Shed Productions made the original Bad Girl element of the characters, wrote the stories, and have full copyright to them. I am using these characters simply for non-profit, entertainment value. Likewise I am giving credits to G F Newman who wrote the Judge John Deed copyrighted characters and storylines via BBC Productions in this cross over fiction.

I wish to give credits to Norfolkpoodle and her barrister brother for her invaluable assistance in constructing the legal background which inspired this fic. I would likewise give credits to the Bad Girl Annex Site for help with chronology from their ‘Timelines’ piece –also to William Shakespeare for the loan of lines from ‘The Merchant of Venice.’.

I am happy to accept comment, but am not looking for any criticism (negative or positive) either publicly or privately--only general encouragement


Scene One

The atmosphere within the hallowed walls of the Lord Chancellor’s Department was always cool and restrained. After all, it was built of ancient stone to reflect the true majesty of law and only the select few could pass by the doorman. The lucky few could stroll down wide corridors and high ceilings and past ancient portraits of past judges of renown, which were hung on the walls in gilt frames. Everything about the establishment spoke of an elevated and refined consciousness, of continuity back through the ages. Outside the building, Sky dishes may sprout in all their modern vulgarity and increased numbers of motorized vehicles create their cacophonous noise across the land but the catacombs of the Lord Chancellor’s Department keeps them removed. The only significant changes that had taken place in the department were the introduction of computers where needed and the odd portable television that was hidden away in a corner.

For all that veneer of ancient civilization, the department was very well attuned to the demands of the state. It had developed the art to a fine degree in allowing the judiciary the belief that they were free thinking citizens while at the same time, they had that sixth sense in terms of where their public duty lay. Somehow, the findings of the judges managed not to rock the boat. It was not unassisted by the fact that they had all gone to the same schools and universities, cheek by jowl with future politicians and captains of industry. To say that strings were pulled would be far too crude – it was just that they had an automatic instinct for the greater good of the country. Behind the self-deprecating manner, those who had their hands on the machinery of government had a steely grasp of power and were determined just where to draw the line. They could also draw on the network of who’s who in order to head off trouble.
.
The problem was that in modern times, there was a steady decline of deference towards the natural betters and an awkward tendency for troublemakers to ask awkward questions that were better left unasked. The trouble with liberal thought was that, inevitably, some high-minded people took it seriously, not just as a plaything of Hampstead intellectuals. That spirit turned up in the most unexpected of places and it was this that kept the establishment jumpy when all it asked for was that they should continue to steer the Ship of State in their own time honoured way.

Two custodians of the ancient order were now conferring in a comfortably appointed office. The taller man was slightly built, smartly dressed with a veneer of a patrician manner. He viewed the world through suspicious eyes but secretly regretted that he hadn’t the strength of personality that he wanted. In his effort to come over as dominating, he suspected that he only appeared as petulant. His position gave him no problems in exercising his authority on those below him. They knew just how revengeful the man could be. It was those over whom he held no sanctions that spelled potential trouble such as the judiciary and barristers. While they could be an argumentative, hopelessly individualistic lot, he was able to get along with them with a certain discreet charm while he tolerated their idiosyncrasies. At least, this applied to the majority of them….
“So how do you consider the Wade appeal will go,” a very tense Sir Ian asked of his sidekick, Lawrence James.
“Huntley is a safe pair of hands. He can be relied upon to do what is necessary for the greater good. Besides, Frobisher is our man who is conducting the prosecution. He is very confident of the outcome.”
His colleague was of Jamaican descent who had successfully erased every trace of his origins except for the colour of his skin. In his enthusiasm to be assimilated into the grateful, outstretched arms of the British ruling class, his zealousness was noteworthy along with the fact that his suit was just that bit shinier and more immaculate than Sir Ian’s. He spoke in a deep harsh tone of voice as befitting the circuit administrator with total power over the destinies of the functionaries of his court staff.
“And what about Ms Chambers who is conducting the defence? A loose cannon if ever there is one like our own Mrs. Mills. ” Sir Ian demanded snappishly, with the deliberate emphasis of an angry bee on the title.
“My source of information is that the original verdict is sound. The original statement to the police is utterly damning.”
“Maybe.”
The silence that hung heavy on the room wasn’t a comfortable one despite all the positive sentiments expressed. Each of them had that sneaking suspicion that Marian Chambers had something up her sleeve. The fact that the notorious lesbian cop killer had engaged the services of a young female solicitor who must have some eye to her future career and, still more, engaged the services of that particular barrister, made them feel that not everything was as it should be. For all their imperious dominance of the legal system, they both had the feeling that the future was threatening to slip out of their hands. For control freaks like them, this was a primal fear.

“It could have been worse, Sir Ian. The case has been kept out of the hands of Deed. Imagine what mischief he could make.”
Sir Ian shuddered. That man was the biggest thorn in his flesh and occasionally came into view into his nightmares. Despite his humble beginnings, he had had chance of the best of educations and yet he had become a complete maverick. He was a crusading liberal whom a mischievous fate must have played a practical joke on the Lord Chancellor’s Department in bestowing on him his exceptional talents. John Deed had an enquiring mind and an ability to nose out the truth. He had that knack of producing startlingly original judgments, as if he were producing a rabbit out of a hat. He had made his name as a brilliant barrister and, in these meritocratic modern times, his abilities could not be denied by the establishment so that his recent promotion as a High Court judge had some merit. What the establishment could not forgive was that, as soon as he achieved this elevation, he used his position to hand down judgments that were at best, idiosyncratic and at worst, verging on treasonable. The worst thing about it was that very few of his cases had been overturned at the Court of Appeal. It seemed that the devil looked after his own.
“…….and Mrs. Mills as defence barrister.”
“Enough,” snapped Sir Ian.” It is quite bad enough that we have to contend with Ms Chambers’ busy bodying ways without wishing real ill fortune on ourselves. To dwell on it tempts face. We can but hope.”

Sir Ian sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Before him was that image of Deed looking at him with that knack of thinly veiled contempt and rebuffing every attempt to bring him into line. If he threatened Deed, the man just laughed in his face. If he attempted to appeal to his sense of reason, the man impudently spun the conversation off in an unexpected direction. The worst of it was that he had exacted exemplary damages in a couple of cases against wealth creators whose friendship was immensely valued by the government. The man never had that sense of discretion, but on the other hand, seemed to positively revel in his recklessness.
.
At that precise moment that Nikki Wade was transported in the large shiny black prison car, nervously contemplating taking her stand in court. The streets of London whizzed past her in a blur. All she could focus her mind on was that Claire Walker was at the other end of the journey, no matter how frightening the vast bulk of the Old Bailey was. She just had to be strong in herself. She had to blot out of her mind that lowering presence of that evil bastard Fenner at her side, to pretend that he didn’t exist. She clung to the crumb of satisfaction that she’d always faced him out and, who knows, would be rid of him. She was not to know that the establishment was no more certain of their chances than she was of hers. In particular, all the hard slog that Helen had exerted over the past months had secretly made Sir Ian and Lawrence James nervous and unsure of themselves, as it wasn’t supposed to happen that the case got as far as an appeal. Something had gone wrong somewhere. The implacable wall of the establishment was not as rock solid as it appeared to be.

Neil Haughton, the smooth upwardly mobile newly appointed Home Secretary whose most passionate speeches were always on sale to the highest bidder, casually drifted by to talk to Sir Ian for no particular reason, or so he said.
“How did she slip past the Home Office’s guard? As I hear it, some eager beaver petitioned the Home Office who put no obstacles in the way of a retrial.” Sir Ian asked in even tones. Inwardly, he was fuming as his understanding was that it would have been absurdly simple for them to block off that particular approach.

“My predecessor granted Ms Wade leave to appeal.” Neil Haughton responded, an artificial grin pasted on his face that didn’t really convince. Sir Ian looked stonily into the distance. Typical politician he thought. “Left to me, I would have left her there to rot. I believe in law and order, being tough on crime,” he added eagerly, already slipping into Party Political Broadcast mode of talking, his arms outstretched.” After all, we can’t allow our bobbies on the beat to be shown such disrespect. How can the ordinary citizen feel safe in bed if such outrages are allowed to spread unchecked?”
“Quite,” concluded Sir Ian.”

The tension in the court wound itself tight as if it were an elastic band ready to snap, as the entire world seemed to focus in on the words that hovered on the lips of the Judge Huntley, ready to be spoken. The logic of the judgment demanded that it should happen but the words needed to be said, most of all for Nikki who tensely grasped the rail, her eyes wide open and staring.

“Nicola Wade, you are free to go, ” pronounced Judge Huntley in grave tones.

Donald Frobisher slumped down in his place and stared down at his sheaf of papers, now rendered suddenly obsolete. He knew that he was beaten when Ms Chambers had utterly overturned the credibility of the police. He also knew that he had won no popularity contests with the establishment and that his card would be marked. He slunk out of court while Nikki walked with legs of jelly down the staircase and held up only by the rapturous applause. At the bottom of the staircase, Claire and Marion were there to greet her. Trisha was especially excited and she supposed that she was destined to return to her old life. But somewhere out there was Helen, the one person who had made it possible, who had said goodbye to her with as many tears in her eyes as there were in Nikki’s.

To the side of the gathering crowd and ignored by them, an expectant young man dressed in a sharp suit looked questioningly at Donald Frobisher as he stumbled towards him.
“Bad result?”
“Three years only for manslaughter and she’s done the time. She’s in the middle of the crowd over there ready to gloat to the press out there.”
“This way. I’ll have to phone in the bad news right now. The press will make a meal of this.”

At that very moment, Lawrence James picked up the phone. As a few brief words sounded in his ear, he reddened, clutched the mobile in his hand as if to break it and turned to Neil Haughton.
“We lost.”
“It’ll be on the news right now. Let’s hear the worst,” groaned Neil Haughton.
Lawrence James clicked the remote control on the small portable TV and the screen showed the view down onto the steps of the Court of Appeal and a small group. The camera zoomed in on a tall woman with short hair dressed in black not looking as half as jubilant as they had expected and holding centre stage.

“How does it feel like to be free?”
“It goes without saying that I’m delighted to be set free…..Prison’s a terrible place. People don’t know the half of what goes on. There’s male officers employed on female residential wings, abusing vulnerable women. Anyway, I was one of the lucky few inside to get access to some real education and there’s one woman I want to thank for all that because she always believed in me no matter how bad things got. I owe her not only my freedom but my life.”

In an unknown bar, tears streamed down Helen’s face as she saw through the television screen as Nikki poured out her heart to her. It was absolutely certain that Nikki would head off to her club to celebrate and she had to see her and talk to her. Precisely what she would say to her, she hadn’t the faintest idea. For once in her life, she was utterly incapable of planning the way ahead.

At the Lord Chancellor’s Department, a stony silence reigned, flavoured with slight puzzlement.
“The tabloids will crucify us.” Sir Ian said at length.
”I suppose some bleeding heart liberal will be satisfied- till the next time.” Neil Haughton said eventually. “You would have thought she would be grateful to get out and thank ‘British justice’ like they all do. She’s got a nerve to criticize our wonderful prison service. If you don’t want to do the time, don’t commit the crime, as they say.”

Quite unconscious how his words echoed that of Shell Dockley he stomped off in disgust. His avaricious temperament had been long accustomed to winning whatever he set his mind on and was an especially bad loser.

“Who on earth was that do-gooding woman she was talking about?”
“I suppose we’ll never know. I suppose I had better get back to work. There’s nothing for us here. I suppose every judge in England will hear what’s happened.” Sir Ian exclaimed disgustedly. For once, the establishment grapevine was silent on the subject

A few miles away, in a side street where passing cars flashed by, two women were locked in a passionate embrace. The smaller woman pressed the other up against a wall and her fingers were eagerly running through the other woman’s short-cropped hair. For them, time hung suspended and their lives were only just beginning.

