of fact have not varied and detailed notes exist of our meetings with the defendant. Copies of those notes have been passed to the other side and Mr Smithson's legal advisers have indicated their agreement to my request, unusual though it may be.” She treated the Judge to a final, pleading look and awaited a response.
The Judge looked at the face from which the plea had been delivered, glanced at the opposing legal team and thought for a moment. He sighed audibly and, with a careful look at Martin, spoke.
“Miss Ewart, you and I have shared a courtroom several times before and I have formed the opinion that you conduct yourself properly, to the highest possible standards of probity. I can see no advantage accruing to your client if I accede to your request. Your client indeed does not appear to be a fit man. I will reserve the right to withdraw my agreement should I believe it necessary as matters progress but I am minded to grant you what you wish. Very well, let us proceed.”
The day ground on. Lunch was taken. By mid-afternoon both sides had stated their cases; the respective barristers summarised their positions before the Judge relaxed in his seat. There was just the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. “I think,” he said with a depth of gravity that contrasted sharply with his facial expression, “that it would be unwise to deliver a verdict today. I shall do so at two o'clock tomorrow. We will adjourn until then.”
It was a difficult night. At no small cost to George Hadley's firm, and which he doubted would ever be recovered, two private nurses were brought in to ensure that Martin had a stable night's sleep and, if at all possible, actually ate some solid food. Those nurses remained in attendance throughout the next morning and help to escort Martin to court, finding themselves repeatedly photographed for the next day's newspapers. Of course, that day's papers were kept well away from Martin: the psychological effect of seeing himself castigated in banner headlines screaming from the front pages of the tabloids would have been catastrophic.
Thanks in no small way to the nurses and the medication they were able to administer Martin returned to court in good time, accompanied by his legal advisers. His level of awareness of what was happening was, of course, a matter on which those with him could only speculate.
At two o'clock exactly the Judge appeared. The Smithson team looked expectantly confident whereas George Hadley and Eloise Ewart looked a little nervous. Martin Harrison, at the very epicentre of the day's events, just looked blankly disinterested. The Judge studied Martin at almost embarrassing length, finding his intense gaze having no effect at all upon its subject. He turned his head slightly to look at the two teams of legal advisers, then he treated the two nurses to a brief study.
“It disturbs me,” he began, “that I may be adding to Mr Harrison's woes, but I fear I have no choice. As Miss Ewart said at the outset yesterday, this case is in essence simple. I am asked to decide whether Mr Harrison libelled Mr Smithson deliberately or whether it was a wholly accidental happening. Had I the opportunity to have Mr Harrison before me in a state of robust good health my task may have been a little easier, but I can base my decision only on the facts and arguments put to me. If the libel was indeed deliberate it is a most serious matter and would indicate a level of sheer vindictiveness that I could only call staggering. I might also add that if Mr Harrison did not expect to end up exactly where he is now, facing the most extreme financial penury and worse, the level of naivety would also be staggering. On the other hand, if the libel was wholly accidental, as Miss Ewart would have me believe, an almost unbelievable set of coincidences have occurred that stretch credulity to breaking point and, I have to say, some way beyond that point.
“It is the contention of one side, let us call it the Smithson contention, that the series of coincidences is so remarkable, so accurate and so damaging that they could come about only because Mr Harrison wished harm to befall Mr Smithson. The Smithson contention is based on a negative: that it is simply not possible to 'invent' a set of circumstances that so precisely match reality.
“It is argued for Mr Harrison that he has never visited the area in which Mr Smithson lives, and was in complete ignorance of his existence until the accusation of libel was levelled at him. Moreover, it is contended on Mr Harrison's behalf that he does not own an index to the streets of Mr Smithson's locality and has never owned or had in his possession for any length of time, no matter how brief, such an index.
