Beyond Innocence (28 page)

Today, Irene was keeping an appointment with Matron Edith Farrell. She felt she owed this lady a personal visit, and she also knew this visit was long overdue. She was going to return the letter which the matron had written concerning Mrs. Harris, and she was determined to do this in person in order that Mrs. Farrell would then be completely reassured that her secret was entirely safe, and she had no need to worry herself any further about the contents being divulged to anybody.

She reached the building and began to climb the wooden stairs. From the light of the single bulb, she could see the peeling paintwork on the ceiling, and she felt she could almost taste the nicotine which coated the once pastel painted walls. As she reached the second flight, she tried to avoid holding the varnished handrail, which was sticky to her touch, and she felt herself shuddering at the thought of so many young women who had ascended those stairs in days gone by, and the harrowing stories, and heartache, which lay behind the visits of them all. Eventually, she reached the first floor, and found herself outside the door marked ‘Manchester and District Children’s Adoption Society.’ She obeyed the instruction on the sign which read, “Please Enter” to find herself at a bare counter, which housed a sliding glass panel. As she tried to acquaint herself with her surroundings, this panel was suddenly thrust open and a thoroughly bored voice, enquired “Yes?”

She turned round to face the person and answered, “I have an appointment with Mrs. Farrell.”

“Take a seat,” the voice urged, “and I’ll see if she’s free.”

The panel closed almost immediately and Irene did as requested. On the small table in front of her there were a number of magazines and to pass a few moments she idly gazed at them. One such magazine caught her eye; it was an old edition of The Cheshire Times. It contained all the gossip among the county farming and country set. There were announcements of Hunt Balls, Point to Point race meetings and society weddings. Her eyes were inextricably drawn to the personal and advertisement columns where she spotted a notice announcing the funeral of Anthony Harris. Intrigued rather than curious she began to read it. It said quite simply, ‘Anthony Harris aged 27 years born January 1961 died September 1988, dearly loved son of Paula Harris and Timothy Harris MP. The funeral will take place at St. Martyns Church, St. Martyns under Peover, on Friday 2
nd
February at 3 pm. No flowers and no members of the press admitted. Admittance Strictly Limited to Family. Close friends by personal invitation only. Members of the public are asked to respect the wishes of the Family.’

In her mind’s eye she found herself picturing the sad scene. The grieving family including the despicable Timothy Harris, but alas no place for Mrs. Harris the poor mother of the deceased. She pictured the quaint country parish church where, no doubt, all the locals knew one another, the green fields surrounding the church, the vicarage, and the
olde worlde
village. Her thoughts were swiftly interrupted with the yellow glass panel being thrust open once again and the voice proclaiming, “Mrs. Farrell is free now would you like to come straight in?”

She entered the room where she was warmly welcomed by Mrs. Farrell who escorted her to the privacy of her own office. “Good Morning,” she said, “My name is Irene Yarwood. I spoke to you earlier on the telephone and you said it would be convenient for me to call to see you today.” Whilst continuing to talk she had already extracted the letter which she was returning from her brief case and now she carefully handed it over saying as she did, “I thought, in view of the contents of this letter that it would be far safer in your hands. As you have probably heard Mrs. Harris has made some slight improvement and, as a result the threat of switching off the life support system has been lifted so there was no need to involve anybody else.”

Matron Farrell took the letter and Irene could see instantly the relief which flooded her face friendly face which became transformed with a warm smile. “I would like to say thank you very much indeed I really do appreciate this and if there is anything I can do to help in the future please don’t hesitate to let me know. You know I was really at my wits end when I wrote that letter. All I could think about was that poor dear woman just lying there unable to move and I felt that I had to do something.”

“Well, Mrs. Farrell, because of the situation my colleagues and I who are handling the defence of Mrs. Harris’s son have not told him anything about this up until now so you have no need to worry about there being any breach of the confidentiality code operated by the society. Although now that her doctors have achieved this breakthrough it is more than likely that she will wish to have some communication with her son but we appreciate that confirmation of this will have to come from Mrs. Harris herself.”

