made up the address and the name, for God's sake – by accident this bloke's name and address have been published in my book and it's the same as publishing deliberate lies that damage somebody's reputation. He wants a lot of money from me.”
“Money? How much?” That announcement really grabbed Agnetta's interest: she liked having a very rich husband..
“Well, it's all covered by insurance, so it won't cost me anything, but if I write another book it might not be published.” There had been no signs of Martin writing anything, least of all a book, but he'd managed to work out that his publisher might not be too happy with him, and he'd worked it out himself.
“You'll find another publisher, it will be easy. You found this one, didn't you?” Yes, he had, but it had taken several years of trying before someone took a huge risk on a rather poor book by the then-unknown Martin Harrison. “So there's nothing really to worry about. Let's go away for a few days. We won't tell anyone where we've gone and we can relax. We'll go to South Africa.” Agnetta had spoken; it would be done.
So they went, and were away for almost a week. The peace and relaxation were in stark contrast to the maelstrom that would hit them when they returned.
As Martin and Agnetta drew to a halt outside the house, having driven straight from the airport, they both felt happy and at ease with the world. Somehow, in the warm South African sun, the libel issue had diminished in importance and was now no more than an irritation in the back of Martin's head; a very minor irritation that he had no difficulty in ignoring. As they got out of the car a distant church clock struck two o'clock and the sun managed a brief appearance between clouds. The house looked magnificent, even in the autumnal gloom that descended as soon as the sun disappeared again.
Martin heard a phone ringing as he opened the door. Without any haste at all he put down the two cases he was carrying, walked into his library and picked up the still-ringing phone.
“Martin Harrison,” he said, pleasantly, into the mouthpiece.
“Martin, it's George, where the hell have you been? Never mind, tell me later. Is Agnetta with you?”
“Yes, we've...”
“All right, now just stay exactly where you are. I'm coming to see you, right now, and I'm bringing a colleague with me. I expect to see both of you in about thirty minutes.” He put the phone down before Martin could respond.
“Who was that?” Agnetta asked from the doorway.
“George Hadley. He's coming straight over. He sounded upset, no idea why. He wants you to be here too, so I suppose we'd better be here, eh?”
Martin was still in his relaxed, holiday mood, but then he and Agnetta had travelled in the cocoon of first class luxury: perhaps an economy flight would have been better preparation for what was to come.
George Hadley arrived just twenty three minutes after the phone call. Agnetta admitted him and his colleague, introduced as Eloise Ewart, and settled them in the comfortable drawing room; the solicitors occupied one white leather sofa and, facing them across a large brass coffee table, Agnetta sat on its twin. The silence as they waited for Martin to join them was more than a little uncomfortable; Hadley thought that, in the particular circumstances of that day, small talk was inappropriate whilst Agnetta found his seriousness of expression and greyish skin tone almost intimidating.
Martin bounced into the room in his usual happy-go-lucky fashion with a cheery 'morning all' as he flopped down next to his wife, thinking that Agnetta in white shirt and white jeans tucked into white knee-length boots was an absolute picture of wonderfulness. “So, George,” he said with a smile of child-like innocence, “what can we do for you?”
“Martin, Agnetta, what I have to say is serious. I propose to take it upon myself to explain matters to you and my colleague, Eloise here, will interject only when necessary. She is a specialist in the law of libel from our associated firm in London, and is here because matters have become so grave. Now, I take it you have been away which is why I have been unable to contact you. However, now we are together, at last, I have to tell you that I have received two communications, two most disquieting communications, arising from the libel perpetrated upon Mr Smithson. I will leave with you copies of these communications. The first came from Smithson's solicitors, rejecting completely any possibility of an out of court settlement. They have instructed counsel with a view to swift progress towards a court hearing. That will certainly be in London. It gives is two problems which are, prima facie, insurmountable, The first is that it will be a high profile case, the success of that damned film has guaranteed that, and therefore the issue will be far more widely known than is currently the case. That leads to the second problem, which is that the final settlement will be far higher than we would have hoped. That can be avoided only by the failure of Smithson's suit and whilst the court's conclusions cannot be predicted with certainty the likelihood of that happening is extremely small indeed.. In fact, and Eloise will correct me if I'm wrong, it is so small that it can be discounted entirely.”
Hadley paused, for long enough for the slightly built, middle aged Eloise Ewart to lean forward and speak in her soft, unaccented voice. “I agree, generally, with what has been said. All that we can offer in mitigation is the author's ignorance.” Martin almost felt like objecting but, for once sensibly, stayed silent. “It will be argued that the author, you, Mr Harrison, should have ensured that the details included in your work were fictional or, in the case of names and addresses, were included only with the specific written permission of those affected. But you chose to include those details without undertaking any of the checks that a reasonable person would have deemed prudent. Therefore you are at fault. It may be further argued that what you did in writing your book was done with forethought, and that you intended harm to befall Mr Smithson as a result of your actions. That will be difficult to prove. It will be our contention that you have never visited the area in which Mr Smithson lives, you do not own and have never owned any index to the streets in the area and simply made up a street name. We will further contend that you have never met Mr Smithson or any member of his family, to your knowledge, and you believed that no such person existed. Our contentions will be made in the expectation that the court will accept that the libel was wholly accidental and happened as a consequence of inexcusable carelessness. The financial penalty that you will face will be substantial, let us be very clear on that, but far less extreme than would be the case if the libel had been or were to be decided by the court to have been deliberate.”
“If Martin had done it deliberately what would the penalty be?” Agnetta looked very worried indeed.
“Financially extreme, that is certain,” the soft Ewart voice replied, “and possibly custodial were it to be deemed sufficiently serious. There is no guarantee that will not be the outcome.”
Hadley could see the two faces opposite go numb with shock. “Thankfully we have the talents of Eloise to put our case,” he said in an attempt at reassurance, “and I don't think we need take the possibility of custody too seriously. Instead there will be a substantial financial penalty, for which you must prepare yourself.”
“There's the insurance,” Martin said, very quietly.
“Of course. But you must be prepared – you must both be prepared – to deal with effects that are not merely financial. It is most unlikely that any publisher will want to handle your work in the future, there will be no further sales of the book as it will be withdrawn from sale and I imagine that the film will be withdrawn from any video and DVD catalogues in which it might appear, assuming that such copies are available. Will you be able to continue your lifestyle with no income? I suspect not, although I am ignoring any income you may continue to receive income from any investments you might have.”
Agnetta had paled so much that Hadley thought he'd gone too far; on reflection, though, he decided that she had to know what was happening however painful it might be. So he decided to press on.
“Turning now to the second communication that I
have received, that is in some ways more serious than the first but it represents no unquantifiable financial threat to you. It came from the film company's Vice-President of Legal Services and in it he points out that the terms of the contract, under which you recently received a large sum of money, have been breached. In the contract you provided a warranty that there was nothing untoward that would prevent the making of the sequel to your film. I am of course simplifying the exact terms. I have to say that the gentleman is correct; there is no counter-argument. Under the terms of the contract the sum that you received is immediately repayable, and there are provisions for interest to be charged, I have to say at frankly usurous rates, in the event of delayed repayment. I believe the sum in question is in the region of one and a half million pounds, is that correct?”
“Yes,” admitted a brutally crushed Martin.
“Are you in a position to make repayment?”
“Mm? What, pay it back?”
“Yes Martin. You must. As soon as you possibly can.”
“I'll have to talk to the bank, get the overdraft up a bit, then I can. I suppose.”
“Overdraft? I wasn't aware that you had such a facility.”
“I have, but it's only small, fifty grand or