Nice to see this posted Richard. Looks interesting, and has started at a good pace.

I can tell already this is going to get very interesting. Very nice story.

Great start to a story. Thanks! :)

Thanks ever so much, you guys, for the feedback as I got nervous about posting the first part of this story as I wondered just how many readers would know of Judge John Deed. Huge breath of relief.

I would explain that I have done my best to deliberately write these latter characters from the standpoint of the first time reader / viewer rather than assume familiarity with them as in the case of the BG characters. There is a certain amount of background stuff which I hope those who do know the series feel that I have done justice to it.

As each part is fairly long, I was going to post each part perhaps every 2 days if that is OK but I'm open to alternative suggestions. I chose 2 days as I know that people have busy lives and I don't want to rush things.

If all readers will get as much enjoyment in reading this fic as I have in writing this, I'll be really happy and fulfilled.

Every 2 days sounds good to me! :xmas5

But just go at the pace that suits you really! Look forward to the next update.

Hey Richard, good to see you posting on here. I like what I've read so far. Keep it coming mate :D

wow that was so great. I enjoyed it immensely. Thanks for writing this.

It's great to see the encouragement- thanks Emms. To Cassandra, I have no problem in posting every 2 days as I've written the fic in advance and, hi Nikkis Only Lover, it's nice to see you again.

Scene Two

Claire Walker was in a jubilant mood as she walked behind Nikki to the steps of the Court of Appeal and ,next to Marian Chambers, stood behind Nikki. She was conscious of the pressure that the other woman had been under, watching the trial being fought over her head. She couldn’t help noticing the way the prison officer next to her glower when the verdict was announced. Claire’s sympathies went out to her as the array of pressmen crowded in and the TV camera and sound gear pointed at them all. Mentally, she prayed that Nikki would have the presence of mind to pull together the words that needed saying at such an emotionally charged moment like this. Claire was overjoyed to witness how she gave an emotional speech that must surely have reached out into the disembodied space and into the millions of TV screens. It moved her that Nikki spoke so self deprecatingly of herself, how she denounced the iniquities of the prison system in trenchant terms and gave heartfelt thanks to a woman who could only have been Helen. But where was she, Claire wondered?. Even if Marian Chambers who had forcefully argued the case in the cut and thrust of court proceedings, a lot of the content went back to her investigations way back when.
“I must be going, Claire as I’m exhausted. After today’s result, you’ll be my favourite solicitor for any high profile case that ends up my way.”
“I’m really glad that everything went so well. It makes my job worth while that good has come out of this and that justice has been secured for Nikki.”
Claire shook Marian’s hand. The barrister had been impressed by Nikki’s strength of character for the brief period that she had come across her. She reflected that this time, she wasn’t acting as a hired gun but for a case that had engaged her sympathies. Eventually, she moved away to hail a passing taxi.

Claire hadn’t noticed how the crowd of well wishers had dispersed so quickly after congratulating a dazed looking Nikki. The blond haired woman had her arm round her shoulders when they went off in a taxi. The only other person who was left standing on the broad pavement was Sally Ann Howe. She had been in the witness gallery after giving evidence the day before and was in no hurry to leave.
“I can’t thank you enough for giving evidence in court the other day, Sally. It made all the difference.”
She didn’t speak right away. The emotion that had threatened to overcome her in court the other day seeped back into her expression and her eyes were edged with tears. She hastily dabbed a tissue at them.
“Hey, it’s all over now. At least Gossard can’t do anymore damage from the grave he’s lying in. That’s one in the eye for him,” Claire started to say and stopped as the literal meaning crossed her mind.
Sally Ann Howe gave a watery smile in reply before replying.
“I’m afraid it isn’t over for me. Even after all this time, I get panic attacks from nowhere, for no reason…..except that I know that, at the back of it is Gossard. I had a good job, one which I believed in. I really thought that I was dong a good job out there out on the street and I thought that I had the support of my colleagues. Do you know what it was like to know how they betrayed me, every single one of them? I had nowhere to go to but out of the police force and I’ve still nowhere to go.”
“Forgive me if it sounds trite but you must have friends, or family or a councillor. You must have someone to help you. You deserve it after all you’ve done for us.”
Claire Walker never thought that her manner was very expressive of sympathy. She had known Helen a long time and felt that they were like chalk and cheese, Claire, the sensible level headed solicitor in the making and Helen’s Scottish passion in search of an ideal to attach herself to. She was gratified to see that her words did get through.
“I’m just getting emotional. It’s just that getting back onto my feet is taking time, longer than I thought.”
Claire was feeling tired but she thought that the least she should do was to offer to take the other woman for a drink somewhere.
“Have you any plans to go anywhere else? I could do with going to the local Starbucks unless you prefer a pub. Do you want to join me?”
The kind tone in Claire’s voice cheered up the other woman who was going through a peculiar emotional reaction to the build up in tension over the last few weeks, from the day when the date of the trial became engraved in her mind from when the witness summons was posted through her letter box. It had seemed as if she couldn’t think beyond the event and now the future was a blank sheet of paper. Her flat was a lonely enough place to go back to and the idea of going to a café sounded a good idea. She was conscious of how desperately short of money she was so that even going there was a luxury. Her smart pale blue suit normally hung in her wardrobe and was a relic of better days. Right now, this was a bright patch in her darkness.
“I’d love to come. The Starbucks sounds fine.”
Claire grinned led the way and it was obvious that she would know the convenient pubs and cafes in convenient walking distance. The two women rounded the corner and walked briskly up to the place in question. Soon, they were closeted in a convenient alcove at a time when the café wasn’t too crowded.
“Well at least Nikki Wade getting free is a slap in the face to some of your ex colleagues if you can call them such,” Claire said cheerily. It was incumbent on her to shed a little light and company to the other woman.
“Won’t it just,” Sally answered, with more self confidence and positive spirit than she had felt for a long time. “I hope that the misogynist bastards that I used to work with are choking on their pints of beer. It will really wind them up and serve them right.”
“That goes the same for men like them everywhere,” agreed Clair.”Word will get round and it will worry a lot of organizations that they can’t get away with cover ups like this in future. At least this is something that I can see coming out of this case.”
Sally leant her head back and stared into the distant horizon, outside her narrow constrained life. She might not get the chance to feel that way for long but, for now, she basked in the part of history that she’d taken part in while it was still vivid in her mind.
“I remember when you first approached me,” Sally said at last in a more meditative tone of voice.”I felt strangulated, that there was so much injustice that I’d been through but I was helpless to do anything about it. I was just shut up at home, feeling miserable and depressed. When you first mentioned the idea of taking the stand in a court of law, I was terrified…..”
“I could tell.”
“….I felt, ridiculous though it might be, that I was asked to volunteer to face trial even though I knew that I was innocent. It was when you talked about Nikki Wade, a woman who came to the help of Gossard’s next victim after me. He did it even when he had all the reason in the world that she would be no more interested in him than I was……..”
Clair Walker raised her eyebrows but said nothing. She was a tactful woman and could tell that now was the time for Sally to express all her feelings that had been bottled up in all those months of mental isolation, especially now that the trial was over. She would quietly let the train of thoughts wherever it would lead.
“If I had only had had someone like Nikki around to step in, the same way that Trisha had, I wouldn’t be in the mess that I am. She got life for that and it was that realization which succeeded in doing something precious for me. It got me angry and fired up enough to do something useful with my life. I’m the only person around who knew what Gossard was really like. I couldn’t remain silent and I had to tell the truth where it would do most good.”

Right then two large mugs of coffee were served. The sun shone brightly through the window and bathed the scene in a clear pure light. It seemed to heighten the feelings of peace and tranquillity around them. Just at that moment, a thought struck Claire. In the moment of celebration, she had clean forgotten her promise to let Helen know of the result. She remembered that sense of urgency in Helen’s voice in contacting her about Nikki’s appeal.
“You don’t mind, Sally but there’s a phone call I must make. I must tell Helen what happened.”
“Go ahead, Claire ” Sally said imperturbably.
She took out her mobile and pressed the button. Helen was sure to have her mobile to hand as she always did. To her surprise, Helen took her time to pick up the call.
“Hi Helen. I thought I’d phone and tell you of the brilliant news. The Appeal Court judges freed Nikki. They dropped it down to three years, which she’s already done. She’s out.”
“Hi Claire. It’s lovely to hear from you. What a fantastic day it is. Everything in life is so wonderful.”
Helen’s tone of voice sounded a bit muffled but her exuberance positively smiled down the phone. Claire couldn’t help but wonder why Helen wasn’t asking for a blow by blow account of the trial instead of this abstract enthusiasm.
“Don’t you want to hear the details, Helen? You’re really letting your reputation down as the most inquisitive woman I’ve ever known in my life.”
This time, there was the sound of giggling in the background and a shuffling sound.
“I’ll let you into a little secret, Claire. As it happens, I’ve had a first hand account already. Nikki is right next to me now.”
“Hi Claire, hope you’re out celebrating because we are,” sang out Nikki in that well known tone of voice.
“I’m with Sally Ann Howe at the nearest Starbucks to the Court of Appeal.”
“Sally Anne Howe, we love you.,” came a two part harmony chant.”You tell her that Claire,” Helen added.
“I’ll make sure to pass the message on. Sally, Helen and Nikki want to tell you that they love you.” Claire responded firstly to Helen in amused tones and automatically turning away to talk to the woman sitting the other side of the coffee table. Sally flushed with pleasure in mattering so much in the grand scheme of things.
“Can I let you into another little secret,” Helen said in a surprisingly coy tone of voice.” I’m not sure if I should tell you but as you are my oldest friend……”
“Go on darling, tell her,” Nikki cut in, her drawling tone of voice being unmistakable. So was the sound of the kiss on Helen’s skin.
“When I first came to you about appealing Nikki’s original sentence, I did it for the most transparent of motives. I strongly felt that there was a miscarriage of justice. It’s just that I have to confess that I, I mean we, stand to benefit personally.”
Claire cut in on Helen’s nervous gabbling. She knew Helen of old.
“I remember getting really worried for you that you were really serious about getting hitched to that waste of space, Sean Parr. He was nothing more than a minor public school smoothie. I see them every day in my job. If it means that you have at last found someone who’s decent and reliable who’ll treat you right, then you have my blessing.”
“Thank you so much Claire. She certainly does that for me,” Helen admitted.
On the other end of the phone, with her arm round Helen’s bare shoulders, Nikki couldn’t believe how much Helen was loosening up, even after making passionate love for hours and lying in a delirious haze of joyous love until the phone rang and Helen had reached across the crumpled duvet for the phone next to their double bed. What had promised to be an irritating interruption had turned out totally unexpectedly and had made her grin at Helen’s last statement.
“ I won’t keep you from your party. I’ll keep in touch and visit you both. I’m really happy for you both,” Claire concluded tactfully.
“She’s really happy for us both,” Helen repeated to Nikki with a look of Dawn’s Awakening on her face. Not only had she finally emerged from the tumult of the last few days, come out to be the woman she really wanted to be all along, she now received the precious present of public approval from her oldest friend. As Nikki wrapped her arms round Helen, Claire looked at Sally with a smile on her face.
“I think you got the message that your help did more good than I expected.”
The two women were only drinking an ordinary cup of coffee at a typical Starbucks but this drink of celebration was more precious than any champagne. Right then, life felt good to both women.

Great update

Thanks for a great update, richard!

I love the different viewpoint. Yet you still got a touching update on Nikki & Helen! Look forward to more.

