They sat in the reception area of Laker, Neal and Robson, a twenty-partner firm with offices in a modern building situated in a modern business park. The contrast with Michael’s modest, traditional office in a Georgian townhouse could not be more stark and, for Jess, more intimidating.
They’d arrived five minutes early and the receptionist had called it through, but fifteen minutes later they were still waiting.
“Are you okay?” asked Michael, sensing her nervousness.
“Yes. I just want to get it over with. What’s keeping them?” she said, her impatience evident, her anxiety difficult to hide. “It’s just rude.”
“Tactics, Jess. She’ll be here in” – he looked at his watch – “ninety seconds.” He was out by ten.
Pauline Robson, in pin-striped suit and high-heeled court shoes, sashayed across the marble floor to where they were sitting and gave them her most affected rictus grin.
“Mr Goodman and Miss Jeffries,” she gushed, “so sorry to have kept you. Pauline Robson.” She held out a limp hand to Michael as if she expected him to kiss it, but he took it and shook it briskly. “I was just getting a last-minute brief from my client,” she drawled, ignoring Jess completely. “Please follow me.” She swivelled on the spot and strutted off in the opposite direction, waggling her bottom as she went. Jess looked at Michael, noticing a raised eyebrow.
She showed them into a meeting room furnished with an oval table and four chairs, one of them already occupied by Dave who was studying his phone.
“This is my client, Mr Morley,” she said to Michael, but Dave didn’t stand and Michael made no attempt to reach out a hand. “I believe you two have met?” she said, acknowledging Jess’s presence for the first time. She gestured to them to sit, smoothed her skirt behind her and sat down next to Dave in front of a new manila folder containing several papers. Jess judged her to be fifty or so, with short dark hair severely swept back and wearing little or no make-up, a pearl necklace and matching ear studs the only adornments, her left hand devoid of rings.
Jess looked up at Dave and saw he was grinning at her, relaxed and calm, supercilious. He put his phone down and rested his hands on the table. Pauline Robson arranged her spectacles on her nose and casually studied the papers in her folder.
“Now, Mr Goodman. No doubt you’ve discussed with your client our letter of the fourteenth in which we set out on behalf of our client, Mr David Morley, his claim against Miss Alice Jeffries for access rights to his two young children?”
“Ms Robson …”
“Miss.”
Michael cleared his throat
“Miss Robson. You will have noted from my reply dated the seventeenth that my client wishes to be known as Miss Jess Jeffries.”
“Yes, I did notice that. What is your client’s real name, may I ask?” She said all this without looking once at Jess and it made her feel she shouldn’t even be in the room, which was probably the intention.
“My client once used the name ‘Alice’ but that was a long time ago.”
“I see,” said Miss Robson, with a hint of disdain, and hastily scribbled something on her pad. “Well, I’ve read and discussed your letter with Mr Morley and I have to say we are somewhat shocked and dismayed by the very serious and flagrantly inaccurate allegations contained therein. Needless to say we refute these vile accusations unreservedly and will require you and your client to undertake never to repeat them.”
Dave smirked at Jess and she struggled to remain calm.
“Jess stands by her allegations and is quite prepared, if necessary, to repeat them in front of a police officer.” Michael had already made it clear to her that this would be an idle threat, but she had insisted. He was right.
“Mr Goodman, you and I both know your client has no prospect whatsoever of getting the police to press charges on something so” – she made a pretence of searching for the right word – “fanciful. If your client persists with these outrageous claims, we shall issue proceedings for defamation. Furthermore, I should warn you Mr Morley is considering reporting your client to the police for theft.”
“Theft?” Jess couldn’t help blurting it out, her anger building. Michael put a hand on her arm. Dave smirked. Pauline Robson raised her head slowly, peering down at her over the top of her spectacles.
“On the day you left The Navigation, you stole the sum of twelve hundred pounds. Do you deny it?”