Edith Farrell took a deep breath and sighed, “It’s a very strange world isn’t it? I mean, as if she hasn’t got enough on her plate as it is and now this – her son in prison for murder. In a way it might have been a blessing if she had died when she had that terrible stroke.”

“Yes, Irene sympathised, but you mustn’t forget Harry Thompson has always maintained he’s innocent of all charges and I, and his defence team are still working on that. Once again Irene’s brain had spotted an opening, the faintest glimmer of a chance which she fully intended to exploit. “By the way, Matron, would it cause any problems if I were to ask Mr. Thompson whether or not he would like to reconsider his decision not to be put in touch with his mother whilst he is still in prison and, if he has changed his mind then I could let you know. This way it would leave it up to you and the society to establish contact with Mrs. Harris through the Hospital and there would not be any breach of society rules would there?”

The Matron thought for a moment and then she said, “No I can’t see anything wrong with that. I’ll wait until I hear from you.” Then she enquired “Will that be all?”

The past few moments had given Irene a chance to think about the idea swiftly germinating in her mind as she responded, “Can you tell me something, Mrs. Farrell. It’s nothing really. It’s just to satisfy my curiosity but do you keep any records here about the mothers and their children? In other words what records would you have of Mrs. Harris and her child both before and after adoption? She noticed the change of expression on the face of the matron as she answered,

“Well strictly speaking everything we keep here is strictly confidential. Why do you ask?”

“It’s nothing really,” Irene replied, I just wondered if perhaps you kept copies of birth certificates, or any information on Harry Thompson such as where he was born, but if you can’t tell me anything I can quite easily obtain it elsewhere. You see, I thought I might be able to save myself another journey.”

“Well, Miss Yarwood, I can tell you that Mr. Thompson was born at St. Mary’s Hospital which is just along the road from here. If you can tell me how old Mr. Thompson is I can look up the entry for him in the record book for that year. This entry will also confirm the actual place of birth, and I think in those days we also recorded the name of the doctor who Mrs. Harris would have attending her at the time. You know it must have been pretty awful in those days for young girls like that.”

Irene nodded in agreement and added, “I think it would be sometime in December 1960. I know he is 28 years of age. In an instant which belied her age, the matron was on her feet searching for the book in question. “Ah, here it is she exclaimed rather excitedly and, er let me see now. Yes there it is Bibby Harry Marcus 9
th
December 1960. Mother’s name Paula, Father unknown, well not unknown you know that used to happen a lot in those days. They wouldn’t always declare the name of the father. Yes, see there it is, the name of the doctor. Doctor Macmillan. Very young in those days, all the nurses fancied him. In fact, I’ll bet some of them still do because he’s still there you know. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, replied Irene you have been very helpful indeed so I will get along now because I am sure you’re very busy and I’ve already taken up far too much of your time. Unfortunately, even though I am in the vicinity I don’t think I will be able to visit the hospital to see your handsome doctor for myself as I have got to get back. So I will say cheerio for now.”

She was deep in thought as she left the building and proceeded along the busy road towards the car park. During her walk she kept thinking how life really was strange. Of all the days, and of all the places to visit, she had to choose to come here today and the first thing to catch her attention was the funeral notice for Anthony Harris. Anthony Harris she mused. What a tragic waste of a young life; 27 years of age and he would never know he had a brother thirteen months older than himself. The same thoughts echoed through her mind as she collected her car and drove towards her chambers. As well as the names in her head, she now found the numbers running around in her brain so much so she was finding it difficult to concentrate on her driving but, try as hard as she could, these thoughts refused to leave her troubled mind.”