“Neither argument is convincing. A reasonable man might conclude that the accuracy of the detail is such that it must be deliberate and I find myself drawn to that conclusion. There is another factor that I must consider, however, and that is the question of motivation. Why should Mr Harrison bear such a grudge against Mr Smithson, a grudge so deep that it gives rise to such an extraordinary situation? I do not know because no reasons have been advanced. Mr Smithson will I am sure have thought about this, yet he offers no facts or opinions on the matter. From this glaring omission in the evidence put forward on his behalf I can conclude only that no such motivation has been found.
“With some doubt I am minded to determine that the libel was accidental, however incredible it might seem. I will proceed on that basis.
“An accidental libel has effects, and an author who perpetrates such a thing through carelessness, as is the situation in the case before me, must face up to the consequences of his actions. I say this in the full knowledge of the defendant's state of health, which I am prepared to take into account as far as is possible. I believe it reasonable to order Mr Harrison to pay or cause to be paid to Mr Smithson the sum of one hundred thousand pounds in respect of his loss of earnings. I am also minded to order that Mr Harrison pay or causes to be paid to Mr Smithson a further sum of one hundred thousand pounds in respect of injury to his reputation and a further sum of three hundred thousand pounds in punitive damages. I am prepared to allow Mr Harrison six months from today's date to meet his obligation under my order; failure to do so will invite a charge of contempt of court.
“Let it be so ordered.”
Hadley had breathed a sigh of relief when he had heard the Judge's decision; now, on their way out of the court building he realised that it had all passed Martin by and what the two nurses were supporting was just a shell. The real Martin Harrison, if he still existed, was living in a world of his own. He stopped the nurses as they led Martin towards a waiting ambulance under a dazzling array of flashbulbs which were turning the late afternoon, autumnal gloom into a surreal intimate hell.
“Keep me informed,” he said, “I need to know as soon as he can deal with the outcome of all this.”
The older of the two nurses nodded, then they took Martin away.
Later that evening, as Hadley drove up the motorway towards home, he indulged in a little mental arithmetic. Agnetta was going to get half of the sale proceeds of the house, which would be perhaps two million. The film company wanted a million and a half returned to them and now the judgement debt was known, at half a million. Then the film company were starting another action in a US court and that was going to be costly. Finally there was the matter of legal fees, which, with additional
costs for Eloise Ewart and the private nurses, were already at an astronomical level. The only conclusion that he could come to was that Martin was broke, comprehensively and inescapably bankrupt. It wasn't a happy thought.
As the following days passed there was no change reported in the bulletins Hadley received, first thing in the morning at in the late afternoon every day, from the hospital to which Martin had been admitted. Then, after more than two weeks of intensive – and ruinously expensive – care and the regular administration of a programme of drugs, there came the first signs of improvement. Almost painfully slowly some of Martin's cognitive functions began to return.
After a month in hospital it became possible to converse, if only for a few minutes at a time. That was a major stepping stone, but progress was agonisingly slow. Then Hadley received a call telling him that his client had been able to get out of bed and walk a few steps
unaided. From that point on Martin's progress became a little quicker; within a week of his first steps he was walking almost normally again and was interacting well with the staff looking after him. He was morose, it was true, as he seemed to realise that he had lost not only his wife but everything else as well. Then, one morning, the call Hadley expected at nine in the morning, just like every other morning, didn't come.
The silence from the hospital just went on, but Hadley assumed that Martin's progress was now deemed to be good enough for reports to be needed only once a day. When the five o'clock call wasn't made Hadley decided to drive to the hospital to see Martin for himself; he hadn't had time to make the two hour each way drive for several weeks.
He arrived at the hospital's reception area at almost eight in the evening and asked id Martin was still in the same room. The greying, harassed woman he spoke to looked as if she was just about to break into a panic. “Can I ask who you are?” Her tone was nervous in the extreme.
“George Hadley, Mr Harrison's solicitor.”
“Oh,” she said, “just a moment.” She left the desk and went into a glass-walled office where she made a phone call. Clearly