the time go? I feel guilty about Mary. I’ve been unable to hide my disappointment about KPMG’s lack of urgency. She couldn’t have been more supportive during this terrible time in my life, and heaven knows what state I would be in without her love and friendship.

  DAY 59 - SATURDAY 15 SEPTEMBER 2001

  9.00 am

  I call David and ask him to drive to Sale in Cheshire on Monday and pick up a package which is being flown in from Colombia that morning.

  10.00 am

  No gym on Saturday, so I make sure I’m standing by the gate when exercise is called. To my surprise Dale is seated in the corner of the yard having his portrait finished. As I pass, he mumbles something about how much trouble he would have been in had he failed to show up two weekends in a row. When I return to my cell after forty-five minutes’ hard walking, Darren tells me that we probably covered about three miles. I push open my heavy door to find my cell is spotless. The room has been swept, cleaned and the floor polished by Darren’s latest recruit, all for PS1. No problems with the minimum wage at Wayland, especially when you can only pay in Mars bars, tobacco or, if it’s a big deal, a phonecard.

  4.00 pm

  Mr Meanwell calls me into his office to let me know that an envelope containing the rules of backgammon has been opened and sent down to reception. It will not be returned to me until I leave Wayland, as the item is on the prohibited list.

  ‘How can the rules of backgammon be on the prohibited list?’ I ask.

  The rules came in book form,’ he explains, and shrugs his shoulders.

  If they had been in a magazine, could I have had them?’ I enquire. He nods.

  6.00 pm

  Early bang up. I channel hop so I can keep watching the latest news from Manhattan. I am moved by the sight of the New Yorkers on the streets applauding their firemen as they drive back and forth to the World Trade Center. Americans have a tremendous sense of patriotism and awareness of the country they belong to. It must have been the same in Britain during the last war.

  DAY 60 - SUNDAY 16 SEPTEMBER 2001

  12 noon

  Not a lot to report except Sergio is nervous about leaving. He will be deported in twelve days’ time and we haven’t yet received a valuation for the emerald. He’s also waiting to hear about the second package which contains the gold necklace, and can’t wait to see the photographs of the Boteros, as well as the catalogue raisonne.

  I spend a long time reading the papers, and feel the coverage of all that has taken place in America this week elicited the very highest standards of journalism from the British press, not always the case on a Sunday.

  DAY 61 - MONDAY 17 SEPTEMBER 2001

  6.19 am

  The news is still all about New York, where Mayor Giuliani appears to be emulating his hero, Mayor La Guardia. Everything had gone wrong for Rudy Giuliani this year. He stood down from the Senate race against Hillary Clinton when he was diagnosed with cancer, and he then moved his mistress into Gracie Mansion to face the wrath of his popular wife and the Big Apple’s press; in fact to quote the New York Times, ‘he seems to have lost the plot’. And then, without warning, the city he loves is attacked by terrorists and all the talents boredom di
sguises suddenly return.

  When I stood for Mayor of London, I spent a week in New York shadowing Giuliani as he went about his daily work, and quickly discovered that he has real power and a real budget to back it up. The truth is that Giuliani runs New York in a way Ken Livingstone can never hope to govern London. Tony Blair’s dream of emulating the Americans with mayors in all our major cities would have been admirable, if only he allowed the mayor to be backed up with finance and executive power. Livingstone can huff and puff, but in the end only Blair can blow the house down.

  9.00 am

  Pottery. Out of boredom I begin, to Anne’s surprise, to work on a flowerpot. Or that is what I’ve told my fellow inmates it’s going to be. First you take the putty, run a circle of steel through it to cut off a smaller chunk and then roll it out to produce a long thin worm-like shape. You then twist the long thin worm into a circle and several long worms later all placed on top of each other and you have a pot, or thaf s the theory. An hour later I have a base and five long worms. The blessed release bell clangs.

  11.30 am

  I phone Alison to discover that the gold necklace, the book on Botero, the photographs of Botero oils and a sculpture have all arrived in Cheshire via Bogota.

  3.00 pm

  Gym. Once again I manage 2,200 metres on the rower.

  5.15 pm

  Board meeting. Sergio has been on the phone to Bogota for the past forty minutes. Armed with a dozen cards (PS24) and the judicious use of an illegal pin number, he can now afford to spend an hour phoning Colombia. His brother is waiting to find out if I have any interest in the Boteros. I assure him that as soon as I’ve seen the photographs I will make a decision.

  6.00 pm

  I’m writing at my desk when I hear shouting and screaming in the corridor. I leave my cell to investigate, and see half a dozen prisoners standing outside a cell door at the far end of the corridor. I’m told by Darren that the occupant, Danny (burglar) will be released in the morning, and some of his friends wished to give him a farewell present. Half a dozen inmates have filled a black bin liner with water, and added tea bags, sugar, stale bread, butter and beans. They are now all peeing into it. They then empty the contents onto the hapless prisoner’s bed just before we are due to be banged up. This ensures that he will have to spend his final night cleaning up the cell if he hopes to be released in the morning.

  9.00 pm

  Dr Starkey continues his excellent series on the six wives of Henry VIII. Tonight it’s Anne Boleyn. Although Starkey spends the whole hour being fairly critical of the queen, one cannot but admire the lady’s last sentiment before being beheaded. Her short speech was full of grace, with no fault placed at the door of Henry VIII She can’t have been all bad.

