The New Collected Short Stories (12 page)

Mr Jarvis began sifting through his papers.

‘I think you’ll find it’s amendment 9, clause 4, as amended in the Lords at report stage,’ said Kenny.

‘But that is not what their Lordships intended when they drafted that particular amendment,’ said Jarvis, moments after he had located the relevant clause.

‘I am not a mind-reader, Mr Jarvis,’ said Kenny, ‘so I cannot be sure what their Lordships intended. I am only interested in keeping to the letter of the law.’

‘But you broke the law by receiving money in England and not declaring it to the Inland Revenue.’

‘That is not the case, Mr Jarvis.
Business Enterprise UK
is a subsidiary of the main company, which is registered in Hong Kong. In the case of a British colony, the Act allows
subsidiaries to receive the income in the country of distribution.’

‘But you made no attempt to distribute the magazine, Mr Merchant.’

‘A copy of
Business Enterprise UK
was placed in the British Library and several other leading institutions, as stipulated in clause 19 of the Act.’

‘That may be true, but there is no escaping the fact, Mr Merchant, that you were demanding money under false pretences.’

‘Not if you state clearly on the invoice that if the client is dissatisfied with the product, they are not required to make any payment.’

‘But the wording on the invoice is so small that you would need a magnifying glass to see it.’

‘Consult the Act, Mr Jarvis, as I did. I could not find anything to indicate what size the lettering should be.’

‘And the colour?’

‘The colour?’ asked Kenny, feigning surprise.

‘Yes, Mr Merchant, the colour. Your invoices were printed on dark-grey paper, while the lettering was light grey.’

‘Those are the company colours, Mr Jarvis, as anyone would know who had looked at the cover of the magazine. And there is nothing in the Act to suggest what colour should be used when
sending out invoices.’

‘Ah,’ said prosecuting counsel, ‘but there is a clause in the Act stating in unambiguous terms that the wording should be placed in a prominent position. Clause 3, paragraph
14.’

‘That is correct, Mr Jarvis.’

‘And do you feel that the back of the paper could be described as a prominent position?’

‘I certainly do,’ said Kenny. ‘After all, there wasn’t anything else on the back of the page. I do also try to keep to the spirit of the law.’

‘Then so will I,’ snapped Jarvis. ‘Because once a company has paid for an advertisement in
Business Enterprise UK
, is it not also correct that that company must be
supplied with a copy of the magazine?’

‘Only if requested – clause 42, paragraph 9.’

‘And how many companies requested a copy of
Business Enterprise UK
?’

‘Last year it was 107. This year it dropped to ninety-one.’

‘And did they all receive copies?’

‘No. Unfortunately, in some cases they didn’t last year, but this year I was able to fulfil every order.’

‘So you broke the law on that occasion?’

‘Yes, but only because I was unable to print a hundred copies of the magazine, as I explained earlier.’

Mr Jarvis paused to allow the judge to complete a note. ‘I think you’ll find it’s clause 84, paragraph 6, m’lud.’

The judge nodded.

‘Finally, Mr Merchant, let me turn to something you lamentably failed to tell your defence counsel when he was questioning you.’

Kenny gripped the side of the witness box.

‘Last year you sent out 2,400 invoices. How many companies sent back payments?’

‘Around 45 per cent.’

‘How many, Mr Merchant?’

‘1,130,’ admitted Kenny.

‘And this year, you sent out only 1,900 invoices. May I ask why five hundred companies were reprieved?’

‘I decided not to invoice those firms that had declared poor annual results and had failed to offer their shareholders a dividend.’

‘Most commendable, I’m sure. But how many still paid the full amount?’

‘1,090,’ said Kenny.

Mr Jarvis stared at the jury for some time before asking, ‘And how much profit did you make during your first year?’

The courtroom was as silent as it had been at any point during the eight-day trial as Kenny considered his reply. ‘£1,412,000,’ he eventually replied.

‘And this year?’ asked Mr Jarvis quietly.

‘It fell a little, which I blame on the recession.’

‘How much?’ demanded Mr Jarvis.

‘A little over £1,200,000.’

‘No more questions, m’lud.’