It was the silly clown on the left trying to push in who brought her back to reality and as she slammed hard on her brakes to avoid a nasty collision she knew something was wrong. She realised it was pointless to remonstrate with the idiotic university student who had almost rammed her and, instead, she tried to collect her scattered thoughts. For a moment her mind went back to her own law student days and old examination papers where students were deliberately given false information. It might only be the incorrect addition of a column of figures but, if you did not spot it, you were losing marks and, surprisingly enough, there were those who didn’t despite being warned beforehand. It was then that the penny dropped. That was it, no wonder the figures were haunting her almost to the point of distraction. The figures were wrong. One person born early December and the other person born in early January that would put one person only weeks older than the other and not thirteen months as she had originally surmised. Clearly something was wrong and, whilst she could not see how this would assist her in the defence of Harry Thompson, nevertheless it represented something which had to be checked out just in case it proved to be anything of real significance.

The moment she reached her office she rang the number of Michael Mulrooney. As soon as the call was answered she said excitedly, “Michael I want you to do something for me. I know you might think it rather odd but I need a copy of the birth certificate of Anthony Harris. Yes that Anthony Harris – the very same one. All I can tell you that I spotted something today which, if it were true, would mean that Harry Thompson would only be about four to eight weeks older than his late brother. Now we know that can’t be true, so I need a copy of his birth certificate. No, I’m sorry I don’t know myself where this is leading to I just wish I did. All I know is that Anthony was born in Chester so if you could do that for me I will be ever so pleased and, whilst you’re doing that I will be making some enquiries of my own.”

She put the phone down and sat back in her chair in order to think as clearly as she could. Today she had seen the entry in the Adoption Society records for Harry Thompson so those details had to be true; there was absolutely no doubt about that. In that case, she reasoned to herself, it must have been a misprint in the Cheshire magazine. It had to be and so she dismissed the thoughts from her mind.

She found it very difficult to concentrate on the documents left on her desk by the practice manager requesting counsel’s opinion on a range of issues simply because she could not dismiss Harry Thompson or his late brother from her mind. There was something niggling her about this and she had to get it sorted once and for all. After a few moments’ thought she put out a call to St. Mary’s Hospital and asked if she could speak to Doctor Macmillan.

When asked who was calling and the nature of the call, she replied, “My name is Irene Yarwood QC and I have reason to believe that doctor Macmillan may be able to give me some information regarding a birth he attended almost thirty years ago. If this is true, the information could benefit my client and aid his defence.”

The voice at the other end of the line interrupted her, “I’m sorry madam but I don’t think that would be possible due to the fact that all personal information regarding doctor, and patient, is strictly confidential. I don’t wish to appear rude or unhelpful, but I am sure you wouldn’t be pleased if we gave out any of your details over the telephone.”

Irene did not expect this rebuff, and, she continued, “I can understand what you are saying and the reasons for it, but all I want to do is to ask Doctor Macmillan one simple question. If he chooses not to answer on the grounds which you have just stated then I will have to go back to the mother in question, and arrange for her to order the good doctor to tell me what I need to know. If that were possible now, I would ask the mother direct, but as she has suffered a stroke and she is unable to speak, I have resorted to this approach. Failing this, I will have to apply to the courts to subpoena the doctor to attend a hearing in order to drag it out of him. Now I’m certain neither of us wishes to do that do we?”

This latter statement had the desired effect as a much more subdued voice responded, “Please hold the line one moment whilst I see if I can connect you. A few moments later she was rewarded with the sound of a male voice saying “Macmillan speaking, how can I help?”

“Good afternoon, Doctor Macmillan, please let me introduce myself. I promise I won’t take up too much of your valuable time. My name is Irene Yarwood QC. And I represent a person called Harry Thompson. Almost thirty years ago you attended his mother at a birth in St. Mary’s Hospital, I think her name at the time was Paula Bibby. Immediately after the birth the child was given up for adoption. However, something about this doesn’t ring true because I’ve discovered recently this child had a younger brother, but if the information I have is true, then this younger brother would only be three to four weeks his junior. She heard the soft intake of his breath and his soft Scottish brogue whispering, “After all this time, my moment of fame denied me returns to haunt me. Well all I can say is Christ Almighty that Mrs. Bibby!”