Thanks for the feedback and especially the understanding of what this scene is about. Future scenes will gradually 'build' up the post Series 3 finale into a wider context.

ok this 2 day posting should not apply to weekends Richard lol post away not like there is any other updates to read :D :guns

Here's the next piece which gives a third point of view about Nikki's appeal and more fully introduces John Deed before the storyline proper is pushed forwards . It shows him to be not the 'conventional' moral hero / heroine that Nikki is.
I will be sending hopelessromantic a PM.

.............................................................................................................

Scene Three

Sir Ian’s guess was no less accurate than he feared. There was a curious clubbishness about the judges of whatever rank so that the strange collective term ‘the brethren’ was habitually used by them. It had connotations of an upper class club in Pall Mall and suggested an acute consciousness and pride in themselves. Of course, there were rows, intrigues and enmities fought amongst themselves as in any organization. There were some members, like John Deed, who were considered to be total reprobates, as John was both in his private life and as a socially conscious judge, but he was still a member of the club. Periodic social gatherings had their place in the scheme of things which officials of the Lord Chancellor’s Department and barristers attended and were fuelled by a certain fuzzy bonhomie and a certain measure of alcohol which maintained these bonds. At one time, they resembled a more elderly version of an Oxford or Cambridge gentlemen’s drinking club but, with the recent admission of women to the highest ranks of the legal profession, the system was flexible to accommodate newcomers as long as they conformed to the ethos of the ‘brethren’, which functioned like England’s unwritten constitution. In other words, the rules weren’t spelled out but everyone knew what they were.

The consequence of such a close-knit association was that news and gossip made its way round the members far quicker than might be expected. That was the case when Jo Mills had got home to her pleasant brick built terraced cottage which was her home and that of her two adolescent sons, Tom and Mark. Widowed young, Jo was a slim built woman, short fair unruly hair and blue eyes that could blaze with the passions that she felt for justice. While her sons were up in their bedrooms, occupied, as adolescent boys will be, Jo was at the table idly studying the next set of court papers when her mobile rang.
“It’s John here, may I pop over?”
“Am I right to guess that you’re outside my flat already?” Jo sighed. Typical John.
“I thought I would save you the trouble,” he blithely replied. Jo reached for the buzzer to let him in, accepting the inevitable and sure enough, he entered the flat quietly.
On first glance, the man looked hardly the demonic figure Sir Ian’s fevered imaginings, being a little over average built and wearing a blue suit and open neck shirt. He was the sort of man whose looks became distinguished looking rather than ageing, being of trim build, shortish graying hair and a relatively unlined face. It wasn’t until the observer looked closely at the half smile on his face and his intense blue eyes that a flicker of his force of personality was noticeable, even in repose and away from his accustomed throne. Jo noticed a perceptible spring in his step as they exchanged pleasantries. He made his way to the armchair and Jo poured him a drink.

“Something’s pleasing you,” observed Jo.
“I’ve heard that the forces of reaction definitely stubbed their toe today and, for once, not of my doing,” John replied, in amused tones.
“You mean the Nikki Wade appeal.”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Coope filled me in on the details before I heard it from Michael Niven.”
Jo grinned. Trust John to have two sources of information. John was referring to his personal assistant, the very resourceful Rita Cooper.
“You know, I would like to have got my teeth into that case.” John said in a meditative fashion.
“They wouldn’t dare have let you within a mile of the case,” exclaimed Jo, laughing at the prospect.
“Not even as a ‘winger’?” John enquired with a misleadingly innocent expression on his face. While John Deed hadn’t the rank to preside over the case himself, the Court of Appeal featured as always two other judges of his rank to sit in on the case and to play a full part in the hearing and in behind the scenes deliberations.
“You know very well, John, that your inquisitive mind couldn’t resist sticking your oar in, asking questions of the two barristers and even conducting your own investigation.”
“Mmm, that’s not impossible.”
“….just as in the same way you operate when I or any other barrister appear before you in court. It’s not just that your independence of mind that frightens the LCD so much.”
“I always did think that there are weaknesses in the adversarial system that there is in place. It focusses on the gladiatorial contest rather than the search for the truth,” John replied with an utterly misleading look of innocence on his face and a studious expression in his voice.
“They wanted Judge Huntley as a ‘nice safe pair of hands,’ and Donald Frobisher to represent the establishment. Marian Chambers was let in to give the impression of a ‘level playing field.’ It’s just that she acquitted herself rather better than they thought possible.”
“She didn’t get all out of the case that a tenacious barrister could have extracted out of it,” replied John with an appreciative nod at the aptness of Jo’s observations.
“I’m afraid it’s too late now. You have to let it go.”
Despite John’s age, he had that restlessness often associated with adolescent enthusiasm in the most positive sense. Jo’s steady eye gradually wore down John’s expression of his boundless curiosity, one of his most striking features, but she knew that that thought wouldn’t be forgotten.
“Well, Jo, since you don’t want to talk about this little intellectual exercise that has preoccupied me, why don’t you come away with me for a weekend break, That way, I promise not to talk about tiresome legal cases.”
Jo rolled her eyes in despair. She had walked right into that and, even after all the years that she had known him, she should have been prepared for his knack of suddenly changing the tack of conversation towards the personal. She had had an affair with him years ago and they had remained close, both due to the nature of their work, their shared ideals and that magnetism that kept her working with him.
“It won’t work, not when you are already skating on thin ice with your affair with Franchesca Rochester. She’s Sir Ian’s wife in case you had forgotten the fact. She’s danger enough as it is. If you two want to fall through the ice, that’s your affair. I would sooner keep our boundaries the way they are. I feel safer that way.”
“These affairs don’t last. You know it, Jo.”
“That’s not the point, John. You’ll never change, not after all these years.”
“I can try.”
“It’s quite enough that the LCD are breathing down my collar in their suspicions of a relationship between us, especially the way that cases go whenever I appear before you. You and I know that our consciences are clean but that’s not the way it looks. You, they can’t touch. Me they can take off the road.”
John sat silent, an enigmatic half smile on his face. With his courage in the face of official disapproval and his strength of will to see justice done, he wasn’t best able to take advice, which ran counter to his inclinations.
“Well, I propose a toast to the brave woman who has fought for her freedom. It’s just as well that there are people around with that strength of will.”
Jo raised her glass willingly. She had no doubts as to the sincerity of his words which chimed very much with own her beliefs, just as they had always done.

Thanks for another great update, richard.

Interesting that they wanted "to give the impression of a ‘level playing field.’". I'm assuming they in this case means the LCD. Anyway I'm curious to know where this story is going!

Hi Cassandra, thanks for the feedback.

This next part borrows from the last episode of Series 3 and manages to be a springboard of what is to come. I understand that I am spending time with the John Deed characters but I'm building this up around the Nikki Helen storyline to come so please bear with me. Claire Walker comes more to the fore in this fic.

Scene Four

Claire Walker had slept like a log after the built up tension and the celebration of Nikki’s successful appeal. The trial had taken place on a Friday and the weekend following passed in a blurred haze and minimal physical activity. It was only as she got ready for work the following Monday that she realized that the court case had been and gone. Up till then, it had absorbed all her energies and consumed every sense of the future. There was a curious sense of something missing in her life, that life couldn’t return to the mundane and commonplace as she slipped on her suit jacket. Despite her unassuming nature, she couldn’t resist buying a couple of newspapers from a passing newsagent and slipped them under her arm. It gave her a curious feeling and that, when she got to work, one very bulky file could be finally laid to rest.

She opened the solid old-fashioned oak door of the group practice where she worked as a comparatively junior partner. It had made itself a tidy reputation, which was now much enhanced. When she entered the office, she was greeted by a row of smiles. This disconcerted her. All she had somehow expected was to come to work to do a normal day at the office.
“Well done, Claire. The firm is proud of you.”
Claire found her hand gripped and pumped up and down by the senior partner, Jim Patterson. The tight smile on his face was matched by his smart shiny suit and his cold blue eyes.
“I’m only too glad that there was a successful outcome. I’m sure the firm will benefit from such a high profile case.”
In the ambitious pecking order of eager young, thrusting solicitors, Claire Walker found that her natural gifts of imperturbability and diplomacy were invaluable. Her talents would speak for themselves in the cases that she handled and not in boosting her public reputation. She turned to all the others who greeted her in various degrees of effusiveness and sincerity.

After that, the day quietened down for Claire Walker as she entered her office, which was neat and airy. It overlooked a quiet side street situated a little distance from the heart of the City of London. She could have let this success go to her head but she carried on in her normal unpretentious fashion as prospects opened up for the routine criminal trials for assaults and robberies. She was greeted by her warm-hearted mumsy secretary who organized her work with quiet efficiency.
“I’ve given your files and all your work a good spring clean. There’s not much to look at which is just as well as you look tired.”
Claire smiled freely at the other woman’s thoughtfulness. It enabled her to look at the papers with a clear conscience. She rifled through the typical respectable broadsheet, which had devoted a small column on page 7 to the case.

FREE AT LAST

“There were sensational developments at the Court of Appeal over Ms Wade’s original sentence for killing DC Gossard. Lawyers acting for Ms Wade have been challenging her conviction for murder. Fresh evidence was presented so that the original conviction for murder was reduced to manslaughter. Ms Wade, having served a three-year sentence has left the court a free woman. Ms Wade was quoted as saying ‘It goes without saying that I’m delighted to be set free. Prison’s a terrible place. People don’t know the half of what goes on. There’s male officers employed on female residential wings, abusing vulnerable women.’ A spokesman for the Home Office was unavailable for comment.”

She sighed with mild exasperation at the modest placing in the reporting of the day’s news. The case must matter more than the editor thought. Next, she took out the broadsheet and immediately, she wished she hadn’t. Her stomach heaved when the spiteful vindictive headline assaulted her sentence. The article, which followed, was sheer prejudice, dressed up in polite language.

CONSTERNATION AS LESBIAN COP KILLER IS FREED.

“The controversial decision of the Court of Appeal to free Miss Wade, notorious cop killer, into the community has given grave cause for concern. She had been jailed for life for a particularly cold-blooded murder of a well-respected member of the police force which expert opinion considered was a particularly open and shut case. Sources close to the Home Secretary questioned just how much licence the judges should have in the modern age when traditional authority is flouted and the streets of England are not safe from crime. If judges are unable to keep their more irresponsible members in order, then it may be the case that legislation may be needed to curtail their powers.”

Claire threw the paper away. She remembered the original lurid reporting of Nikki’s original trial and life sentence on page 1 of this tabloid. It was obvious that they were eager to pander to the bigoted audience it imagined to exist out there whereas in reality, it fed them with the poison which it had given them the appetite for.


Some distance away, other equally concerned eyes studied the newspaper with great concern.
“I don’t like the look of this one bit,” fumed John Deed in his chambers as his hands crumpled the newspaper.
Coope, his personal assistant had, of course, seen the newspaper and looked on in some concern. Her approach to him was somewhat ambivalent. On the one hand, her attitude was somewhat maternal as if he were her wayward son who could recklessly get himself into trouble, both in his personal and professional life. On the other hand, her astute nature enabled her to secure through the listings office cases that she knew ought to come his way. They made a good combination as her superficially serious and correct manner concealed her talent for the creatively unorthodox. She had maintained her position with the tenacity of a limpet and so far, Lawrence James had not detached her from her master. One ace that she had up her sleeve was that there was no other personal assistant that would fit John Deed’s idiosyncratic ways.