Jess took a moment, trying to work out where this had come from, and then the realisation dawned on her. The money on the bar. But it was too late; her hesitation was faintly damning and she felt Michael stiffen.
“I paid the money into their bank an hour later!”
The woman smiled at her disdainfully.
“So you admit you took it, then.”
“I gave it back!”
“Mr Morley has no record of that.”
“Well I’m sure his ex-wife does.” She knew her voice was rising in pitch but she couldn’t control it.
“How convenient. Anyway, the appalling allegations you have made against Mr Morley are nothing more than a pathetic attempt to distract from the real issue, which is Mr Morley’s statutory right to have access to his children.”
“Never!”
The woman pursed her lips in distaste at Jess’s attempt to look and sound defiant.
“Mr Goodman, if I may, I should like to ask your client some questions about the time she was at The Navigation working for Mr Morley, and in particular, the day she walked out without giving notice, taking twelve hundred pounds from the till. Mr Morley has given me his version of events and I think you may find them ... illuminating.”
Michael looked sideways at Jess to check she was happy to proceed. She nodded grimly.
“I also think it will be a useful means of setting out the facts as we know them. It is no more or less than that which the police would do, were your client to carry out her vile threat to repeat her scurrilous accusations, and it may help her understand why the course of action she is pursuing is futile.”
“Go ahead.”
“Thank you. Miss Jeffries, I understand you worked at The Navigation for Mr and Mrs Morley for a period of approximately four weeks. Is that correct?”
“Yes, about that.”
“And where were you living at the time?”
Jess shrugged
“I wasn’t living anywhere.”
“You mean you were homeless?”
“I suppose so.”
Jess dropped her head. She didn’t want to go into the history; the story of her life.
“And is it not the case that Mr and Mrs Morley took you in, gave you employment and accommodation despite your not being able to provide any references?” Jess nodded. “Trusted you, in fact?”
Jess remained silent. She knew the Morleys had exploited her circumstances, kept her off the books and used her as cheap labour, but at the time she was content with the arrangement; it was far better than being homeless, but she didn’t have the energy to try and explain.
“And how did Mr and Mrs Morley treat you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Were they cruel to you? Did they criticise your work? Refuse to pay you? Did they make life difficult for you, such that you wanted to leave?”
“No. Not until …” She shuddered, not wanting to think about the events again, but there was no choice.
“Not until what, Miss Jeffries?” The woman’s tone was officious, supercilious and smug, but Jess was relieved she hadn’t attempted to delve into her past.
“Not until he tried to touch me.”
“We’ll come on to that. So why did you take advantage of their good nature?”
“I didn’t!”
“Why did you try and seduce Mr Morley?” It hit her like a punch.
“What!?” Jess looked across the table at Dave, astonished at how anyone could tell such lies. She returned the woman’s steely gaze, the raised eyebrows that challenged her to explain. But the woman went on.
“Is it not true, Miss Jeffries, that, on the day you left The Navigation, you attempted to seduce Mr Morley while his wife was out?”
“NO! Of course not. He groped me!” she shouted, pointing a finger at Dave who flinched momentarily in response.
“The truth is you plastered yourself with perfume and make-up and flaunted yourself in front of him.”
“No! It wasn’t like that at all.”
“But you were wearing perfume and make-up?”
“Yes. Mrs Morley gave it to me.”
“And she told you not to wear it while you were working?”
“Not at the time.” She was flustered, trying to remember the chronology of events. “She gave it to me and I wore some the next day to show her I was grateful, and she said I smelt and looked nice but that I should remove it before lunchtime.”
“And did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Did you remove it?”
“No.”
“I see. So you were asked to remove it but you disobeyed.” The woman was forcing her into a corner.
“I didn’t have time. No sooner had Mrs Morley left the pub, he had his hands on me.” She poked a finger at him again.
“So Mrs Morley had left the building, leaving you alone with Mr Morley.”
“Yes.”
“And you took the opportunity to take advantage of him.”
“No!”
