Nemesis - Constance

I suppose that it was morbid curiosity made me watch the pantomime again before I got my head down and tried to get some sleep. In the event I wasn't completely successful on that score.

God alone knows what I looked like the following day, but everyone at the office steered well clear of me if they could help it.

Around midmorning two plain clothed policemen arrived in the office wanting a quiet chat with me. I took them into an empty office where we had a little privacy.

They explained that there was a little controversy over just how Constance -- who claimed she could remember nothing of the night before -- came to have acquired a fractured skull, even being that it was just a hairline fracture.

From the way they spoke I deduced that somebody had suggested that I'd been behaving rather violently when he last saw Constance and I together. They didn't say who had claimed that of course, but it wasn't hard for me to guess. They refused to affirm or deny that it had been Copland.

It took me a little time to find the right point in the recording and them I asked then if they could like to have a copy of it. Actually they asked to take the original recording, but I told them I had no intention of letting the thing out of my possession. In the end they accepted a copy that I made while they waited, on a DVD I scrounged from one of the computer lads.

While my laptop was doing its thing with the DVD, I arranged for one of the girls to bring us some tea and the officers and I kinda fell into friendly conversation about the previous few days. That's if you can ever have a friendly conversation with an on-duty police officer. They showed great interest in my mysterious friend. But I think it was just curiosity on their part. The video proved that he had not injured Constance either. Actually the officers were wondering if there was a possible charge against Copland, for he had pushed Constance off of himself pretty violently. They said they'd get the CPS people to have a good look into that.

I think they were just a little interested in who had it in for Copland, and why. They said that I should watch my back, and suggested that Copland was a pretty influential solicitor. At the same time kinda inferring that they had reason to suspect that Copland wasn't exactly kosher in all his activities.

"Like shagging other peoples' wives you mean?" I observed.

"Oh and much more than that Steve; we just can't get a handle on the bugger. Let's just say he's unofficially on a lot of police officers' lists of people of interest. But if you don't mind me saying, you appear to be taking all this a little flippantly Steve."

"What else am I supposed to do officer, lose my cool and start beating my breast? Had I behaved in the manner you suggest that you'd have expected of me wouldn't you now be leading me out to your car in handcuffs?" I asked

"Yes Steve, I expect we would have been." The officer smiled back at me.

"It's been my experience officer that once the stew has been spilt and everything turns to shit on you, the best action to take is laugh, or at least to try too. It really screws with the minds of those who would wish disaster upon you, as well!"

Both officers laughed and then shook my hand as they left.

Later during the day I went out to find a working telephone box and called the solicitor my friend had suggested. He had been expecting my call and simply asked me if I was going for a divorce right away. When I told him I had little alternative if I wanted to be able to hold my head up in public in the future, he simply said he'd get the ball rolling, and then asked if he could send one of his staff up to see me later in the day. She'd need to get all of Constance and my personal details.

I asked him if I should give the woman a cheque to retain his services but he informed me that that was already taken care of.

"Don't ask Steve, but you'll never receive an invoice for my services. Someone we both have met is intending to stick Copland with the cost of all this, he comes from a very affluent background you know. And, he's made plenty of cash in his own right, just not all of it strictly legally."

-----

That evening all the crew were waiting for me in the bar, obviously hoping that I had calmed down enough and would be ready to tell them about the previous evening. Oh, by then they'd all seen the day's newspapers. I thought it funny, that after first thing that morning, I'd seen none of that day's newspapers discarded around the offices.

I gave them the short version. I'd gone home and caught Constance making whoopee with Tony Copland!

They asked about all the press coverage, but I denied all knowledge of how it had come about. Hey, that was the truth; I really had no idea about any of it.

-----

It was probably about nine PM when my new solicitors extremely pretty -- but at the same time very efficient -- associate or assistant arrived at the hotel to see me. We went into the hotel's library to meet in private.

The first thing Ms Clarkson told me (yes she was one of those types) was that she'd already spoken to Constance and advised her to find a solicitor herself as soon as she was released from hospital.

