Rumpole Rests His Case by John Mortimer Page A

briefcase again and gave it up. ‘As I said, he’s some kind of social worker. They’ve certainly heard of him at the Asylum Seekers’ Council. He keeps them informed. He speaks reasonable English, so he can cope with the forms. It’s not entirely satisfactory.’
    â€˜If you want my honest legal opinion, it’s bloody hopeless.’
    â€˜It was before the adjudicator.’ Ted smiled as if the general hopelessness of the world he operated in caused him only vague amusement. ‘Neither of them turned up, not Jamil, not the Doctor. My instructions were to go on without them. Read the statements, you know the sort of thing. Make the legal argument. Of course they threw us out. The strange thing was . . .’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜We got leave to appeal to the Tribunal.’
    â€˜As a reward for not bothering to turn up?
    â€˜I had to undertake to get the Doctor to the Appeal.’
    â€˜Sounds a pretty hopeless undertaking.’
    â€˜Jamil says the Doctor realizes it’s vitally important. He’ll be there. Another strange thing . . .’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜They’ve made it a “Starred Appeal”. As though we were going to decide some great point of legal principle.’
    â€˜Tell the Doctor’s messenger that the vital point of legal principle is whether he bothers to turn up, not only to the hearing but to a conference in these Chambers within the next two weeks. And if he can’t force himself to do that, you can send him a message of goodbye from Rumpole.’
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    â€˜Rumpole, do you know the one about marriage being like a hurricane?’
    â€˜Yes,’ I told the Boy Wonder, but it didn’t deter him in the least.
    â€˜It starts with all that sucking and blowing and you end up by losing your house!’ Our addition to Equity Court then laughed immoderately. Having heard this joke told somewhat better by Jack Pommeroy the week before, I gave a weakish smile.
    â€˜You don’t know many jokes, do you, Rumpole?’
    â€˜Only one,’ I had to confess, ‘and that’s not a true belly laugh.’
    â€˜Tell us though.’
    The fact that you’ve been offered a seat in Chambers, was what I’d intended to say, but I decided not to bring myself down to the Archie Prosser level. Instead I told him I had to get to the Temple station before they privatized the Underground and caused total chaos on the Circle Line.
    To this he answered unexpectedly, ‘You know we have girls in the Sheridan Club now?’
    â€˜No, I didn’t know.’
    â€˜A lot of the members were against it, but I like to see a girl round the old place occasionally. Cheers a fellow up.’
    â€˜Does it really?’
    â€˜So what I meant to say was, could you stop in for a drink at the old place? There’s a girl member there longing to meet you. Bunty Heygate. You’ve heard of her, of course — a real live wire of the Home Office team.’
    A live wire at the Home Office sounded a bit of an oxy-moron, like hot ice. That gloomy institution, dedicated to cracking down on Magna Carta, the Presumption of Innocence, the right to cross-examine or any other available aid to a fair trial, seemed to me to be shrouded in perpetual darkness. ‘But why ever,’ I asked Archie, ‘does this Home Office luminary want to see me?’
    â€˜Afghanistan.’
    â€˜Oh yes?’ For once the fellow was beginning to hold my attention.
    â€˜Aren’t you defending some doctor who came in with a load of pickles?’
    â€˜Something like that.’
    â€˜Over here no doubt to sponge on our National Health Service.’
    â€˜You mean there’s a terrible danger he might help get a few patients off their trolleys?’
    â€˜Come and meet Bunty anyway.’ Archie was in no way put out. ‘She’s heard such a lot about you. Oh, and by the way, see if you can’t think of a few