  DAY 62 - TUESDAY 18 SEPTEMBER 2001

  Pottery. Carry on producing long worms for my pot, much to the amusement of the other prisoners, all of whom show far more promise than I do. Craig (GBH) is making a horse for his mother, Lloyd (drugs), a heart-shaped jewellery box for his girlfriend, Peter (burglary), another bowl for his aunt and Paul (murder), yet another Christ on the cross.

  6.00 am

  It’s been a week since the terrorists struck New York and Washington. It now seems unlikely that any more bodies will be rescued from beneath the rubble, although Mayor Giuliani is a long way off giving orders to stop the search while there’s the slimmest hope that anyone might still be alive. He’s lost so many firemen, policemen and city workers and was nearly killed himself that I can’t see him calling off the search for at least another week; this despite the fact that nobody other than the closest of relatives believes that anyone else can have survived.

  8.30 am

  Danny, the prisoner who had his cell sacked last night, is now bidding farewell to everyone on the spur as he’s due to be released within the hour. He seems to bear no grudges and I watch him shaking hands with Jimmy who tells me later that Danny was probably thankful that his departing gift wasn’t physical, as it was on Mel’s last night. Jimmy doesn’t go into any detail but does admit that Mel had to spend his last few hours on the hospital wing.

  11.45 am

  Call Alison. David’s picked up the package from Sale and she has sent the Botero details plus photos to Sotheby’s for a realistic valuation, with copies to me. She has also dispatched the Botero catalogue raisonne as a gift to the library. At least that way I will get to see the great artist’s works rather than have the book confiscated and not returned until I am finally released. Alison has handed the necklace over to James, who awaits my instructions. Still no valuation on the emerald.

  6.00 pm

  Nothing else worth reporting today, except Jimmy (captain of everything) has just returned from town leave, and looks as if he’s had sex. Sex is allowed when you’re on town leave. How could they stop it? Jimmy has been out so much recently that he almost treats Wayland like a bed and breakfast motel. Still, to be fair, he’ll only be with us for another three weeks. Will he leave Wayland before I do?

  DAY 63 - WEDNESDAY 19 SEPTEMBER 2001

  6.04 am

  Things American still dominate the news, as I feel sure they will for some time to come. Tony Blair has seized the initiative and flown to Berlin and Paris for talks with the chancellor and the president. In The Times this morning Peter Riddell describes him as having ‘a good war’, but the truth is that everyone is waiting to find out what George W. Bush’s response will be to the Taliban’s stonewalling.

  9.00 am

  Pottery. I finish my masterpiece. My tutor Anne asks the rest of the class to gather round and help her decide what it is. Four opt for a flowerpot, three an upside-down hat, and one inmate feels I should have pressed on and produced an umbrella stand.

  11.00 am

  Another welcome flood of letters today, including one from John Major and another from George Carey (see opposite). Both are handwritten and full of understanding and kindness.

  Mary tells me in her letter that she’s been in touch with KPMG who are doing a very thorough job and refusing to be hurried. David Smith, one of their senior partners, plans to come and see me next Monday together with my solicitor. She feels, as I have nothing to hide, that I should agree to the meeting. I had never planned to do otherwise.

  12 noon

  Lunch. Every day you select a number from the lunch list (see opposite). I always choose the vegetarian option for reasons I have already explained. As I pass Mr Shepperson, he calls out two which turns out to be a beef burger. I point out politely that there must be some mistake. He immediately checks the master list to discover that the mistake is mine. I’ve circled two, not five. Result? No lunch today. He makes no attempt to offer me an alternative because all the dishes are pre-selected, he explains. In any case, that would set a precedent.

  Carl (GBH, goal scorer) who serves the puddings on the end of the line, offers me a second orange and turning to Shepperson says, ‘His lordship has never been the same since I introduced him to cannabis.’ This is greeted by cheers from the waiting queue. Even Shepperson manages a smile.

  6.00 pm

  Supper. This time I circled the right number, vegetable hotpot, and, because Mr Chapman is on duty, I end up with two portions.

  DAY 64 - THURSDAY 20 SEPTEMBER 2001

  5.59 am

  During the past week George Bush has been criticized - mainly by journalists - for not being able to string a sentence together. But today he confounded his critics (me included) by delivering an elegant and moving speech to Congress. This was not only well written (I read the full text as reproduced in The Times), but the speech writer had caught his voice because he delivered the text with such assurance.

  Meanwhile the prime minister’s timing continues to be faultless. He flew into New York following talks with Chirac in Paris and then was driven straight to Ground Zero. He was shown round the smouldering site by Mayor Guiliani, before attending a memorial service at St Patrick’s.

  I tune in four hours later to hear the pres
ident’s speech to Congress only to find Mr Blair now sitting in the president’s box - Mrs Bush on one side of him and Mayor Giuliani on the other. He’s done more to strengthen the special relationship in one week than anyone since the days of Roosevelt and Churchill.

  8.00 am

  Mr Clegg arrives outside my door and stares into my cell. He informs me that the decor, as designed by Shaun, has not met with the governor’s approval. The walls must be returned to their original colour by the end of the week. But as the governor hasn’t been seen on A block, let alone my spur, in anyone’s memory, this seems a little unlikely. However, I go in search of Locke…

  11.30 am

  In my post, among other things, is a catalogue from Sotheby’s New York, for their Latin American sale last May. I walk across to Sergio’s cell and it’s my turn to give him a tutorial. I explain how an auction works, and what is meant by high and low estimates. On the right-hand side of each page is a reproduction of a painting or sculpture. On the left, the artist’s name and any known provenance of the work.