"It's far easier for someone's own solicitor to explain to them that they haven't got a leg to stand on. Your wife doesn't want a divorce, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. Will you look at all these texts and messages she's sent me today?" I replied showing her my mobile phone.

"Has she tried to call you?"

"Yes, but I'm rather busy up here. That's what she and Copland were counting on, I suspect."

"That's roughly it. Copland's been after her for sometime apparently. She claims that he only succeeded this week, but... Well, in my experience, people tend to be economical with the truth when is suits them."

"Well, he isn't very likely to go to the expense of having someone watch my movements, if he hadn't been given reason to believe he'd get the opportunity to... bed Constance."

"Screw, I believe, is the word you were looking for Mr Marshall."

"Steve, Ms Clarkson, everyone knows me as Steve."

"Very well Steve. But I'm afraid that I'm Ms Clarkson to everybody, except my fiancé."

"I should imagine a very handsome man."

"And a very stoic one Steve, believe me."

"Oh, I do Ms Clarkson, I do!"

She smiled at me for the first time cracking the business-like expression on her face, but then returned to the reason of her visit. Remarkably she knew nearly everything she needed to know already. Ms Clarkson produced a sheet of paper from her briefcase and reeled off a list of questions.

Constance and my full names, date of birth, and our wedding etcetera. I saw Ms Clarkson simply placing a tick along side the correct answers she had already typed up. There were a couple of minor errors but that was all. Everything was already there including the value of our house, but not the contents of our bank accounts or details of our savings. Not that I could recall them in detail myself anyway.

Then Ms Clarkson placed a form in front of me for me to sign. It was effectively the contract asking her boss to act on my behalf in the mater of Constance and my divorce and any other legal matter whether it arose from our divorce or not, until I cancelled that contract in writing.

Before she left, Ms Clarkson suggested that I call Constance and speak to her. Actually, I made it verbally clear that I had no intentions of forgiving Constance for her actions. She also told me that I'd be able to find Constance at her sister's house.

"Your house is being staked-out by the press. You might find you'll get a little more peace if you find somewhere else to stay this weekend, Steve." Ms Clarkson always sounded a little uncomfortable addressing me as Steve. "Oh, your employer is doing a good job and being suitably vague about your whereabouts, by the way."

I had to wonder who'd asked them to do that, and more importantly when?

After Ms Clarkson had left and I'd been covertly questioned about whom my delectable visitor had been, I went up to my room to call Constance.

Oh, the lads had been somewhat shocked when I told them that Ms Clarkson was a representative of my solicitor. None of them could get their heads around her paying me a visit at that time of night, and kind of queried how much my legal representation was going to cost me.

-----

June, Constance's sister, answered the phone: our conversation was short and concise. All June could think to say, was that she personally was sorry for what had happened and she hoped that we could stay friends. Then she said that she'd go and get, "The silly daft cow!" Four words that spelt out June's attitude to her sister's behaviour, I believe.

A year or so later while on my honeymoon on Malta, by coincidence I ran into June again. But I'll get to that later as well.

The press apparently didn't discover where I was until after I'd spent the weekend with my sister and her family. My sister and her husband were very understanding and didn't push me for any details. Shit, they'd probably read most of them in the newspapers anyway.

Sunday evening, when I arrived back at the hotel I was served with an injunction. I couldn't make head nor tail of it, but on the telephone Ms Clarkson explained that Copland had obtained an emergency Court Order forbidding me from releasing any and all media taken on "the evening in question" to the press, or putting such on the Internet.

Hey come on, I can't make head or tail of all the mumbo jumbo legal crap they talk at the best of times, but at least Ms Clarkson got the gist of into my thick scull.

"But I didn't, and I wasn't intending too!" I replied.

"We know, but somebody else has, and still is intending to do his best to embarrass Copland."

"Oops!"

"Yes, and you can expect to find yourself summoned to appear before a High Court Judge some time tomorrow morning. But don't panic we've got it covered."