Both leading counsels made robust final statements, but Kenny sensed that the jury would wait to hear the judge’s summing-up on the following day before they came to their verdict.

Mr Justice Thornton took a considerable time to sum the case up. He pointed out to the jury that it was his responsibility to explain to them the law as it applied in this particular case.

‘And we are certainly dealing with a man who has studied the letter of the law. And that is his privilege, because it is parliamentarians who make the law, and it is not for the courts to
try and work out what was in their minds at the time.

‘To that end I must tell you that Mr Merchant is charged on seven counts, and on six of them I must advise you to return a verdict of “not guilty”, because I direct you that Mr
Merchant has not broken the law.

‘On the seventh charge – that of failing to supply copies of his magazine,
Business Enterprise UK
, to those customers who had paid for an advertisement and then requested a
copy – he admitted that, in a few cases, he failed so to do. Members of the jury, you may feel that he certainly broke the law on that occasion, even though he rectified the position a year
later – and then I suspect only because the number of requests had fallen below one hundred copies. Members of the jury will possibly recall that particular clause of the Data Protection Act,
and its significance.’ Twelve blank expressions didn’t suggest that they had much idea what he was talking about.

The judge ended with the words, ‘I hope you will not take your final decision lightly, as there are several parties beyond this courtroom who will be awaiting your verdict.’

The defendant had to agree with that sentiment as he watched the jury file out of the courtroom, accompanied by the ushers. He was taken back down to his cell, where he declined lunch, and spent
over an hour lying on a bunk before he was asked to return to the dock and learn his fate.

Once Kenny had climbed the stairs and was back in the dock, he only had to wait a few minutes before the jury filed back into their places.

The judge took his seat, looked down towards the clerk of the court and nodded. The clerk then turned his attention to the foreman of the jury and read out each of the seven charges.

On the first six counts of fraud and deception, the foreman followed the instructions of the judge and delivered verdicts of ‘not guilty’.

The clerk then read out the seventh charge: failure to supply a copy of the magazine to those companies who, having paid for an advertisement in the said magazine and requested a copy of the
said magazine, failed to receive one. ‘How do you find the defendant on this charge – guilty or not guilty?’ asked the clerk.

‘Guilty,’ said the foreman, and resumed his seat.

The judge turned his attention to Kenny, who was standing to attention in the dock.

‘Like you, Mr Merchant,’ he began, ‘I have spent a considerable time studying the Data Protection Act 1992, and in particular the penalties for failing to adhere to clause 84,
paragraph 1. I have decided that I am left with no choice but to inflict on you the maximum penalty the law allows in this particular case.’ He stared down at Kenny, looking as if he was
about to pronounce the death sentence.

‘You will be fined £1,000.’

Mr Duveen did not rise to seek leave for appeal or time to pay, because it was exactly the verdict Kenny had predicted before the trial opened. He had made only one error during the past two
years, and he was happy to pay for it. Kenny left the dock, wrote out a cheque for the amount demanded and passed it across to the clerk of the court.

Having thanked his legal team, he checked his watch and quickly left the courtroom. The Chief Inspector was waiting for him in the corridor.

‘So that should finally put paid to your little business enterprise,’ said Travis, running alongside him.

‘I can’t imagine why,’ said Kenny, as he continued jogging down the corridor.

‘Because Parliament will now have to change the law,’ said the Chief Inspector, ‘and this time it will undoubtedly tie up all your little loopholes.’

‘Not in the near future would be my bet, Chief Inspector,’ Kenny said as he left the building and began jogging down the courtroom steps. ‘As Parliament is about to rise for
the summer recess, I can’t see them finding time for new amendments to the Data Protection Act much before February or March of next year.’

‘But if you try to repeat the exercise, I’ll arrest you the moment you get off the plane,’ Travis said as Kenny came to a halt on the pavement.

‘I don’t think so, Chief Inspector.’

‘Why not?’

‘I can’t imagine the CPS will be willing to go through another expensive trial, if all they’re likely to end up with is a fine of £1,000. Think about it, Chief
Inspector.’

‘Well, I’ll get you the following year,’ said Travis.