“Mr Morley paid you a simple compliment and you reacted by pressing yourself up against him.”
“NO! I was minding my own business when he came up behind me and groped me.”
“So you say. Did you ask him to desist?”
“Yes. I asked him not to … to put his hands there.”
“Put his hands where?”
“On me. Around my waist.”
“But that was your intention, wasn’t it? Your intention was to draw Mr Morley in?”
“No!”
“And then, when you succeeded in drawing him in, you spurned him.”
“What?”
“You drew him in and then asked him to desist. I think the phrase is ‘playing hard to get’.”
“That’s not true!”
“And then you asked him for money.” Jess shook her head in bewilderment. And then the memories came back to her. Where’s my bonus? The woman was looking at her. She knew.
“Did you ask Mr Morley for money?” she demanded.
“No! Well … yes, but ...”
“Which is it, Miss Jeffries?”
“Yes, but not like that.”
“Like what?”
“I was just trying to get rid of him.”
“I cannot see how asking Mr Morley for money when he was allegedly ‘groping’ you was likely to achieve the result you claim to have wished.” Jess took a breath and tried to calm herself. She spoke slowly and carefully in an attempt to make herself understood.
“Earlier that week, he said he wanted to give me a bonus and I turned it down at first, but he insisted and then, when I said okay, if you really want to, he put his hands on me and I thought he was trying to ... you know … wanted to ... touch me.”
“You thought he was trying to buy sex.”
Jess looked up, startled. It was crude and direct and she imagined being in a police station with a male police officer asking the same question. She shuddered.
“Yes.”
“So, after you’d thought about it, you spotted the opportunity to make some extra cash?”
“No! When he tried again, I just said the first thing that came into my head. Just to get rid of him.”
“So, you asked him to pay you and he agreed. Then what?”
“He said, ‘Okay, I’ll get your bonus,’ and he went off.”
“And what did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything. I was too afraid to think. I didn’t know what to do. Then after a moment or two I decided I’d just go back to my room and shut myself in for a while.”
“And did you?”
“I tried but he was back in an instant and he grabbed me again. Waving money at me. Grinning.” She looked at Dave and for the first time he looked a little unnerved.
“So, you waited for him to come back?”
“No! I was confused. By the time I’d decided what to do he was back.”
“And how long was he away?”
“I don’t know! A minute or two.”
“And then he offered you the money and you accepted it?”
Jess hesitated. She knew where this was going, how this was being portrayed, and she felt the same shame and revulsion she had felt afterwards. Shame at her inability to protect herself, not thinking any of it mattered. Not making the link or rationalising the sequence of events. How it would look to the casual observer. Not understanding the consequences.
“Yes.”
“And then you offered yourself to him.”
“No! I tried to stop him. To push him away.”
“Why? You’d already taken the money. The contract was sealed. Or were you just being a tease?”
She could hear him now. “I know your sort. You’re nothing but a tease.”
“No. I tried to stop him because I knew it was wrong.”
“You knew what you were doing was wrong?”
“I wasn’t doing anything! It was him!” She stabbed a finger at Dave without looking at him. “He threatened me. He said if I wasn’t nice to him, he’d throw me out, and I couldn’t bear the thought of being out on my own again.” The ghastly woman was twisting everything to make it look as if she’d planned and initiated the entire incident. Jess dropped her head and sighed. “I had nowhere to go.”
“And did you think it unreasonable that your employer should require you to behave responsibly?”
“I did behave responsibly. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Mr Morley’s judgement” – she looked down at her notes – “was that you had behaved very badly indeed. Overstepped the mark. That you looked and smelt like a low-grade prostitute with behaviour to match.” The slur hit home.
“That’s not true!” Jess knew she was losing the battle and tried but failed to keep the pleading out of her voice. The appeal for understanding. There had only been two of them there. There were no witnesses. It was her word against his but he had this harridan on his side; this woman who was able to manipulate and misrepresent the facts to suit her case. It was far more difficult for Michael to defend her in the same circumstances.