"I'm pleased to hear you're not panicking."

"That's what you pay us for."

"What can a High Court Judge do to me -- send me to prison?"

"Well yes, but I told you, we have those angles covered."

-----

Monday afternoon I found myself standing in a court dock and confronted by a very pissed-off looking Judge.

I didn't say a word, my barristers (multiple), dressed in wigs and gowns, did all the talking. Informing the judge that an anonymous third party was in possession of two similar recordings to the one I had and that had been filmed at the same time. Somewhat to my surprise a police photographic analyst confirmed that the pictures in question were not stills from the recording that I had made.

Oh, by the way, the two pictures in question that had somehow come into the hands of the national press. I do believe that, had Copland done nothing, only the less reputable and sensational seeking of them would have printed them. And eventually did, along with every other newspaper and media outlet that could lay their hands on the buggers.

Both pictures were of Tony Copland. In one he was peering around the side of Constance's naked body with a surprised expression on his face. In the other, he was in the process of putting his trousers on, while Constance lay naked on the floor behind him. In neither picture could Constance be recognised.

The Judge appeared to have some difficulty in believing that I had no idea who my mysterious companion had been that evening and he all-but said as much. However eventually he appeared to accept my Briefs arguments. And reminded me (actually informing me, I hadn't understood the court order served on me at the hotel) that there was a temporary moratorium on publication of all recordings made in the house that fateful evening.

Then I was told that I was free to go. It was one hell of a struggle, fighting my way past the hoard of reporters outside the court building.

Copland had managed to secure an emergency injunction, on the grounds that they'd been inside a private residence, and he claimed that he had reasonable cause to expect privacy. Or words to that effect anyway.

The newspapers vigorously fought the injunction against publication, and I very much suspect that my legal people had assisted them. When it came before a full court hearing a few days later, the Judge had quickly thrown the injunction out. The gist of the Judge's judgement was, that the property was my house not Copland's, and that he could not reasonably expect any privacy within its walls, especially in one of the communal rooms. And, because the people who made the recordings were myself, and a guest of mine (even if I didn't know the man from Adam), Copland could not object to them, in full or part, entering the public domain. Well, I think that was what the judge said!

Most likely the whole shenanigans did little but increase the public interest in the story. Because all the newspapers and TV news programs headlined it, and more than I would have expected featured the two pictures and several more that surfaced in the following days.

Hey, when they were finally cleared by the courts, the bloody headlines and stories attached to those pictures were brilliant, from my perspective. One of them read "Caught In The Act!" the other "A Coward's Retreat!" the attached story explaining that how Copland was calmly getting dressed, while his lover lay unconscious on the floor beside him.

It was apparent though, that whoever was lifting the stills from the video and passing them on to the press, was being very careful about what they were doing. Constance's face had either been cut out of the frame altogether, or it was effectively blurred out.

-----

I suppose you could say that things returned to normal after my escapade with the High Court Judge. I finished the second week at the new office and then went back down home. I found that I couldn't stay in the house though, and set myself up temporarily in a small hotel not far from my work.

In the meantime, Ms Clarkson got in touch and informed me that a solicitor working for Constance had made contact with her. From what Ms Clarkson told me, I gathered Constance was being given a hard time from the press boys; I suppose they must have discovered that she was staying at June's house. Anyway Ms Clarkson informed me that Constance's solicitor had told her that his client didn't want a divorce. But if I insisted, Constance was willing to accept the terms I'd offered.

"We told him that your name isn't Hamilton!" Ms Clarkson said, actually giggling.

"Hamilton!" I repeated having no idea what it was supposed to mean.

"Crikey Steve, Get with it. What year is it? Trafalgar, Nelson, Lady Hamilton."

"Oh, yes, very funny!" I lied.

I really couldn't get my head around Ms Clarkson one little bit.