‘I doubt it. You see, by then Hong Kong will no longer be a Crown Colony, and I will have moved on,’ said Kenny as he climbed into a taxi.

‘Moved on?’ said the Chief Inspector, looking puzzled.

Kenny pulled the taxi window down, smiled at Travis and said, ‘If you’ve nothing better to do with your time, Chief Inspector, I recommend that you study the new Financial Provisions
Act. You wouldn’t believe how many loopholes there are in it. Goodbye, Chief Inspector.’

‘Where to, guv?’ asked the taxi driver.

‘Heathrow. But could we stop at Harrods on the way? There’s a pair of cufflinks I want to pick up.’

‘S
UCH A TALENTED CHILD
,’ said Robin’s mother, as she poured her sister another cup of tea. ‘The headmaster said on speech day
that the school hadn’t produced a finer artist in living memory.’

‘You must be so proud of him,’ said Miriam, before sipping her tea.

‘Yes, I confess I am,’ admitted Mrs Summers, almost purring. ‘Of course, although everyone knew he would win the Founder’s Prize, even his art master was surprised when
he was offered a place at the Slade before he had sat his entrance exam. It’s only sad that his father didn’t live long enough to enjoy his triumph.’

‘And how’s John getting on?’ enquired Miriam, as she selected a jam tart.

Mrs Summers sighed as she considered her older son. ‘John will finish his Business Management course at Manchester some time in the summer, but he doesn’t seem able to make up his
mind what he wants to do.’ She paused as she dropped another lump of sugar in her tea. ‘Heaven knows what will become of him. He talks about going into business.’

‘He always worked so hard at school,’ said Miriam.

‘Yes, but he never quite managed to come top of anything, and he certainly didn’t leave with any prizes. Did I tell you that Robin has been offered the chance of a one-man show in
October? It’s only a local gallery, of course, but as he pointed out, every artist has to start somewhere.’

John Summers travelled back to Peterborough to attend his brother’s first one-man show. His mother would never have forgiven him had he failed to put in an appearance. He
had just learned the result of his Business Management examinations. He had been awarded a 2.1 degree, which wasn’t bad considering he had been Vice President of the student union, with a
President who had rarely made an appearance once he’d been elected. He wouldn’t tell Mother about his degree, as it was Robin’s special day.

After years of being told by his mother what a brilliant artist his brother was, John had come to assume it would not be long before the rest of the world acknowledged the fact. He often
reflected about how different the two of them were; but then, did people know how many brothers Picasso had? No doubt one of them went into business.

It took John some time to find the little back street where the gallery was located, but when he did he was pleased to discover it packed with friends and wellwishers. Robin was standing next to
his mother, who was suggesting the words ‘magnificent’, ‘outstanding’, ‘truly talented’ and even ‘genius’ to a reporter from the
Peterborough
Echo.

‘Oh, look, John has arrived,’ she said, leaving her little coterie for a moment to acknowledge her other son.

John kissed her on the cheek and said, ‘Robin couldn’t have a better send-off to his career.’

‘Yes, I’m bound to agree with you,’ his mother concurred. ‘And I’m sure it won’t be long before you can bask in his glory. You’ll be able to tell
everyone that you’re Robin Summers’s elder brother.’

Mrs Summers left John to have another photograph taken with Robin, which gave him the opportunity to stroll around the room and study his brother’s canvases. They consisted mainly of the
portfolio he had put together during his last year at school. John, who readily confessed his ignorance when it came to art, felt it must be his own inadequacy that caused him not to appreciate his
brother’s obvious talent, and he felt guilty that they weren’t the kind of pictures he would want to see hanging in his home. He stopped in front of a portrait of his mother, which had
a red dot next to it to indicate that it had been sold. He smiled, confident that he knew who had bought it.

‘Don’t you think it captures the very essence of her soul?’ said a voice from behind him.

‘It certainly does,’ said John, as he swung round to face his brother. ‘Well done. I’m proud of you.’

‘One of the things I most admire about you,’ said Robin, ‘is that you have never envied my talent.’

‘Certainly not,’ said John. ‘I delight in it.’

‘Then let’s hope that some of my success rubs off on you, in whatever profession you should decide to follow.’