She was not surprised that John suddenly got up to his feet and strode out of his chambers with that suggestion of violence of manner. His face was set hard with anger as he headed for the chambers of a fellow judge, Monty Everard, who raised his eyebrows as John burst in, brandishing the newspaper.
“Have you seen that the gutter press is saying about the Nikki Wade appeal?”
Monty Everard was a stiff natured, touchy man who was reasonably willing to help grease the wheels of the machinery of justice and not rock the boat. It was no secret that he regarded John Deed as a bit of a maverick.
“If the press are giving us a lashing, then it could be argued that some of your outlandish judgments have given them ready ammunition.”
“Monty, will you listen to a reasoned point of view. For once, this article does not relate to a case that I handled or influenced in any way. You can hardly say that Huntley is the sort of judge that likes upsetting the apple cart.”
“You mean like you John.”
“Be that as it may, Huntley must have had very good reason to make the judgment as he did. He could have possibly pushed it further as I might have done. This isn’t an attack on me but all of us.”
“You mean,’all for one and all for one,’” scoffed Monty.
“Well, it could be you next time. Just how comfortable are you with making a judgment and being sniped at in the press? You can hardly say that our beloved Home Secretary is our natural defender and you know that the Lord Chancellor will sit on the fence. These days, we are right out there in the open.”
Monty Everard paused for reflection. He had a contempt for the press, the gutter press most of all and also disliked public controversy. He knew Huntley and had to admit that the man was sound. If the Times had denounced Deed, it wouldn’t have come between him and his sleep as Deed positively courted and relished controversy. Huntley was different.
“We must seek out Joseph Channing and make some preliminary enquiries though I don’t exactly want to make a public spectacle where it isn’t needed,” he pronounced in measured tones.
John let the other man lead the way and of his former father in law who was a Senior Appeal Court judge. Relations between the two of them were frosty, both on the personal level and in their political outlooks. He laid the blame on John in the breakdown of the marriage of his beloved daughter and considered that the man let his emotions ruin his understanding and application of the law.
“What can I do for you, Monty? Oh, I see John is with you.”
“Is that a problem, Joe?”
“No, oh no, you can both take a seat, take a seat. A cup of tea perhaps or would you prefer something stronger?”
Joe Channing was disconcerted by the challenge and ingrained courtesies automatically covered took over. His favourite tipple was finest malt whisky. Monty accepted the offer with a gleaming eye while John declined. In matters of food and drink, he was perversely abstemious in relation to both his restless nature and likewise the general preference of his peers for hard liquor. His manner was that of some old time actor and he rumbled when he spoke with a very expressive intonation in his voice, a million miles away from the standard BBC announcer
“I suppose you’ve come about that article in the gutter press?”
“We have, Joe. It raises some cause for concern.”
“As you know, I never pay heed to the gutter press as a rule. I’d lay odds that it was some junior hack flying a kite. After all, it says ‘sources close to the Home Office.’ It does not name him. He probably made it all up to boost sales as they’d had a bad week. Sensation sells those kind of papers, that and page 3.”
John rolled his eyes and chafed impatiently while the other two men had that disinterested abstracted manner of an Oxford debating society. For all their learning, they seemed to be political innocents. In their efforts to further their careers, they were blind to the steadily encroaching power of the establishment.
“You think so?” asked Monty, willing to be reassured.
“I’m positive. Some hothead will be carpeted by his editor and he will know how to behave himself in future.”
Murmuring sounds of mutual reassurances signified the concensus on the matter. At that point, John decided that he had to spoil the party.
“What if the journalist got a tip off from the Home Secretary to judge if he could chance their arm.”
“It wasn’t in the Times,” proclaimed Joe Channing, self-importantly.
“There is a world that exists outside the Times. In any case, conspiracies are never launched on their front page. It gives away the advantage of surprise.”
“Stuff and nonsense.”
“So if I am the victim of an over active imagination and my suggestion is so absurd, it won’t do any harm to have a quiet word with Neil Haughton. It would set my mind at rest so that I can adopt a cool, relaxed approach to the world,” John urged in silken tones.
They were trapped. Monty and Joe Channing exchanged glances, expressing their discomfort.
“Perhaps I might make the approach as I am the most concerned of the three of them.”
“You will not,” argued Joe Channing with twice the force of character than he appeared to have on first acquaintance. It was fear of the consequences that roused him to action.” I will ask him myself. I think that I can trust to my sense of diplomacy than yours. There are ways of handling these delicate matters.”
John let it go. He could do no more and his concern was that the minister would have all the false guile of a second hand car salesman. The problem was that Joe Channing wanted to believe there was nothing untoward.

“Bastards,” snapped Nikki concisely in disgust.” They never give up do they.”
“Hush now sweetheart,” Helen urged.” That’s the establishment throwing the rattle out of his pram. The case didn’t go the way they wanted so they’re venting their spleen at you. You’re free and you’ve got the job you were after. In a day or two’s time, all it will be used for is wrapping up fish and chips and that hack journalist will find something else to write about. Forget about them and move on.”
The tensions in her body evaporated as Helen embraced her. She was right. They weren’t worth bothering about.

Thanks, richard. Keep the updates coming!

This made me laugh! :lol:

No problem, Cassandra. I'm glad you liked that bit. I've got one more Judge John Deed to come part before I switch back to Helen and Nikki.

This scene is archetypal John Deed, which does show his capacity to rock the boat just like a well known BG character. I freely admit to borrowing the last bit from the TV series as George Channing is so good to write for but this all sets the scene for what is to come.


Scene Five


Joe Channing had mixed emotions in setting off with Monty to confront Neil Haughton. He was an elderly patrician whose lifetime orbit of the judiciary made him feel ill equipped in dealing with the ruthless men of the political world. It was not what he was accustomed to. At one time, everyone knew his place and the system moved forward in an amiably paced fashion. Everyone he knew went to the right schools and universities and it was a guarantee of good behaviour. He was uncomfortably aware that his world had been taken over, a bit at a time, and life was changing, going to the dogs as that old fashioned phrase had it. He was only half convinced of the necessity of the visit. Surely some grubby little hack had been acting over zealously. Monty wasn’t really relishing the occasion and both men greeted John curtly when he strolled into the room.
“I can see that you are both worried. Perhaps I can also come along for the ride,” John added in soft, nonchalant tones.
“That is likely to make matters worse. You know that he loathes the sight of you and your quarrels with George haven’t improved your standing,” snapped Joe Channing testily, his eyebrows riding up and down.
“Is that my standing in Haughton’s eyes? I never knew that he was such an exemplar and a paragon of virtue,” drawled John deliberately lightly.
“If you do the talking, you will get nowhere with him. It needs someone with a sense of diplomacy, some savior faire,” Joe insisted.
John could sense that the other man was digging in his heels and offered an option that he could get away with.
“I suggest a fair compromise, Joe. I’ll stay in the background and only make a few helpful suggestions, only if I absolutely have to. I can be discreet if I want to.”
“Just remember, John that the status of the negotiating team is decided by status,” Monty cut in nastily.” That makes you a definitely junior member of this …group.”
John thrust his hands in his pocket and nodded calmly. He had a feeling that he could insinuate his presence no matter what the other two had decided. He agreed to tag along with the others for the moment while Joe made the necessary phone call.
Joe hailed down a black cab and directed it to Neil Haughton’s offices in the new block of offices outside the Houses of Parliament. They were duly frisked at the entrance to ensure that they weren’t international terrorists while John took in the opulence of modern brickwork and glass, and the dining areas where no expense was spared. They zoomed up on the lift, were shown to the first room on the right and entered.
“Ah Joe,” Neil greeted them, a dazzling smile on his face and hand outstretched, greeting first Joe and then Monty. His smile stayed frozen on his face but his eyes turned cold as John came into view and his greeting perfunctory. Joe took the chair nearest the Minister.
“Ahem, ahem, we’ve come to see you on a rather delicate matter which we hoped a friendly chat might resolve amicably.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” came the utterly insincere reply in his best soothing tones.
“Quite by chance, we caught sight of a front page article in a gutter rag. We thought that possibly, some overenthusiastic cub reporter got overexcited but some of us thought it would be best to check, from the horses mouth as it were.”
The slippery man’s mind immediately put two and two together and waited to see what this old dodderer wanted.
“I’m only too happy to put your minds at rest if I possibly can.”
There was a pause as the Minister’s reply only served to confuse Joe Channing further. Monty was no help in coming to the aid of the party while John longed to jump in with both feet.
“It’s that it was suggested that there were suggestions to restrict the right of judges to pass sentence. Now, you know that, if such an idea were serious, it would upset some of the brethren. They would feel unsettled, yes unsettled.”
“Now, now, Joe, I can assure you that I at any rate have no plans to curtail the power of judges. They have a very right and very proper function in upholding the rule of law. Where would we be without their learned ways?” Neil pronounced, visibly fitting the frame of a television party political broadcast round himself.
“The article did quote ‘sources close to the Home Secretary.’” Monty said mildly.
“Well, you’re talking to the genuine article and I can give you my personal assurance that is simply no reason to make any changes. What’s the point, I ask you?”
“You can?” a very flustered Joe Channing said, totally taken aback. He was prepared for a bit of an argument and now the wind was taken clean out of his sails.
“I’m always having problems with the press in getting just a bit over zealous. Someone, somewhere in the vast department that I run floats a suggestion off the top of his head and, next day, the press are door stepping me about a matter which I haven’t the faintest idea about it.”
“Dear me, how very inconvenient.” John said at last, fighting a losing battle with his urge to give voice and let rip.
“Yes, very,” Neil replied in a less oily tone of voice, struggling to suppress his feelings of anger. It was the stock in trade of his profession to trade honesty of self-expression for material advantage.

“I’d pass the word round that there is plenty of room for a natural understanding between the Home Office and the learned judges of this country. All of us are there to help the hard working men and women, yes and children too, to sleep peacefully in their beds tonight.”
“And how do you see the work of the prison service,” John slipped in his retort just before an overflow of fuzzy bonhomie could sweep all before them.” Just out of interest.”
“Well, I won’t beat about the bush. I’ve only recently taken over and I can see that there is a misplaced liberalism in the higher echelons of the home office, an over concern with prisoner’s rights. It’s all very well in its way but it tends to overlook with the rights of victims. It’s of great personal concern to me, from the letters I receive from my constituents, and I intend to make this my personal crusade.”
“Quite,” mouthed Joe Channing, smiling nervously.” So long as we have an understanding.”
“Oh yes, we understand each other very well. I’d like to talk longer but I really have to get on with my work. The life of a busy minister never ends, you know.”
Joe exchanged glances with Monty and, after a little while, both raised themselves to their feet in stages. John sprang to his feet. He wanted to get out into clean, unpolluted air and with congenial company but couldn’t resist one parting shot.
“Oh, next time you see George, tell her that I enjoyed my last meeting with her.”
Neil Haughton looked murderously at John, his false veneer being brutally stripped from him, revealing the petty minded, vindictive, egomaniac for all to see. It wasn’t an attractive sight but John wasn’t expecting any better.
John smiled impishly and headed for the door followed by an apologetic Joe and Monty. Everyone remained silent until they got through security and then the two other men rounded on John.
“Did you have to aggravate that man after we were doing so well to create a harmonious working relationship and preserve our independence. Just out of petty spite, you risk jeopardizing our position.”
“That was shoddy behaviour, John, damned shoddy.” Monty stormed.
John laughed out loud. The matter was serious but he needed some light relief.
“We have let that man bamboozle the pair of you with a promise that isn’t worth the weight of air that it is breathed upon. An utter reactionary will set his foot on the prison service and will bind us to his project. Surely, you could see what he was getting despite his weasel words. You two have given notice that you will be craven accomplices.”
“Now, now, John, you are going too far. You are letting your emotions get the better of you.”
“Time will tell,” John shot back at the other two.” What I’m gravely afraid of is that ‘that man’ will make his moves, bit by bit, and you and the others won’t see it until its too late. If nothing else, do you really want the apparatchiks of the LCD telling you how to do your job?”
John could see that he had struck a chord. He could see that they were both having second thoughts and becoming uncomfortably aware that they had got less out of the conversation than they had thought. The problem was they didn’t want to lose face.
“We’ll think about it John. It would be unfair and unwise not to pay heed to your remarks.”
“And if they cross that line which I think I sense that both of you have marked out, you will consider that sterner action is required?” pursued John relentlessly.
“If the time is right, should the need arise, John,” Joe Channing finally conceded, half annoyed and half alarmed at the frightening vista John opened up before his eyes.
“I shall hold you to your word on this,” John said, his presence commanding in the power of his words. The edicts of the Old School Tie, unwritten but nonetheless all powerful, spoke through John’s voice. Yes, they had committed themselves, however vaguely and reluctantly.