Anyway Ms Clarkson told me that Constance was in a hurry to get things over with; perhaps she thought it would somehow lead to the press leaving her alone. But actually I think the press had moved on to other issues well before our divorce case actually came up. Although it did get small headline on the inside pages of our local press anyway.

I'd agreed that everything was to be split right down the middle, providing Constance was prepared to admit that her affair had been the sole cause of our marriage's breakdown. And she would agree to appear as a witness in any further legal action I might choose to take against Copland.

Somewhat surprisingly Constance's legal people requested that I agree to appear in court as a witness in a case she was bringing against Copland. This confused me, until Ms Clarkson informed me that it was probably a personal injury claim, and that the video we had of the event -- a copy of which had already been forwarded to Constance's solicitor -- would probably be enough for Copland to settle out of court. I assume he did, because I never heard anymore about it.

-----

The house sold very quickly; well, the market was very good back then. Constance had been in to take the few things she wanted and I had the rest put into storage until such time that I found another house I liked. But I couldn't really be bothered to look.

Living in a hotel might not sound like fun, but one gets used to it; it's less work, no cooking or anything and it worked out cheaper than paying a mortgage. Hey, I even had free parking right in the middle of the town.

Sometimes the odd reporter tracked me down and I was even prepared to talk to them. They didn't really appear to be interested in Constance and me, anyway. They were all asking me what I really knew about my mysterious friend. I'm afraid I could tell them nothing. But a couple of them that I got on really well with -- who confided in me that they believed that there was something about Copland that hadn't come to light yet, and that they thought it must surely concern my mysterious friend -- well, I passed their business cards onto Ms Clarkson. Although by that time she claimed to have no personal knowledge of the man either. That didn't quite fit with some of the comments she'd made to me earlier in our acquaintance, but she had used the words "personal knowledge".

-----

I'm not sure... maybe two or even three months had passed since that fateful evening, it's not really important. Anyway I was sitting at my desk one day, staring as I usually was at my computer screen, when my desk jiggled as somebody sat on it.

I looked to my left and saw a pair of knees covered by grey flannel. Looking further to my left I noted the flannel materiel stretch nearly all the way down to a pair of Nike trainers. Working my eyes back up again I came to and over sized blue jumper, topped by tussle of mousy blond hair and a pair of gigantic black horn rimmed spectacles.

"Hi, handsome! What's a nice gentleman like you, doing in a dive like this?" Sherrie asked.

"Hi Sherrie, long time no see. What are you doing in this neck of the woods?" I replied.

Sherrie explained that our company had become one of her employer's biggest customers and she'd been assigned to pay us a visit for one day a month. Literally to circulate and talk to the actual workers in the various departments. Just to see if there were any program modifications that they might suggest that might make life easier for them.

"So what can I do for you? I'm happy with everything as it is."

"Yeah, you would be the first to let them upstairs know if you weren't happy. No Steve, I'm here to collect a debt."

I have no idea what kind of expression came on my face, but it led to Sherrie giggling.

"Hey handsome, you owe me a dinner."

"I do?"

"Yeah you sure do. You told me that you couldn't take me out to dinner because you were a married man. And from what I've been reading in the newspapers, you're as good as not married anymore"

"I did?"

"Well not in so many words, but that was the gist of what you said in that hotel bar that evening anyway."

"It was?" I was trying to keep a confused expression on my face by this time

"Come on Steve, stop messing around?"

"Ah, I can't recall what you said to me that that evening."

"Steve!"

"Okay gorgeous. I haven't been out for weeks; it might do me good. Where do you want to go?"

"Oh, nowhere special, I have to catch my train home just after nine."

"Now, that is disappointing!"

"Dinner, I said Steve, you behave yourself!"

"Damn, why do you good looking ones always say that?"

"I'll be in reception when you knock off." She grinned. Then she slid off my desk and left the department.

-----

As before, the transformation in Sherrie was amazing to behold. There was no missing her as I came out of the lift. Christ, I don't think any male who'd passed through the reception area whilst she'd been waiting for me could have missed seeing her, and most likely wished she was waiting for him.