“So then you invited Mr Morley to your room.” Jess remained silent. The woman pressed on. “You invited Mr Morley into your room, undressed and engaged in sexual intercourse with him.”
“No.” She sounded subdued and broken.
“No?”
“He undressed me.”
“But you didn’t resist.” A statement. A fact. No, she didn’t resist. She’d let him do what he wanted. Just like she’d let the others do what they wanted. That was her place, to do what men wanted.
“No.”
“You didn’t say stop. You didn’t say no.”
“No.”
“You allowed him to undress you and have sexual relations with you without uttering a word of resistance, without hitting back or scratching or fighting him in any way?”
Jess remained silent as the tirade continued.
“And you only stopped when Mrs Morley came back unexpectedly and found you.”
Jess nodded, broken.
“And, having been caught in the act, you ran away, stealing twelve hundred pounds.”
The lie demanded a response.
“I didn’t steal it!”
“I think we’ve been through that.” Pauline Robson removed her spectacles and placed them on the folder in front of her. “So, what we have here is” – she presented the fingers of one hand and started to reel off the facts again, one finger at a time – “you wore provocative make-up and perfume. You attempted to seduce Mr Morley in order to make money. When Mr Morley responded in the way you had planned, you feigned resistance and then demanded money in return for ‘giving in’ to his advances, which is what you’d intended all along.
“You took the money and then pretended to resist in order to heighten his desires and no doubt give yourself some perverse satisfaction. You invited him to your room and allowed him to undress you. You willingly participated in sexual intercourse and would have continued to do so had you not been discovered by the unexpected return of Mrs Morley. Realising the game was up, you fled the premises, taking money that didn’t belong to you, and left the Morleys angry, confused, frustrated, their marriage in tatters, and twelve hundred pounds worse off.” For effect, she took a pause for breath, her aspirations towards a seat in the judiciary clearly evident in the presentation of her case and, especially, the summing up.
“In the circumstances, no reasonable person could conclude that you were anything other than a prostitute and a thief, that the sex was entirely consensual and pre-planned, and any suggestion that this might be remotely regarded as ‘rape’ totally implausible, outrageous and a vile slur on the unblemished character of my client.”
Jess, head down, breathing deeply, felt the stirrings from deep inside. The same feelings she’d once had on a riverbank, in torrential rain, in the midst of the most violent thunderstorm, when her only shelter had been ripped from her hands and lost, the last semblance of protection blown away; everyone and everything conspiring to destroy her, leaving her with nothing other than her own spirit. Now this woman was trying to destroy her, trying to take from her all she had, like so many had tried to do before, and ultimately, they’d all failed, because ultimately, the truth would out. She lifted her head slowly and looked at the strutting, pouting, gurning monster in front of her. Her voice calm, measured, barely audible.
“Have you ever been raped?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Jess exploded with rage and smashed one hand down on the table so hard the room shook.
“Have you ever been raped!?” she screamed. Pauline Robson recoiled in fear and horror; fear at the unexpected outburst, abject horror at the affront, and terror at the sudden and unpredictable change in the girl’s character. Dave and Michael both sat back instinctively, similarly shocked by the transformation.
“How dare you?” Pauline Robson pumped herself up, nerves fuelling a rush of pomposity. “I have never been so—”
“Well I have!” shouted Jess, interrupting her, thrusting a hand in the air spreading three fingers and stabbing them at her assailant. “Three times! I know what it is. You have no idea. I suggest you go try it and then maybe you might be able to talk from experience!” She stood up abruptly, pushed back her chair, tipping it onto the floor. She leant over the table, two hands supporting her weight, staring at Dave who recoiled in fear.
“You will never see my kids.” The menace in her tone was unmistakeable and unambiguous, and she watched him cower in front of her. She turned and strode out of the meeting room leaving the door wide open, as wide as the three mouths she left behind.