"Mortimer, John Clifford - Rumpole 01d - Rumpole and the Married Lady" - читать интересную книгу автора (Mortimer John)

'Really, Mr Thripp. You have behaved absolutely perfectly?' Her Ladyship had the point. I made that fifteen love to Rumpole, in the second set.

"I'm going out to my Masonic Ladies' Night. It's a pity I haven't got a lady to take with me." I was quoting from the Thripp correspondence. 'Is that the way a perfect husband writes to his wife?' 'Perhaps not, but ...I was... annoyed with her, you see. I had asked her to the Ladies' Night.' 'Asked her?' 'I left a note for her, naturally. She didn't reply.' 'Tell me, Mr Thripp, did you actually want your wife to accompany you to your Masonic Ladies Night?' 'Oh yes, indeed.' 'This inhuman monster who drains away your bath water and refuses to wash your shirts ... you were looking forward to spending a pleasant evening with her?' ' I had no one else to go with.' 'And would rather go with her than no one?' 'Of course I would. She's my wife, isn't she?' 'Mr Thripp, I suggest all your charges against her are quite untrue.' 'They're not untrue.' 'But you wanted her with you! You wanted to flaunt her on your arm, at the Cafe Royal. Why? Come, Mr Thripp. Will you answer that question? It can hardly have been because you love her.' There was a long pause, and I began to have an uneasy suspicion that I had asked one question too many. Then I knew I had because Mr Thripp said in the sort of matter-of-fact tone he might have used to announce the annual audit, 'Yes I do. I love her.' I looked across at Mrs Thripp. She was sighing with a sort of satisfaction, as if she had achieved her object at last.

' Mr Rumpole,' Mrs Justice Appelby's voice, like a cold shower, woke me from my reverie. 'Is it really too late for commonsense to prevail?' 'Commonsense, my Lady?' 'Could there not be one final attempt at a reconciliation?' I felt a sinking in the pit of the stomach. Could it be that even divorce was slipping away from us, and George and I would both have to go back to the crossword puzzle.

'I have no power to order this.' The judge did her best to look pleasant, it was not a wild success. 'But it does seem to me that Mr and Mrs Thripp might meet perhaps in counsel's Chambers? Simply to explore the possibilities of a reconciliation. There is one very important consideration, of course, and I refer to young Norman Thripp. The child of the family. I shall adjourn now until tomorrow morning.' At which her Ladyship rose smartly and we were all upstanding in Court. Obedient to Mrs Justice Appelby's orders, the Thripps met in my room that afternoon. George Frobisher and I, our differences now sunk in the face of the new menace from the judge, shared my small cigars and our anxieties.

'They've been there a long time,' George was looking nervously at my closed door. 'I'm afraid it doesn't look too healthy.' Just then the clerk's room door opened for Henry to come out about some business. I had a brief glimpse of Norman Thripp, the child of the family, seated at Dianne's desk. He was banging the keys of our old standard Imperial, no doubt playing at 'secretaries'.

'In my opinion,' George was still grumbling, 'they shouldn't allow women on the bench. That Mrs Justice Appelby! What does she think she's doing, depriving us of our refreshers?' Before I could agree wholeheartedly, the door of my room opened to let out a beaming Thripp.

'Well, gentlemen,' he said. 'I think we'll be withdrawing the case tomorrow. We still have one or two things to talk over.' 'Talk over! Well, that'll be a change/ said Mrs Thripp following him out. Then they collected Norman, who was still happily playing with Dianne's typewriter, and took him home, leaving George and I in a state of gloomy suspense.

The next morning I got to the Law Courts early, climbed into the fancy dress and found Mrs Thripp and young Norman waiting for me outside Mrs Justice Appelby's forum in the Family Division.

'Well, Mrs Thripp. I suppose we come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.' 'What do you mean Mr Rumpole?' 'You're dropping the case?' Mrs Thripp, to my surprise, was shaking her head and opening her handbag. She brought out a piece of paper and handed it to me, her voice tremulous with indignation.' No, Mr Rumpole,' she said. 'I'm going on with the case. I got this this morning. Leaning up against the cornflakes packet at breakfast.' I took the note from her.

'The old barrister you dug up's going to lose this case. I'll have you and your so-called son out of here in a week. Your so-called husband." I read the typewritten document, and then studied it with more care.

'He's mad! That's what he is. I can't live with a maniac, Mr Rumpole!' As far as my client was concerned, the reconciliation was clearly off.

'Mrs Thripp.' 'We've got to beat him! I've got to think of Norman, caged up with a man like that!' 'Yes. Norman.' I pulled out my watch. 'We've got a quarter of an hour. I feel the need of a coffee. Do you think Norman would like a doughnut?' 'I'm sure we'd be glad to.' 'Not "we", Mrs Thripp. In this instance I think I'd like to see young Norman on his own.' So I took Norman down to the cafe in the crypt of the Law Courts, and, as he tucked into a doughnut and fizzy orangeade, I brought the conversation round to the business in hand.

'Rum business marriage ... You've never been married, have you Norman?' I lit a small cigar and gazed at the young hopeful through the smoke.

'Of course not.' Norman found the idea amusing.

'No seriously. Married people have odd ways of showing their love and affection.' 'Have they?' 'Some whisper endearments. Some send each other abusive notes. Some even have to get as far as the Divorce Court to prove they can't do without each other. A rum business 1 Care for another doughnut?"

'No. No, I'm all right, thanks.' He was eating industriously with sugar on the end of his nose as I moved in to the attack.

'All right? You were all right, weren't you, Norman? When they really looked like separating?' ' I don't know what you mean.' 'When they were both trying to win you over to their side. When you got a present a week from Mum and a rival present from Dad? Tanks, planes, guns, it's been a sort of arms race between them, hasn't it, Norman?' 'I don't know what you're talking about, Mr Rumpole,' Norman repeated, with rather less conviction.

'This mad impulse of your parents to get together again doesn't show much consideration for you, or for me either, come to that.' ' I don't mind if they get together. It's their business, isn't it?' 'Yes, Norman. Their business.' 'I'm not stopping them."

He took another doughnut, he was going to need it.

'Really?' 'Course I'm not!' The second doughnut came and I gave Norman a fragment of my autobiography. 'I don't do much divorce, you know. Crime mainly. I was in the "Great Brighton Benefit Club Forgery".' 'What's forgery?' The child was round-eyed with innocence. You had to admire the act.

'Oh, you're good Norman! You'll come out wonderfully in your interviews with the police! The genuine voice of innocence. What's forgery?' I whipped out the latest item in the Thripp correspondence. 'This is! Inspect it carefully, Norman! All the other notes were typewritten.' 'So's this.' Norman kept his head.

'The others were done on the old Olivetti your parents keep in Muswell Hill. This morning's note was typed on a standard Imperial with a small gap in the capital " S ".' I got out my folding pocket glass and offered it to him.

'Here. Borrow my glass.' Norman dared to do so and examined the evidence.

'Typed on the Imperial on which Dianne in my Chambers hammers out my so-called learned opinions. The typewriter you were playing with so innocently yesterday in the clerk's room. I put it to you, Norman, you typed that last note! In a desperate effort to keep this highly profitable divorce case going.' Norman looked up from my magnifying glass and said, 'I didn't see any gap in the capital " S ".' 'Didn't you, Norman? The judge will.' 'What judge?' For the first time he sounded rattled.

'The judge who tries you for forgery, a word you understand perfectly. I'll take the evidence now.' I retrieved the last incriminating note. 'Four years they gave the chief villain in the Brighton case.' 'They wouldn't"?' Norman looked at me. I felt almost sorry for him, as if he were my client.