Hours later, John lay on the sofa on his front lounge. He was eating the last remnants of a Chinese takeaway, in defiance of the meat and mashed potato diet and because he felt like it. His eyes were glued to an old black and white American western and gunfire and shouts echoed in the front room and held him captivated. He had a positive weakness for such films.
“Are you trying to make your position even more untenable than it is already?”
The female voice that burst in on his consciousness from somewhere above him broke his concentration. That aristocratic anger and the lack of consideration could have come from only one person, John’s ex wife George (short for Georgia) Channing and mother of their child Charlie Deed. George was a QC but engaged in the highly lucrative field of civil cases, having earned a solid reputation as a tenacious and dependable advocate.
She had longish blond hair, a curved aristocratic nose, large blue eyes, a short temper and a willful personality. She and John had parted acrimoniously some years ago yet it did not stop John from admiring her elegant figure and flirting outrageously with her to defuse her anger.
“You mean, my encounter with Lover Boy and hearing his not so subtle megalomaniac plans to shackle the judiciary to the over mighty executive.”
“That’s not what Daddy told me,” George retorted defiantly, rising to the bait that John dangled in front of her in his sneering, sarcastic reference to the all-powerful Minister.
“The man is a modern day politician, someone whose ethics would fit inside a matchbox, with all the matches left inside it. Don’t believe a words he says, just unscramble his twisted and inadequate version of the English Language.”
“Oooohhh,” stormed George in a fit of rage with the sound of the Great Western hurtling through a railway tunnel at high speed at John’s dig at her boyfriend.” I suppose you think he is engaged in a ‘conspiracy’ like all those cranks who spout on about Kennedy’s assassination. I suppose it pays some publisher a nice fortune.”
“It sounds perfectly feasible. My concern is that too many of the brethren are insular, self-centred or have no stomach for a fight when needed,” John replied in languid tones, still trying to watch the TV programme. George grabbed the TV remote control and clicked the programme off just to annoy John.
“You’re only going to sound like some tiresome man carrying placards shouting out that ‘The End of the World is Nigh,” she retorted with heavy-handed sarcasm.
“You know, you’re awfully attractive when you’re angry. You’ve still got great legs.” John silkily replied, lying on the sofa and looking up at her swirling green cocktail dress.
“You’re still insufferable, John. I suppose that you have not listened to a single word I’ve been saying. Just this once I’ve given you good advice not to be so pompous and self righteous and there’s nothing in it for me.”
“You’re quite right, I haven’t listened, at least not to anything that you say to help Lover Boy.”
“In which case, I have nothing more to say. Goodbye.”
With that, George threw the remote control into a corner of the room and stormed out in a swirl of back draft.
John got up, retrieved the remote control and switched the programme back on.

ive just caught up with this, its really good, keep going :) thanx Richard! :D

Thanks, richard. Great piece of John Deed indeed! :)

It's really fantastic to have this feedback, not least if my John Deed characterisation works and hopefully if readers can see the fic as a panorama of both sets of characters and feel them interact as they will do.

As a complete contrast to the political storm brewing up, this is a pure romantic Helen and Nikki scene. I am grateful to the Series 3 discussions which have had an input into this scene.


Scene Six


To Nikki, things looked better in the morning. Before her sleepy eyes opened, she had dreamed that she was back in Larkhall, lying on a thin hard bunk and discoloured scratchy blankets on top of her and facing the drab yellow brickwork of the opposite wall. Instead, her world changed so that she was floating on a soft white double bed and a fresh white duvet rested gently on her skin. Most delicious of all, Helen’s straight nose, soft cheeks, parted lips and straight brown hair faced her. Nikki lay back in their bed sighing with relief. Everything was normal in her world, reassuring. She could forget about the newspapers as Helen said quite rightly. They were history while their future was just opening out around them. She glanced sideways and the intensely cold November sky looked through a gap in the curtain at them. She cuddled up close to Helen and drifted off happily to sleep.

First thing in the morning was bright and cheerful. They each sipped a steaming hot mug of coffee while condensation ran trickles of moisture down the windows. Nikki’s heart was so full to bursting that the words came out of her.

“I’m just so happy, darling. I never thought that life could be so perfect.”

“You must know how amazing it has been in just a few days living with you. We can go for a walk if we want to, go to the pictures, go to a pub and do the sort of ordinary things couples just take for granted? Everything has been so magical, like walking on air. Everything seems so brand new. At one time, the prospect frightened me- you remember when we kissed and cuddled in the library?”
Nikki smiled warmly. She remembered. What was fascinating was how the words just poured out of Helen in a stream of emotion.
“You’re a completely different lover to anyone I’ve ever known.”
“I hope you mean better ……”
“You’ve always been so honest with me, whether I’ve liked it or not. I know now that it’s the only way to be. I feel different, talk different and act differently than I’ve ever been before but it’s taken a lot of getting used to.”
“You’re talking about men,” Nikki answered eagerly but there was a lurking fear in her eyes, which Helen spotted straightaway.
“This is important, Nikki. I have to stay with this one while it’s on my mind. Bear with me.”
The gently pressure on Helen’s hand from Nikki’s reassured her.
“You must know that, if I have a fault, I’m a bit of a flirt. I can’t understand or explain it. It meant with my looks and not knowing better, the boyfriends in my past. I can see now that what I was doing was playing a part, of acting in the way that I expected men would want me to be to be attractive. The other half of me that really wanted to prove myself and do some good in the world……..I really used to be a pretty mixed up girl.” Helen added dazedly, shaking her head. She had never revealed herself so much but, curiously, the words came quicker to her lips than her mind could digest the implications.
“Playing a part, that’s what I was doing with men. If they got too close or possessive, it made me back off. ‘There’s plenty of fish in the sea,’ ‘I’m young, a carefree single girl,’
I used to tell myself. I never questioned why I behaved that way. I now know the reason why. I never knew what love is- till I met you.”
Nikki felt weak at the knees when the full intensity of the other woman’s emotions looked right into her own eyes. Helen placed her forefinger on Nikki’s lips. There was no need for answering.
“It meant that I had to unlearn everything I knew about relationships and take a step, a large number of steps into the unknown. That is what scared me. Deep down, I knew what I needed to do but the rest of me took a long time to catch up. Old habits die hard.”

“Let’s face it. We never had much of a chance to go somewhere private and talk things over the way we now can if we want to.”
“You bet……..which means that we have to talk about our past.”
Nikki’s blood was chilled by the quiet determination in Helen’s voice. She knew that the other woman meant every word that she said. The last week had been deliriously happy and serene, all her dreams come true and she didn’t want anything to spoil it.
“Do we really have to?” Nikki asked wearily.
“We don’t have to but you and I both know that we’ve had a rocky road to get to where we are now.”
“That may have been true some of the time but what are you getting at?”
“So both of us got hurt along the way. It isn’t a blame thing. We need to heal old wounds, not put sticking plaster over them. I want us to be in the position that nothing holds us back again, ever. I want nothing so much in my life as the rest of my life living with you.”
“And you think this is necessary?” questioned Nikki though she flushed slightly at Helen’s bold declaration of faith in their future. Helen had changed markedly ever since she had got out of Larkhall. She expressed herself straightforwardly and exposed her emotions in bold simple unmistakable colours.
“I could never order you to do this. I voluntarily gave up that power that I had over you when we met outside your club. I’m simply asking you.”
“So where do we start?” Nikki asked, fumbling for a cigarette. She needed something to calm her nerves. In turn, Helen’s eyes flicked nervously round the room before closing them and gathering her thoughts together.
“When we were at Larkhall, we had to watch every step, how certain it was that someone or other would come through the door and risk us being ‘outed.’ I felt that I had to wear a permanent rubber mask and almost pretend to be someone else so that I could keep my hands off you. The only faint trace she had ever had of anything like normal was when we first slept together.”
“So what went wrong, Helen? I know I completely lost it when I had that mad idea of going on the run to San Francisco. You were right to drag me back to Larkhall. What you didn’t know was how much being on the outside of those gates suddenly went to my head. On top of that, all those dreams I had of wanting you came true. You’ve no idea of how the combination of the two felt to me.”
Helen was taken aback by Nikki’s words. She had never really thought just what it might be like to be shut up as a prisoner. It was all around her but she had never made that imaginative leap. Nikki’s actions made the sense that she could feel rather than some abstract psychological condition that she had read as part of her degree.
“I never really thought……you’re right, Nikki”, came her halting reply.
“That’s the first time you’ve said that, Helen darling,” came her grinning reply, which made Helen laugh.
“There’s a lot of things I’m doing for the first time,” came the wry answer. It helped unlock her thoughts as that interchange helped them break the riddle of what had really gone down between them. The craziness of the riot, for one, started to make sense, as they talked. Together, each one laid a piece in the puzzle that the other one hadn’t known of. So Nikki really didn’t mean to betray Helen’s incredible hard work to get the petition for granting Nikki’s appeal as there were reasons why she acted as she did. So Helen’s remoteness from Nikki was more comprehensible when seen through her eyes. More than anything else how ironical it was that each of them was trying to contain the madness that had been unleashed from opposite ends.
“What you didn’t know Nikki,” said Helen thoughtfully,” was just what it took to manoeuvre the petition through the home office. You take a look at the wider picture. You’ll remember that I came back to Larkhall doing reports into just why Britain has the highest proportion of women lifers in Europe. Therefore, there are those in the Home Office with my kind of politics…and yours when I come to think of it. You’re only going to ask a particular question when you suspect there may be an answer and not one that the ‘hang them and flog them’ brigade want to hear. Then again, there were those in the Home Office that welcomed some young keen progressive getting to reshape how prisons should be run. I wouldn’t have got my chance unless someone on high was willing to give me a chance, especially as I never hid my opinions and especially when I got the job of acting Governing Governor. On the other hand, there are the reactionaries. You remember when Shell, Denny and Shaz escaped? There was an enquiry led by Area and I came under the spotlight when this very dodgy diary written by Shell Dockley was in their hands.”
“Dockley writing a diary? Some chance,” exclaimed Nikki in disgust.
“There was a definite attempt to stitch me up and no guesses as to which bastard helped her out. However, he overreached himself and they had to look around for another scapegoat, first ensuring that no blame attaches itself to them. I remember those two very hard-faced investigators, Alison Warner being one of them and the more dangerous of them being typical of some of those at the top of the shit heap. They have this outlook that, once they make a decision, they can’t be seen to back down. They have this completely macho outlook on being tough on crime and are the last people to present a petition to. The worst of it was that I was working in the dark. I never knew that the person who I thought would be best to approach was going to slam the door in our faces. Once you make a false move, there’s no retrieving that step. I was just incredibly lucky to chance upon that opening and made contact with the right people.”
“Jesus, I never knew it was that hard. So that’s why you got so angry with me.”
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” Helen whispered tenderly as she instinctively clasped the other woman to her chest. She allowed a decent interval to elapse before plunging onwards. She was feeling more certain of the way ahead.
“It shouldn’t have been that way,” exclaimed Helen angrily.” I should have been able to make a straight professional approach and had the case heard fairly on the merits of the case.”
“So I really did risk screwing up my appeal.”
“You did what you had to do, Nikki. I was in such a wierd position. On the one hand, I had had to struggle so hard with the appeal and the rest of the shit that went down at Larkhall, including Fenner sexually assaulting me and not being able to do a damned thing about it, to finally get all the authority I ever dreamed of from when I first joined the prison service. Everything went to my head until the riot blew up in my face. Then you look off with Caroline…”
“The less said about her, the better. I really got used……” came the terse reply.
“I couldn’t make head not tail of what was going on and Thomas Waugh was around.”
Helen could almost feel the sharp intake of breath on her arm. This was the trickiest area to negotiate.
“So, about Thomas,” Helen added with more firmness than she felt. She couldn’t help feeling the other woman’s jumpiness as she held her in her arms. She let Nikki move away a little distance from her as she knew that it was important for Nikki look at her as well as hear her.

