Chapter 282.
Monday. Thomasina’s appointment was at ten. It was a chilly day, and she dressed herself warmly in leggings, boots, and a thick roll-neck jumper. Her mother drove her. The car warmed up. Lady Middiford sniffed.
“What’s that smell?”
“Smell?”
“Sort of rubbery smell.”
“Probably something in the heater.”
“Hmph.”
Caspar, Pugilmain and Snipe was a typical provincial firm of solicitors; three partners, two assistants, an articled clerk, the partners all with a self-satisfied auras of superiority and more or less unimaginative. They couldn’t, for instance, imagine a client who thought she knew better than they, or who dared to challenge their decisions. For them, even the great and noble, even the rich – especially the rich – should come to them hats in hand, pleading for advice. Today their illusions of invincibility were about to be shattered.
The senior parter, Archibald (never dare to call me Archie) Pugilmain, showed them into his office with a cool motion of his well-manicured hand.
“Lady Middiford, a pleasure to see you…and your fair daughter…” (He had already forgotten Thomasina’s name.) “Please…take a seat. I trust you are both well…?”
“Thank you, Mr Pugilmain… Very well.”
“May I ask…have you heard anything from, er…” He consulted his file. “Ah, yes, Miss Poole, is it? As I said, we have had nothing as yet…”
“Of course not. Not a word from that woman – horse-trainer, whatever she is. Didn’t expect it. Lowest of the low. Probably a gypsy, by the sound of her.”
“Ah, yes…quite. Well, then, let us proceed. Your daughter here, er…”
“Thomasina,” piped up Thomasina, looking at Pugilmain with an amused expression, which for a moment confused him slightly.
“Ah, yes, Tommer…”
“Sina.”
“So, er, Tommerseener, all we need is your statement of the unfortunate events of that day in September.” He tried to assume an expression of empathy, but as that was a quality entirely absent from his character, the attempt failed. “I hope the recollection will not be too distressing.”
Lady Middiford was beginning to look impatient, no doubt recalling Mr Pugilmain’s hourly rate, so he started recording.
“Please go ahead.”
“I have to make a confession. I apologise for wasting everyone’s time – and your money, mummy.”
This was said in the most unapologetic tone imaginable. Indeed, it appeared that Thomasina was actually smiling. Lady Middiford’s eyes widened slightly Pugilmain looked mildly surprised, but as yet unconcerned.
“I was probably rather distressed that day. I may have exaggerated. That’s my excuse, anyway. But mummy? I think you also over-reacted. I know you must have wanted to defend me, so I understand. But whatever, I want to put the record straight. I was pushed around a bit, but upon reflection I think I probably provoked the whole incident. Those girls were always jealous of my expensive gear. It wasn’t unnatural, considering how hard up most of them are. I did nothing to appease them. On the contrary, I flaunted my greater wealth and made them even more resentful. It was stupid and crass and mean, and I regret it sincerely. I got one of them sacked. At the time I was pleased. Now I realise that perhaps that was the outcome I was unconsciously hoping for. I feel responsible for the whole thing. If anyone is guilty, it’s me. As for Miss Poole, she took immediate action. It’s quite unfair that we should seek to take legal action against her or the Centre. I apologised to her yesterday. We should withdraw that horrible letter that Mr Plugilman wrote.” (She particularly enjoyed mispronouncing his name, especially as that seemed to upset him even more than the substance of her statement.) “Mummy, I’m sorry if I bent the truth that evening when I told you what had happened. I wanted to put things right, but I was frightened that you would be angry with me. And then things sort of…got out of hand… Please understand…”
She hung her head. Her mother peered at her. She couldn’t tell whether she was about to cry…or whether there was a faint smile on her lips. The rubbery smell seemed to have pursued them into Mr Pugilmain’s office. Perhaps it had got into their clothes…
Pugilmain looked at Lady Middiford with a sort of “who can tell what goes on in young girls’ heads” expression. It was a pity. But at least he’s be able to charge for the letter of retraction. That would cost more than the letter of intent, involving as it would subtle, lawyerly rhetoric withdrawing threats whilst avoiding apologies. As to the daughter’s statement, he was interested how Lady Middiford would react. He anticipated an explosion.
But she wasn’t stupid. Pugilmain had sent the letter without running it past her. She was not happy about that, and she didn’t like him much anyway. His smugness reminded her of her ex-husband, who she had divorced eight years before. And she couldn’t help feeling proud of Thomasina for having a conscience and being so courageous. It seemed she had been growing up with her noticing.
“Right. Now we know the position. Mr Pugilmain, please send a letter of retraction. A simple letter to Miss Poole asking her to ignore your first one – which I didn’t like anyway.”
Pugilmain looked offended, but she ignored him.
“And this time please copy me the draft before you send it. It’ll be a short letter, so please do it this morning, email it to me, I will approve or amend it immediately and you can email it to Miss Poole. I’ll deal with the rest.”
“But Lady Middiford, I think we need to be very careful what we say…”
“No. Don’t be careful. Just do as I’ve asked. Come, Thomasina. We need to do some shopping before lunch. By two, please, Mr Pugilmain. No later than two. Good morning.”
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