doing so?’
‘Nothing whatever. He had bought us both belts.’
‘That may be,’ said the Judge, who was a bachelor, ‘but a belt isn’t a very intimate garment, like a brassiere.’
‘Not intimate, my Lord?’
The Judge should have been warned by the tone of Petula’s answer, but, if he noticed it, he did not do so in time.
‘I shouldn’t have thought so.’
‘Well,’ said Petula, ‘I’m sure your Lordship knows best, but it’s the first thing I put on and the last thing I take off.’
‘Oh,’ said the Judge, ‘you mean that sort of garment. I thought you meant an outside belt. Perhaps I’d better not ask any more questions.’
There was a Mrs Jones on the jury. She was a kind-hearted woman and she was sorry for the Judge. ‘I could explain it all to your Lordship —’ she began.
‘No, thank you, madam,’ said the Judge firmly, and he kept fairly quiet for some time.
Nevertheless, Petula was asked a good many more questions both by Mr Malton and by Mr Turnberry. At one stage the latter asked her if she trusted her husband.
‘Oh, absolutely,’ she said.
‘If you hadn’t trusted him so implicitly, don’t you think his behaviour with Mrs Merridew might have worried you a little?’
‘Well, of course, every wife who doesn’t trust her husband is worried the whole time he isn’t with her. I wasn’t worried even when he was in Cairo. He wrote me everything he did.’
‘How do you know?’
‘He said so.’
‘Lucky Mr Drewe,’ commented Mr Turnberry.
‘I think so,’ said Petula.
‘I suppose nothing would make you suspicious of your husband?’
‘I’m sure he’s never given me cause to be.’
‘You see him kissing under the table. It’s a game?’
‘Yes, that’s right. I forget what they called it. I’m not sure that I asked them.’
‘He buys her a brassiere — that’s just part of the service. I suppose if you’d seen them in bed together and they’d said it was a game, you’d have been satisfied?’
‘You must think I’m young,’ said Petula. ‘I should have known what that meant.’
‘That they were tired, I suppose,’ said Mr Turnberry, and sat down.
The next witness for the defence was Elizabeth. She went gracefully into the witness box, and took the oath quietly and reverently. Then she looked the Judge full in the face. He returned her gaze. One of them had to give way in the end, but it was not Elizabeth, although the Judge tried very hard.
‘Are you the wife of the Plaintiff?’ asked Mr Malton.
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Why did you leave him?’
‘Oh — so many reasons, but chiefly, I suppose, because I was tired of him. You understand that, my Lord,’ and she gave the Judge one of her looks.
‘Don’t ask me questions,’ said the Judge.
‘Oh, my Lord, I’m so very sorry.’
‘Any other reason except that you were tired of him?’
‘That covers so many things. I was tired of the way he said “Good morning”.’
‘Are you being serious, madam?’ said the Judge. Elizabeth looked Yes at him.
‘Will you kindly answer the question?’
She looked Yes again and gave one of her low murmurs.
‘Madam,’ said the Judge, ‘will you kindly say something which the shorthand writer can take down?’
‘Oh, my Lord,’ began Elizabeth. Whenever she said ‘Oh, my Lord,’ she spoke as though she were a member of an Eastern harem addressing her lord and master. The Judge found it very irritating, but he did not know quite what to do about it. The case was inclined to get out of hand, anyway, what with brassieres and belts and games under the kitchen table.
‘Oh, my Lord,’ repeated Elizabeth, ‘yes. And I got tired of the way he said “Good night”, and the way he shaved, and the way he ate and the way he undressed and — oh, my Lord, shall I go on?’
‘You were thoroughly tired of him?’ said the Judge.
‘Oh, my Lord, yes.’
‘You needn’t say “Oh, my Lord” each time you answer a question.’
‘What
‘Nothing whatever. He had bought us both belts.’
‘That may be,’ said the Judge, who was a bachelor, ‘but a belt isn’t a very intimate garment, like a brassiere.’
‘Not intimate, my Lord?’
The Judge should have been warned by the tone of Petula’s answer, but, if he noticed it, he did not do so in time.
‘I shouldn’t have thought so.’
‘Well,’ said Petula, ‘I’m sure your Lordship knows best, but it’s the first thing I put on and the last thing I take off.’
‘Oh,’ said the Judge, ‘you mean that sort of garment. I thought you meant an outside belt. Perhaps I’d better not ask any more questions.’
There was a Mrs Jones on the jury. She was a kind-hearted woman and she was sorry for the Judge. ‘I could explain it all to your Lordship —’ she began.
‘No, thank you, madam,’ said the Judge firmly, and he kept fairly quiet for some time.
Nevertheless, Petula was asked a good many more questions both by Mr Malton and by Mr Turnberry. At one stage the latter asked her if she trusted her husband.
‘Oh, absolutely,’ she said.
‘If you hadn’t trusted him so implicitly, don’t you think his behaviour with Mrs Merridew might have worried you a little?’
‘Well, of course, every wife who doesn’t trust her husband is worried the whole time he isn’t with her. I wasn’t worried even when he was in Cairo. He wrote me everything he did.’
‘How do you know?’
‘He said so.’
‘Lucky Mr Drewe,’ commented Mr Turnberry.
‘I think so,’ said Petula.
‘I suppose nothing would make you suspicious of your husband?’
‘I’m sure he’s never given me cause to be.’
‘You see him kissing under the table. It’s a game?’
‘Yes, that’s right. I forget what they called it. I’m not sure that I asked them.’
‘He buys her a brassiere — that’s just part of the service. I suppose if you’d seen them in bed together and they’d said it was a game, you’d have been satisfied?’
‘You must think I’m young,’ said Petula. ‘I should have known what that meant.’
‘That they were tired, I suppose,’ said Mr Turnberry, and sat down.
The next witness for the defence was Elizabeth. She went gracefully into the witness box, and took the oath quietly and reverently. Then she looked the Judge full in the face. He returned her gaze. One of them had to give way in the end, but it was not Elizabeth, although the Judge tried very hard.
‘Are you the wife of the Plaintiff?’ asked Mr Malton.
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Why did you leave him?’
‘Oh — so many reasons, but chiefly, I suppose, because I was tired of him. You understand that, my Lord,’ and she gave the Judge one of her looks.
‘Don’t ask me questions,’ said the Judge.
‘Oh, my Lord, I’m so very sorry.’
‘Any other reason except that you were tired of him?’
‘That covers so many things. I was tired of the way he said “Good morning”.’
‘Are you being serious, madam?’ said the Judge. Elizabeth looked Yes at him.
‘Will you kindly answer the question?’
She looked Yes again and gave one of her low murmurs.
‘Madam,’ said the Judge, ‘will you kindly say something which the shorthand writer can take down?’
‘Oh, my Lord,’ began Elizabeth. Whenever she said ‘Oh, my Lord,’ she spoke as though she were a member of an Eastern harem addressing her lord and master. The Judge found it very irritating, but he did not know quite what to do about it. The case was inclined to get out of hand, anyway, what with brassieres and belts and games under the kitchen table.
‘Oh, my Lord,’ repeated Elizabeth, ‘yes. And I got tired of the way he said “Good night”, and the way he shaved, and the way he ate and the way he undressed and — oh, my Lord, shall I go on?’
‘You were thoroughly tired of him?’ said the Judge.
‘Oh, my Lord, yes.’
‘You needn’t say “Oh, my Lord” each time you answer a question.’
‘What
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