“I’ve only just worked out what I ever saw in him which I never knew at the time. Do you know just how similar he is to you? He’s got that same gentle irony, he cares, he’s got principles and he’s got a fiery temper when he needs to.”
“Worse than me?” Nikki asked incredulously. She had only observed him in a handful of situations and her immediate reaction was that he was no fool. She was pleasantly startled by the way the conversation was going and knew that there was no one better placed than Helen to make this comparison.
“The night that Thomas and I split up, just before I was going to order the salmon at some restaurant, I noticed that there was bruising on his knuckles. He said that he’d had a verbal run in with Fenner, just before I’d done the same on my way out of Larkhall. He’d made one wisecrack too many about the two of us and I wouldn’t be surprised that he’d punched Fenner out.”
“What? That’s fantastic news,” exclaimed Nikki, laughing.
“I thought that would cheer you up. Thomas has one big fault, though.”
“And what’s that?” enquired Nikki, casting her mental net around and overlooking what was right under her nose.
“The real problem with Thomas was that he is a man and he isn’t you. He could never give me that shiver up the spine just to hear your voice. I went back to playing that part, the same as I ever did. He was happy enough in his role but I wasn’t in mine. He was smart enough to realize what I’d been bottling up and told me in no uncertain terms that ‘I wasn’t being honest with myself.’ He was right.”
“So come on, what did you see in me,” Nikki asked mischievously with a half smile on her lips
“ Having arrived in the snake pit that was G wing, Larkhall, I knew that I needed allies. I told myself that you would make a great ally on the wing as the one person even more contemptuous of ‘the old boy’s system’ and for the right reasons. I always respected and admired you from afar even if you were a pain in the arse……”

The grin with which Nikki received such frankness was an enormous feeling of relief to her. Helen continued speaking slowly and deliberately, inscribing the air between them with all the heartfelt emotion within her.

“…….It was when I saw the softer side of you that I really fell for you. I suppose that I’ve never really been in love till I met you only that it took time to work out what love is and for us to be safe to love each other as it is now.”
“Come here, Helen.”
That delicious feeling ran round Helen’s system to hear those sultry tones. It was the height of pleasure to see those incredible eyes looking into her soul. Everything was cleansed, made whole despite verbalizing a lot of painful memories. She moved closer to Nikki and rejoiced in the glorious thought that nothing and no one could stop them.

Nice one, richard! I love that scene! :clap

It's one I always wondered about ... whether they would talk through all their misunderstandings or not. For most of S3, they just didn't get where each other was coming from. I'd like to think that they would have laid the past to rest ... and something very similar to what you have written. Thanks.

Hi Cassandra, that is a huge compliment from someone who was as active as anyone in the Series 3 discussions, which was a step into sometimes difficult territory. Thanks ever so much. :D

Great chapter. They really needed to have that conversation and you handled it very well indeed. Kudos.

xoxo
Emms

Thanks ever so much, Emms, for the compliment. The trickiest bit to write in this scene was about Thomas and Helen's petition to the Home Office has some resonances with this fic.

Really like the conversation Richard. Kind of reminds me of the letters abzug wrote that we never got see in the series. Thanks :D

Thanks for that one, Lahbiblover, I remember Abzug's letters and it is possible that those went into the unconscious influences into the writing. This is a distinctly edgy Nikki Trisha piece directly following on from the Series 3 finale




Scene Seven

Once again, Nikki stood outside the club, where she’d been only two weeks ago. So much had happened since then. She remembered Helen’s feelings and hers of delirious excitement of them. They chattered away to each other to fill in the gaps of what they couldn’t say in the past, and really got to know each other. Most of all she recalled their passionate lovemaking. Somehow, this was different from every relationship she had ever entered into because, after all, they were good friends who had known each other for a long time. It was blindingly obvious to each of them from that intense discussion of a week ago just how incredibly constrained they had lived their lives and how deeply the prison officer / prisoner relationship had distorted the natural balance of their personalities at every turn. Above all, both women knew that, if they had somehow survived the incredible pressures on them, then they were well set up for the long haul.

It felt very strange to go further back in time and remember also that she and Trisha had set up this club years ago. What was still vivid in her mind was how much effort and toil she had put into it, just like anything else in her life. In particular, the ‘Chix’ emblem reminded her just how that emblem typified the union that there had been between them. They had worked so hard to scrape the money together and taken that dizzying step into launching their business with no guarentees of anything but bills to pay and the uncertainties that the income to cover them rested on their own efforts and nothing else. They had made a fine partnership as Trisha had a natural business flair and Nikki’s experience of working pubs and clubs gave her the solid grounding in the practicalities of how a club operated. She remembered having given the bar counter one last nervous polish on opening night and wondered if she had done the right thing. Much to their surprise, the club had got off to a flying start as the money came rolling in. There had been more women amongst the teeming hordes of London and further afield who needed that place where they could be themselves and let their hair down after the working day. As she and Trisha found out in talking to them, there were so many of them who pretended to be someone else and were lonely amongst the crowds in which they worked.

As Nikki contemplated the past, she couldn’t help thinking of the plain and ordinary concrete wall where she’d first kissed Helen, the first time they were both on the outside of Larkhall. Someone ought to put up a blue plaque on the wall to show how sacred it is in their memories for whenever they passed that way, she thought to herself. This was where her future lay. She felt curiously and inwardly calm and relaxed for what she had to do yet her thoughts kept flitting about at random. Finally, Nikki addressed the here and now and turned her key in the lock to the front door to the club. The feel of the action was unfamiliar, as if she was speaking the words to a language she’d last spoken when she had studied it at school. She didn’t feel more at home with it than when she had just got her freedom. It wasn’t just that sense of dislocation in ceasing to be a prisoner. Nevertheless, she opened the door to do what she had to do.

Once inside, she peered through the gloom of the corner of the club. Silence hung on the air along with last night’s tobacco fumes. It was the time to clean up after the celebrations of the night before. A faint trace of the routine wafted its way through to Nikki’s consciousness but only a trace. So many nights had been passed in dancing and drinking while she had been away. Nikki stared at every corner of the club as it brought back memories yet she knew that they felt disjointed from the woman that she now was. That was the problem.

“Hi ,Nik,” Trisha called out from the neighbourhood of the bar. It was where she had last seen her, drinking from a bottle of Moet to drown her sorrows while Nikki shot out to catch up with Helen and hope she wasn’t too late.
“Hi Trisha. The place hasn’t changed much, hey.”
“You probably have.”
Nikki nodded silently, her thoughts floating away from the here and now. Trisha was right on the mark. The bare austerity of Larkhall and the mixture of shared hardships and naked injustices had seeped into her soul. It made her past existence as the party girl she used to be as something unreal. Lying in Helen’s arms at night and exploring the wide open world that she offered distanced her from this past most of all. In all her most secret dreams in her bare bunk at Larkhall, she had never guessed the nature of Helen’s passionate love for her, finally laid bare.
“You have something pleasant on your mind, Nik. I can read you like a book. It must be Helen.”
“I’m living with her, if that’s what you mean. I don’t suppose you are surprised by that.” Nikki replied, mixing her customary honesty with a flicker of embarrassment at the way Trisha behaved. She couldn’t stop the muscles in her face flinching at delivering a straight answer.
“No, I’m not.”
“It isn’t some kind of fling,” Nikki said defensively.
“I never thought it was. I know you, Nik. I got the feeling that night you were released that you really weren’t back with me as soon as you came into the club. You looked like a fish out of water. The moment that Helen came to talk to you, I knew it for certain. I could feel it. I could have kept quiet and said nothing but I would have only been laying more trouble for myself in the long run. I wasn’t being noble and self sacrificing when I pushed you away in her direction. I was really thinking of myself.” Trisha responded with more firmness and decisiveness in her voice than she felt.
“I’m glad we understand each other.”
“You’ve come to see me and it’s not just to talk about the old times.”
Nikki looked embarrassed and then took in everything that Trisha was saying. She might as well not beat about the bush and get to the point.
“I’ve got a problem that I need to make a living. It would be obvious to take my place back here running the club with you but…….”
“Would you really want it or would I want you to?”
“You’ve obviously had three years running the club on your own while I’ve been away. I remember you saying that you’re doing very well. You’ve learnt to manage without me.”
“Not altogether but I’ll manage,” Trisha interjected, not successfully keeping her feelings out of her voice.”…………….but that’s not really why you came to see me.”
“Ah yes,” came Nikki’s uncertain reply.”When we used to work the club together, we were working the same shifts together and no matter how weird the hours, we always had the time together when we needed it. We both know that there isn’t a future in me coming back to the club. I’m doing a job on normal hours, the same as Helen. It isn’t much, seeing as I’ve still got a prison record but I could do with my share of the money from the club.”
“You want me to buy out your share, Nik?”
“Something like that, less the three grand I’ve had already.”
Trisha smiled faintly. Nikki’s fearless honesty had that ability to move her from way back. Best not to dwell on it or I’ll only regret it, she thought to herself.
“I can afford it, Nik, I’ve been doing fine in the last few years, better than in the old days when we were struggling. The gay scene has gone semi overground in the last few years. The Pink Pound and all that.”
“I’m really glad.”
“Give me a chance to go over the books and see how much of a bank loan I need to raise. Leave it to me.”
“Of course.”
A heavy silence hung upon the air. This felt like the final stages in what an amicable divorce hearing would sound like in the straight world. Everything sounded so incongruously civilized to Nikki. In the past, her break ups with previous partners had been emotional and acrimonious and her temporary rifts with Helen had been the same. This was something new.
“What will you do with the rest of your life, Trisha?” Nikki finally enquired with gentle concern written all over her face.
‘Oh, I’ll get along. I’m having a great time with the club, making lots of money out of it. I get to enjoy myself every night, whatever new experiences come my way. Right now, I’m just a happy go lucky single woman.”
Nikki’s brown eyes looked straight into Trisha’s soul, She could see through the falsity of Trisha’s smile and felt sad for the other woman. Right now, she felt that she had all the luck and that Trisha had none.
“Hey, Nik, you’ve got your life to get on with. You deserve some good luck coming your way especially the last few years. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“So we’ll still be friends.”
“Would we be anything else but?”
Nikki briefly kissed Trisha on the cheek, gave her a quick reassuring hug and turned on her heel. She emerged from the darkness into the bright light. Trisha was right. Helen was waiting for her and their future together.

Thanks for another great update, richard. :)

This is one of the few stories where I've actually felt real sympathy for Trisha. Normally in fan fics she plays the jealous character who creates trouble between Nikki and Helen.

