speciality of the maison, you know.”
Lord Leakham didn’t know. With starting eyes he reached for his glass of wine and took a large swig. For a moment he cherished the illusion that the wine would help. His hope was short-lived. His palate, in spite of being cauterized by the Poule au Pot, was still sufficiently sensitive to recognize that whatever it was he was in the process of swallowing it most certainly wasn’t Chambertin ‘64. For one thing it appeared to be filled with some sort of gravel which put him in mind of ground glass and for another what he could taste of the muck seemed to be nauseatingly sweet. Stifling the impulse to vomit he held the glass up to the light and stared into its opaque depths.
“Anything the matter?” asked Sir Giles.
“What did you say this was?” asked the Judge.
Sir Giles looked at the label on the bottle. “Chambertin ‘64.” he muttered. “Is it corked or something?”
“It’s certainly something,” said Lord Leakham who wished the stuff had never been bottled, let alone corked.
“I’ll get another bottle,” said Sir Giles and signalled to the wine waiter.
“Not on my account I beg you.”
But it was too late. As the wine waiter hurried away Lord Leakham, distracted by the strange residue under his upper dentures, absent-mindedly took another mouthful of Poule au Pot.
“I thought it looked a bit dark myself,” said Sir Giles ignoring the desperate look in Lord Leakham’s bloodshot eyes. “Mind you I have to admit I’m not a connoisseur of wines.”
Still gasping for air, Lord Leakham pushed his plate away. For a moment he resisted the temptation to quench the flames with crusted port but the certain knowledge that unless he did something he would never speak again swept aside all considerations of taste. Lord Leakham drained his glass.
In the public bar of the Handyman Arms Lady Maud announced that drinks were on the house. Then she crossed the Market Square to the Goat and Goblet and repeated the order before making her way to the Red Cow. Behind her the bars filled with thirsty farmers and by two o’clock all Worford was drinking Lady Maud’s health and damnation to the motorway. Outside the Old Courthouse she stopped to chat with the TV men. A crowd had assembled and Lady Maud was cheered as she went inside.
“I must say we do seem to have the public on our side,” said General Burnett as they went upstairs. “Mind you I thought things looked pretty grim this morning.”
Lady Maud smiled to herself. “I think you will find they liven up this afternoon,” she said and swept majestically into the courtroom where Colonel and Mrs Chapman were chatting with the Bullett-Finches.
“Leakham has a fine record as a judge,” Colonel Chapman was saying. “I think we can rely on him to see our point of view.”
By the time he had finished his lunch Lord Leakham was incapable of seeing anyone’s point of view but his own. What prawns tabasco and Poule au Pot had begun, the Chambertin ‘64 and its successor, a refined vinegar that Sir Giles chose to imagine was a Chablis, had completed. That and the Pêche Maud with which Lord Leakham had attempted to soothe the spasms of his peptic ulcer. The tinned peaches had been all right but the ice cream had been larded with a mixture of cloves and nutmeg, and as for the coffee …
As he hobbled down the steps of the Four Feathers in the vain hope of finding his car waiting for him – it had been moved on by a traffic warden – as he limped up Ferret Lane and across Abbey Close accompanied by his loathsome host, Lord Leakham’s internal organs sounded the death knell of what little restraint he had shown before lunch. By the time he reached the Old Courthouse to be booed by a large crowd of farmers and their wives he was less a retired judge than an active incendiary device.
“Have those damned oafs moved on,” he snarled at Sir Giles. “I will not be subject to hooliganism.”
Sir Giles phoned the
Lord Leakham didn’t know. With starting eyes he reached for his glass of wine and took a large swig. For a moment he cherished the illusion that the wine would help. His hope was short-lived. His palate, in spite of being cauterized by the Poule au Pot, was still sufficiently sensitive to recognize that whatever it was he was in the process of swallowing it most certainly wasn’t Chambertin ‘64. For one thing it appeared to be filled with some sort of gravel which put him in mind of ground glass and for another what he could taste of the muck seemed to be nauseatingly sweet. Stifling the impulse to vomit he held the glass up to the light and stared into its opaque depths.
“Anything the matter?” asked Sir Giles.
“What did you say this was?” asked the Judge.
Sir Giles looked at the label on the bottle. “Chambertin ‘64.” he muttered. “Is it corked or something?”
“It’s certainly something,” said Lord Leakham who wished the stuff had never been bottled, let alone corked.
“I’ll get another bottle,” said Sir Giles and signalled to the wine waiter.
“Not on my account I beg you.”
But it was too late. As the wine waiter hurried away Lord Leakham, distracted by the strange residue under his upper dentures, absent-mindedly took another mouthful of Poule au Pot.
“I thought it looked a bit dark myself,” said Sir Giles ignoring the desperate look in Lord Leakham’s bloodshot eyes. “Mind you I have to admit I’m not a connoisseur of wines.”
Still gasping for air, Lord Leakham pushed his plate away. For a moment he resisted the temptation to quench the flames with crusted port but the certain knowledge that unless he did something he would never speak again swept aside all considerations of taste. Lord Leakham drained his glass.
In the public bar of the Handyman Arms Lady Maud announced that drinks were on the house. Then she crossed the Market Square to the Goat and Goblet and repeated the order before making her way to the Red Cow. Behind her the bars filled with thirsty farmers and by two o’clock all Worford was drinking Lady Maud’s health and damnation to the motorway. Outside the Old Courthouse she stopped to chat with the TV men. A crowd had assembled and Lady Maud was cheered as she went inside.
“I must say we do seem to have the public on our side,” said General Burnett as they went upstairs. “Mind you I thought things looked pretty grim this morning.”
Lady Maud smiled to herself. “I think you will find they liven up this afternoon,” she said and swept majestically into the courtroom where Colonel and Mrs Chapman were chatting with the Bullett-Finches.
“Leakham has a fine record as a judge,” Colonel Chapman was saying. “I think we can rely on him to see our point of view.”
By the time he had finished his lunch Lord Leakham was incapable of seeing anyone’s point of view but his own. What prawns tabasco and Poule au Pot had begun, the Chambertin ‘64 and its successor, a refined vinegar that Sir Giles chose to imagine was a Chablis, had completed. That and the Pêche Maud with which Lord Leakham had attempted to soothe the spasms of his peptic ulcer. The tinned peaches had been all right but the ice cream had been larded with a mixture of cloves and nutmeg, and as for the coffee …
As he hobbled down the steps of the Four Feathers in the vain hope of finding his car waiting for him – it had been moved on by a traffic warden – as he limped up Ferret Lane and across Abbey Close accompanied by his loathsome host, Lord Leakham’s internal organs sounded the death knell of what little restraint he had shown before lunch. By the time he reached the Old Courthouse to be booed by a large crowd of farmers and their wives he was less a retired judge than an active incendiary device.
“Have those damned oafs moved on,” he snarled at Sir Giles. “I will not be subject to hooliganism.”
Sir Giles phoned the
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