Page 30 of A Class Act

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Out with it.’

‘I think your brother put it very succinctly.’

‘Your grandfather murdered two people?’ Fabian stared. ‘How the hell does Julius know aboutyourgrandfather?’

‘He’s obviously done his homework.’

‘So, go on, then, tell me.’

‘Long story, but if you’re hoping I’m going to tell you he was innocent, that it was all a mistake, then sorry, I’m not.’ I suddenly felt utterly bone weary. ‘Look, Fabian, drop me off at the station in Marlow and I’ll get the train back to London.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Robyn – I’ve a table booked for afternoon tea.’

‘I don’t think so, Fabian.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Why didn’tyoutellme?’

Fabian stared. ‘Tell you what?’

‘That you’re going to be defending the Soho Slasher.’

‘You seem to know a lot about it. Abouthim.’

‘Of course I do,’ I snapped crossly. ‘It’s the only thing anyone’s been talking about: you and I have talked about him loads of times – we even had a discussion about how on earth he would ever get anyone to defend him in court?—’

‘No, we didn’t, Robyn,’ Fabian interrupted calmly. ‘You spouted long and hard and I didn’t respond. That’s not a discussion.’

‘No, you didn’t dare, did you? Didn’t dare tell me you’re going to be on the side of the man who, despite his exceptionally privileged upbringing and his education at top public schools, chose as his sport raping and murdering women. You knew I couldn’t stay with you if I learned you’d been engineering a way to get him off.’

‘There’s a long way to go yet. The case is at the early stages.’

‘Fabian, women like me have been terrified to walk the streets at night. The Ritzy Ripper,the papers are now calling him, now they know his background and about the suite his parents kept at The Ritz hotel. Likened him to the Yorkshire Ripper, who preyed on women on my home patch back north.’

‘I didn’t tell you because I knew this would be your reaction; I didn’t want to lose you. And presumably that’s why you chose not to mention tomethat your grandfather killed two people?’

‘Let’s not sweeten this with words – hemurderedtwo people. And no, it’s not something I bring up over a cup of tea and a custard cream.’

‘When would you have told me?’

‘I’m sure, if you’d done a bit of googling, you’d soon have come across an article about Jayden Allen and learned that my grandfather murdered my grandmother and her lover when Jayden was just a baby. A double murder in the early seventies by a black man – a reggae singer himself who’d come over from Jamaica onThe Windrush– of his white wife and her whitelover was the stuff of headlines in the same way that your Rupert Henderson-Smith is now.’

‘He’s notmyRupert Henderson-Smith.’

‘No, but it sounds like he soon will be. How can you, Fabian? Howcanyou do it? Is it for the money? The kudos?’

‘Even when all of the evidence points to the guilt of a client?—’

‘A client?’ I gave a little laugh.

‘When all of the evidence points to the guilt of a client,’ Fabian went on calmly, ‘they are still entitled to a fair trial and representation.’

‘And Julius and your mother are obviously delighted you’ve taken on the case?’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t get it. Why?’ Then I saw the light. ‘Oh, I bet it would be a bit different if he was plain old Roy Smith from Tower Hamlets who’d gone to the local comp? Or my grandfather – yes, why not, now that that little can of worms has been opened? – my grandfather, a black man from Jamaica who’d murdered his white English-born wife? But Rupert Henderson-Smith, Eton educated, whose parents probably mix in the same social circles as your own, well, that’s totally different, isn’t it?’

‘You’re talking about something you know nothing about, Robyn,’ Fabian said stiffly.

‘And you’re telling me that your mother and your brother would welcome the granddaughter of a convicted Jamaican double murderer into your family? Tainting those Anglo-Saxon genes you’re all, oh, so proud of? Can you just picture me, eating cucumber sandwiches on the lawn with Claudia, discussing where, oh, where is the best place to send little Henry and Amelia to nursery school?’ I adopted the Jamaican patois once again: ‘We must enrol them where the little ones can learn Mandarin and Caribbean…’

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