Thanks ever so much for your post, Cassandra, and I found highly illuminating. You will like the way that Trisha is integrated into the storyline in later episodes. This next episode introduces a 'sub story' for the point of showing John Deed in action for those who have never seen the TV series. All the strands of the storyline will come together.



Scene Eight

Just when Claire thought that she would settle back into a humdrum life, she received a phone call from Jim Patterson, her senior partner to pop into his office.
“We’ve got a case fresh in which will be right up your street. It’s a rape case and as it is more of a woman thing, I thought you’d be the one to take it. Besides that, it’s a little bit controversial as the offender is well connected.”
What he really means is that he and the other men are squeamish and, if the case goes pear shaped, I’ll bear the blame, Claire thought cynically. .

Claire was a self-possessed woman, not given to displays of public emotion, but as soon as she met the mother and daughter, her heart went out to them, sitting tensely the other side of her table. She suspected that the file before her only told half the story. The mother’s face was written in lines of anxious worry and that sideways glance at her daughter never stopped, even when she faced Claire. Despite her makeup, there were dark smudges under the daughter’s eyes and her hands trembled and fidgeted as she talked. Her smart clothes, too, were only there to cover up her nerves.
“I’m Claire Walker. I’ve been assigned to your case but I’m here to help and advise you as best as I can. In order to do that I need to ask you to take me through what happened that night but feel free if and where you want your mother to help you out.”
“Isn’t everything there in the statement my Zoe made to the police? They interrogated her for long enough,” butted in the mother, with a dash of aggression.
“You must understand that written statements only take me so far. They’re phrased in police language. I want to hear your story in your words, not theirs. If you really want to go ahead with the prosecution – and there’s enough of a case- you’ll end up telling the story more than once.”
“It’s all right, mum, I have to do it,” came the soft reply from the daughter, as she sat upright in the chair instead of slouching in it. “Where do you want me to start?”
“From the beginning, Zoë and take your time.”
“I split up with my boyfriend a few weeks ago. We’d been having rows about him spending more time with his mates rather than me. Of course, I found out that he’d been seeing someone else, hadn’t he.”
“It hit her hard.”
“After a while, I’d had enough just watching the box and hanging round my bedroom. I was supposed to meet a couple of my mates at a new pub that one of us had heard of. I found myself outside on my own as somehow, I missed the phone messages that they had gone elsewhere as the battery on my mobile had run low….. so I found myself in a strange bar with nobody I knew…..”
Zoe Carson looked frail and young for her age as she hesitated and took a sip of the glass of water before her. It didn’t necessarily mean that she was thirsty.
“It was actually on the tip of my tongue to forget about it, to go back home but I didn’t want to. Someone tapped me on the shoulder and this nice fair haired, clean cut man smiled at me and started chatting me up. In no time at all, he bought me a drink and I felt great. My depression went straight out of the window. It was what I thought I needed.”
“Because of what Alan Partridge was like? What sort of impression did he make on you,” interjected Claire softly.
Zoe stopped to pause for reflection, a thoughtful expression on her face.
“He was real posh, very fresh faced, a bit like Prince Andrew or how I’ve seen him in the papers. He spoke with a public school accent. He didn’t look like the average lad you met in a pub. He was polite, considerate…or so I thought.”
“Were you attracted to him?”
“I…I don’t know. He was nice. I just wanted some company and he was good to talk to. I didn’t think anything more about that.”
“Can you tell me how he reacted?”
“I thought he was just playing it cool. That’s why I felt safe. He played everything cool in the way he talked about everything. He didn’t get worked up about anything.”
“So that’s how the evening went, just talking and drinking. Can you remember how many drinks you had?”
“I had four vodkas and tonics. Yeah, I’m sure of it.”
“How did you feel at the end of the evening, Zoe?”
“I felt happy, mellow, in control of myself, certainly not legless. No way.”
“So what happened next?”
“When we went out of the pub, he insisted he’d drive me home.”
“After drinking all night in a pub? How many drinks had he had?”
“He’d only had a couple. I remember that as I was so pleased that I’d not been picked up by some guy who was out of his face. I though it showed that he was responsible.”
“Did you think you ought to take a taxi home, that you oughtn’t to get into a car with a strange man whom you’d only just met? I’m sorry to ask this question but I’m playing Devil’s Advocate and asking you an obvious question you’ll be asked on the stand.”
The girl coloured slightly but otherwise retained her composure. Her mother squeezed her hand to comfort her and smiled slightly at Claire. That meant that she was being forgiven for her intrusive question and that her good faith wasn’t being doubted.
“I don’t accept lifts back like you say. I normally walk through town with my mates for safety’s sake and travel back in a taxi with them. First my mates didn’t show up after I hadn’t been out for ages. I’m young and going out is all what it’s about…..anyway, I suppose I agreed to get into the car was because I thought he was a gentleman. I thought that just for once, I was safe.”
Claire allowed a pause in the conversation. The girl was holding up well but she didn’t want to push her too far and too much.

“So what happened when you started to make your way back, Zoe?”
“If you mean, did we have a kiss or a cuddle along the way, the answer is no. He just asked me the directions to my house and we set off. We set off along the main streets in a straight line for home.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Perfectly sure. It was only when we came up to a turn off to a well known ‘lover’s lane’ spot, a patch of woodland and high fences when he suddenly swung off down the lane. That took me totally by surprise.”
“How do you know it was a lover’s lane, Zoe? Is that from direct experience? This is an important question.”
Zoe blushed as her mother’s sharp eye was on her. Her eyes flickered round the room until a sudden resolution forced out the confession.
“I used to go there with my ex-boyfriend but not at once. I mean I knew him and, idiot though he is, I did at least know him enough to realize that it was safe. I don’t just throw myself at men. I’m not some kind of slapper.”
“You’re a good girl, Zoe. I always knew you were,” added her mother in soothing, reassuring tones. Strangely enough, that released the dam of tears that had been building up and her mother put her arm round her shoulders. A flickering look of gratitude was directed at Claire from Zoe’s mother for respecting her silence when the flood of tears dried up.
“You’re doing fine, Zoe. I’ve learnt far more about this case than I could ever hope to understand. I’ve got to come to the hard part of the story and I have to ask you to tell it but before you start, can you tell me if there was any change in his manner as he drove?”
“I , I don’t really know. I had the feeling when I talked to him in the bar that he was a nice reasonable guy. Suddenly, I found myself with this creepy stranger who wasn’t going to listen to me. I got the feeling of what he was after and wasn’t going to accept no for an answer. I started shouting at him that we were going the wrong way and to let me out of the car. He totally ignored me and sped down the lane right to the end.
It all happened so fast. He never said a thing to me, just ripped at my dress and…….He had his hand over my face …..He was so strong. There was nothing I could do about it…..”
At that moment, Claire twitched slightly. Those words had a real resonance for her. This was precisely what Sally Anne Howe had said in court, and before that when Claire had first talked to her. This account was distinct because the experience was more recent and this girl was so recently damaged. It made what she had heard from Sally that much more painful, even after that long heart to heart talk they’d had after the trial.
“I hurt down there when he had finished with me and only then did he speak.‘You don’t really think we weren’t going to have some fun and games, do you?’ he said in his coldest, most disdainful manner, as if what he did was perfectly reasonable. ‘After all, that’s what tarts like you really want. Come on, I’ll drive you home.’ He treated me just like a piece of meat.”
“Did you let him drive you home?” Claire said in tones of utter horror. She could follow this story as if it were on a TV screen. Everything made sense in its horrific way.
“I was too terrified to cross him. I let him drive me the half mile home, told him where to pull up as if he was the most reliable taxi driver in the world, stumbled up to the front door and knocked on it for all I was worth.”

Claire closed her eyes as the words trailed off. What had happened was too intense for her feelings to put it into words. It took her a while to switch back into professional solicitor mode of thinking and speaking. She had to do so to do the best for her client.
“Mrs Carson I was going to ask you a few questions. For a start, what sort of condition was Zoe when you first saw her.”
“I’ve never seen her in such a state in all my life. She was crying her eyes out and totally hysterical. As for the state of her clothes, well it was obvious what had happened. I had to stay with her in her bedroom for a couple of hours before I phoned the police and the ambulance. My Zoe is a good girl. She would never have got into such a situation willingly.”
Claire took a deep breath. She was fired up with the desire to push this case for all she was worth. This looked like another case for her and Marian Chambers to repeat their successful double act. The two women looked up at her with rising hope that perhaps their injustice wasn’t going to be shunted aside by the justice system.
“It’s all right. I believe everything you say and I’ll do my level best to help get this criminal put away. You have my word on it. I’ll keep in touch with you about the next step.”
A look of fear crossed both women’s eyes.
“We’ll take it a step at a time. You have to think this way if you want the justice you both deserve.”
Zoe shook her hand limply and her mother gave her a quick hug, Claire’s mind was buzzing. She jumped to it and was soon hard at work scribbling up her notes and committing this to memory. There was most certainly a case and her witness was credible. After she finished, she realized that she needed fresh air more than she ever had done. It was just as well that she checked her watch just in time to remember her lunchtime meeting with Helen.


She swung out of the office and her heels clicked their way to the nearby Starbucks to which Helen was approaching from the opposite direction. They swung into the café and chose a quiet corner.
“You look surprisingly radiant especially just before Christmas and I’m only half way through Christmas shopping. I suppose it’s leaving that ball and chain behind at Larkhall.”
“Partly, Claire,” Helen beamed back at her. “It’s just that life feels pretty good right now.”
Claire ran a close eye over her old friend as they ordered two café lattes. She hadn’t understated Helen’s well being to herself.
“I can only think of two reasons why you look on top of the world. You’ve got a partner who’ll actually be good for you or else someone’s left you a large fortune.”
“You mean you’ve never liked my ex-partners, Claire?” Helen retorted with a challenging gleam in her eye.
“Do you really want me to be honest about them?”
“Feel free,” Helen gestured with a broad grin on her face.” I’m making a new start in life and they definitely belong to the past.”
“Well,” Claire began at a slow leisurely pace,” they all had good looks and superficial charm but there just wasn’t any substance to them.”
“To be fair, the last one, Thomas was something of an exception….”
“I never knew him….”
“….but I can see now why I couldn’t settle for any of them.”
“And you think this time that things will be different. Instead of John, or Colin or Sean or Thomas, I have ….Nikki.”
“As in Nikki Wade,” murmured Claire automatically in a perfectly natural tone of voice. A fleeting mixture of anxiety and satisfaction on Helen’s expressive features had met her gaze and subsided into pleased relief.
“I always thought you were a dark horse, Helen. I certainly didn’t expect that one when you told me on the phone.”
“Are you bothered that I benefited personally from pushing the appeal when it was a cause that I absolutely believed was right?”
“I know you of old, Helen, and I’ve always trusted to your sense of judgment of what was right or wrong. Why else do you think I took your case in the first place? You were always one for causes and I know that you would have pushed Nikki’s appeal just as hard even if you weren’t lovers,” came Claire’s decisive reply.
A soft slow smile spread over Helen’s face, melting away that temporary anxiety. She liked the way Claire described them and that this was the first person she knew that approved of her union. The Starbucks café had that sense of wraparound intimacy of others chatting away over coffee. Her intimate confession was just one of the streams of conversations slowly wafting round the room like tobacco smoke.
“You’ve chosen well, Helen. Nikki impressed me what I saw of her. She has that very unusual mixture of feelings and strength and dignity about her. Yes, she is a big step up in the world by your standards, or anyone’s come to think of it. It gives me some faith in humanity.”
Helen caught that fleeting look of sadness in Claire’s eye. Normally she didn’t give that much away in her manner.
“What’s wrong, Claire?”
“It’s just that I’ve interviewed a client who was raped in a pretty brutal fashion. Her mother was with her trying to take away the daughter’s pain but of course she couldn’t. Some of my work makes me see the rough side of life, as I’m sure you’ll know from the Prison Service. It’s an occupational hazard.”
“Tell me about it, Claire,” agreed Helen in heartfelt tones.
“So hearing you being settled with Nikki gives me hope for the future.”
There was a real glow on Helen’s face. There was a lot about Claire that she hadn’t known before. She had hidden depths.
“It’s a shame we haven’t seen more of each other than we have in recent years. I remember that you got drawn into Sean’s crowd and then the Prison Service never gave you spare time, not the way you worked.”
“We could do something about the future if we want it. I’ve more time on my hands than I used to.”
“Perhaps you and Nikki care to come round for a quiet evening with me and Peter if that’s all right with you both.”
“That’s excellent. I’m sure Nikki would be delighted.” Helen beamed and even a rather tired, dispirited Claire was starting to feel whole again as she sat back in her chair. Then again, Helen’s company always had the knack of cheering her up.

Richard


Loved the Helen and Claire conversation. Thanks for the quick updates.



brenda

Great update richard. Thanks.

Great to see your continued support, Cassandra, Lahbiblover and others. Believe you me, your support and loyalty feels good to me.

This scene pushes Helen and Nikki's story further on and is backed up by John Deed's 'normal' environment of trouble and strife aided by the fascinating minor character of Coope.

................................................................................................................


Scene Nine

Helen’s alarm clock rang shrilly out of their deep contented sleep to summons them both for the duties of their day. To Helen’s perpetual surprise, Nikki slid out of bed as promptly as Helen had. There was natural sense of consideration about her, which was new to her experience. She couldn’t help but make unfavourable comparisons with the way Sean always got in the way with all the time in his world which only wound her up all the more. They were just starting to settle into a new routine, of getting up and going to work and a completely fresh start for both of them.

Nikki looked in her part of the mirror as she, like Helen applied her make up. Everything she needed was set out neatly and compactly on her side of the dressing table. It came easily enough for her to share the space with Helen after three years of a bare rectangle of glass and her Spartan regime. Nikki promptly chose her favourite dark suit while Helen hovered indecisively which outfit to choose from. Nikki finally slid unobtrusively out of the bedroom towards the kitchen. Helen smiled to herself knowing that the other woman found it a novel experience going off to work for a regular nine to five job.

“Do you want a mug of coffee?” Nikki called out in her carrying voice.
That was a total novelty to her, Helen thought fondly, not to be chief cook, bottle washer and finder of various bits and pieces that she was supposed to know the location of.
“Yes please,” Helen yelled back.

They sipped their drinks in that portion of time they allotted themselves to be the calm before the storm of an ordinary day at work and then they set off for Helen’s red Peugeot.
Helen had quickly secured a well-paid job in the weeks after Larkhall while Nikki had had to devote all her efforts to getting a pretty mundane office job despite her hard won degree. It wasn’t quite what she was looking for though Helen was heart warmingly enthusiastic for this bit of success. It gave her what she wanted, a job where at least they would be working the same side of the day.

Helen sat back in her seat, more relaxed than she ever had been in working her way through the busy London traffic. Nikki maintained a companionable silence, happy for Helen to do the driving. She’d been cloistered away for three years and she felt that both her driving skills and her knowledge of the streets was going to be a little rusty and was content to watch the world pass by her window. They both had the feeling that they were out there in the big wide world. She looked at the red London double decker busses lumbering their way while upwardly mobile steel grey cars and the inevitable much larger 4 wheel drives proclaimed their superiority in looking down on everyone around them. Finally, they got to Nikki’s place of work and Helen gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Nikki shut the door to, watched Helen zoom off into the traffic and headed for the small flight of steps to the front door. All this was a new experience for her, and she felt as if, once again, she was the new girl on the block.

All the women wondered and speculated about their new boss. She was certainly glamorous enough and was forceful and decisive in work matters. Some of them tried to lead her into conversations and found Miss Stewart somewhat reticent about her personal life. Most women in the offices complained about the lack of help they got from their husbands and spoke at length about their offspring. The main topic of idle conversation were the soaps and how so and so was a right bitch and how much they fancied the new heartthrob on the block. All the celebrity magazines went on about what a hunk he was and they were right. The new boss kept up a glassy façade that responded nicely to everything but there was something different about her. They noticed that she didn’t have any rings in her fingers and didn’t chat about the same things as they did. The most that could be found out about her was that she once worked for the prison service but otherwise, she was a bit of a mystery. Some of the more inquisitive women were wondering about her, that there was something about her that they didn’t know.

The women who worked with Nikki Wade were quietly and effectively told that, no she wasn’t married, no she didn’t have children and yes, that she had a partner and yes, her partner was female. She wanted to get that out of the way to make sure that she wasn’t sailing under false colours. Speaking on a soft but determined tone, she explained that she was as content with her partner as they were with theirs and that, really, they weren’t that much dissimilar from each other and should take a relaxed attitude about her. She got out a small photo frame with a picture of Helen and propped it up at the back of her working area, at the side of her computer. Yes, they could see that Helen looked really attractive, they said with a curious blank look in their eyes. The dark haired woman wearing a smart black suit was considerably puzzled to hear them moan on about if only they knew what husbands are like. You can’t depend on them to do anything round the house and they have to do all the organizing, not that Nikki would know anything of course, they added tactfully. She refrained from asking why they got married in the first place and made soothing sympathetic noises instead. They had to admit that she picked up the job nicely and could be relied on to help out in an emergency, for example, if they had an awkward customer on the phone. She did have that way of quietening them down, they had to hand it to her.


John was taking his usual abstemious early morning cup of tea in his chambers first thing in the morning when Coope came forward with a suspicion of a sly grin on her face.
“Something up, Coope.”
“I’m pleased to tell you that the Partridge rape case is coming your way.”
John raised his eyebrows. The case involved the son of an important industrialist was one that was of considerable concern and potential to the establishment. His father was a colourful ‘rags to riches’ character who had risen to be one of the modern day wealth creating entrepreneurs that the present government favoured. True to form, his son had gone to the finest public school and had gained a reputation as a typical party going Hooray Henry. The unpleasant charge of statutory rape committed against a perfectly ordinary woman whose main weakness was an attraction to superficial charm promised to be controversial. John had made a safe bet that the case wouldn’t be coming his way but would go to a judge who was considered to have a safe pair of hands and true to form, the case had ended up with Judge Hulme. John’s suspicions were heightened when he had considered the suspicious run of uncontroversial cases, which had left him with plenty of time on his hands.

However, one of those quirks of fate had intervened and he had been taken ill and it meant that the workload would need to be shared round.

“May I ask you how you come to know this?”
“Oh, I went and fixed it with my friends in the listings office before anyone else could interfere,” she said in perfectly nonchalant tones. It was as if his own passionate desire for justice had permeated into the mindset of the apparently solidly conventional middle-aged woman who worked for him. The reality was that she operated in defence of John with all the imperturbable subtleness of a modern day Jeeves.
“I’m sure that you’ll give that poor woman the justice she’s entitled to and that dreadful spoilt brat a lesson he deserves,” she added just to make her purpose unmistakable.
“Why am I surprised to hear that you have made such an arrangement, Coope?”
“You shouldn’t be, judge. You should know me by now. After all, I’ve worked long enough for you.”
The suspicion of a wink and her perfectly pitched answer answered him well enough. He should have expected it as he laughed to himself. For all that, he wondered just how long it would take before the establishment would get to hear of it. He suspected that it wouldn’t take long and that he should prepare for unwelcome company.

Sir Ian turned red in the face and clutched the expensive fountain pen, which was a gift from his aged aunt. Somehow, it had survived the periodic internal rages that he was subject to when things went wrong for him. While his patrician, inexpressive background had emotionally stifled him, there were moments when his feelings bubbled to the surface.
“Can I have an explanation of how Deed of all people was ever allowed to get his hands on the Partridge case, one which required sensitive handling?” he snapped at Lawrence James. At moments like these, Sir Ian found Lawrence James a handy object to kick at in his rage. It then became only a matter of time before Lawrence James did precisely the same to a particularly ingratiating underling. This was what they were made for, after all.
“Surely there can be weightier cases for Deed to be involved with which will occupy his time more fruitfully? Arrangements could be made, surely.”
Sir Ian glared down at his junior who clearly didn’t see the urgency of the situation.
“You’re deceiving yourself. We’ll go over to him to confront him on the matter ourselves.”

John was carefully examining the file in the peace and quiet of his chambers when the door was suddenly pushed open. Without glancing sideways, he knew who the visitors were. He turned slowly and motioned them to take their place on his sofa.
“Might I have a word of your time, John?” Sir Ian said with tight-lipped politeness.
“Cup of tea?” John offered, as Coope slid forward, trying to avert her gaze.
“Please.”
John sat back in his armchair with the suspicion of a smile on his face waiting for Sir Ian to place his cup and saucer to his side and commence hostilities.
“It has come to my attention that you have acquired the Partridge case by certain underhand subterfuges.”
“Exactly what are you referring to, Ian?” John answered in amused tones. He would lay easy money that the pair of them wouldn’t have the hard evidence to back up their suspicions.
“What makes it worse is that the case needs a certain delicate handling. The family concerned is somewhat in the public eye and the press is bound to make a meal of the case. The case will inevitably give rise to a lot of emotional attitudes which are not helpful.”
“When the victim concerned is the sort of young woman who could be anyone’s daughter or sister, such feelings are quite understandable.” John replied in his smoothest tones. Coope managed to suppress an appreciative grin with the greatest difficulty as she retired to her own desk.
“You must admit, you are not the safest pair of hands, especially with the real danger of cheap headlines.”
“You know very well by now that I shall rigidly enforce appropriate restrictions on press reporting to the very letter. I shall see that justice is done without either fear or favour,” came the prompt answer with clicking precision. “The file is on my desk as we speak and you know very well that it is as good as in front of me in court.”
“It’s all very well for you to make lofty pronouncements but it is we, at the Lord Chancellor’s Department who have to deal with the press,” sneered Sir Ian, visibly rattled at his lack of success.
“I’m sure the government press machine will rise to the challenge. Besides, this case will be more of a challenge than the run of the mill cases which have come my way.”
“I had hoped that I could appeal to your sense of decency and responsibility but it clear that I was being over optimistic,” Sir Ian said in the tightest of voices.” I shall not take up any more of your valuable time.”
He promptly stood up, Lawrence James moving in unison and glaring at Coope’s back. They swept out of the room and out. John sipped the rest of his cup of tea while Coope moved in his direction to clear away, the faintest of smiles wreathing her face. It was an ordinary day in John’s world.

hey, great chapter. Loved Nikki putting out Helen's photo. :) nice one.

Nice update Richard, you are weaving John Deed and Bad Girls characters very well. I particularly liked your reference of Coope being a modern day 'Jeeves'. The dialogue is good and I can visualise them saying the words. Well done keep the updates coming.

Another great update, richard. Thanks! Yes, you are managing to weave all the separate strands together nicely which isn't an easy task by any means. Love the subtle character differences between Nikki & Helen. Very apt!

Think you missed the very brief discussion of Nikki's degree where we concluded that she had completed a number of modules (at least 2) rather than an actual degree. Note NOT a criticism, just thought I'd comment in passing!! :)

Great responses from you all, and especially that you are all picking up on the little details. It feels especially good that the fic as a whole hangs together and the dialogue can be 'heard.' I've realised, too late that I'd goofed about Nikki's degree- Cassandra, I've sent you a PM.