The Namedropper by Brian Freemantle Page B

oddly, both now have firms working in New York. The first was Daniel Beckwith. The other is David Bartle, who Dan knows has been engaged to represent Appleton.’
    â€˜So we don’t have a choice?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜How good is Beckwith?’
    â€˜The recommendation said he was very good. That’s all I’ve got to go by. If he wasn’t, I guess he’d still be practising in North Carolina.’
    â€˜I hope you’re right,’ accepted Jordan. ‘Will you run the best check you can on him?’
    â€˜Of course.’
    Unsure how much ready cash he might need in the immediate future, the next morning Jordan broke an – until now – unbreakable rule and left £40,000 in his apartment safe, putting the rest, as well as all the Paul Maculloch identity documents and passport, in the Royston and Jones vaults before noon. It left him enough time for lunch at the conveniently close Joe Allens in Covent Garden, where he drank one gin martini and ordered a hamburger, wondering if it would be a diet to which he would become accustomed in the coming weeks. He hoped not.
    But it easily could have been if Jordan chose.
    Jordan arrived early to be told that Daniel Beckwith, to whom he was going to talk by telephone link-up, was the senior partner in the firm of Beckwith, Pryke and Samuelson, whose offices on Lexington Avenue were two block across and two down from those of David Bartle on Madison Avenue. Lesley Corbin insisted that Beckwith was one of the best attorneys in Manhattan – ‘and therefore one of the most expensive, $500 an hour with additional daily courtroom refreshers I didn’t ask about’ – with a ninety percent success rate for his clients.
    â€˜I’m looking for a 100 percent in my case.’
    â€˜I’ve already emailed him a full account of our discussion,’ said the woman, who was again dressed in black, which Jordan decided had to be her working uniform.
    â€˜I’m grateful for what you’re doing,’ thanked Jordan, sincerely, an unusual emotion for him.
    â€˜It’s what you engaged me to do,’ she reminded.
    â€˜What did he say? Think, I mean?’
    â€˜He knows the other lawyer, which is hardly surprising as they both qualified in Raleigh, North Carolina. When Dan and I spoke he said he and Bartle liked to play hardball.’
    â€˜I’d already worked that out for myself. Did he think that Appleton had a case?’
    â€˜All he’s got is what I told him, which obviously isn’t enough to give an opinion. It won’t be until you hire him – if you hire him – and he gets all the papers from the other side. We haven’t really begun yet.’
    Maybe even £40,000 wasn’t going to be enough, Jordan thought. ‘Did he say …’ he started but was stopped by the jar of the telephone.
    Lesley Corbin cupped the receiver with a hand and said, ‘It’s the New York call. The switchboard are holding it. The speaker phones are in the boardroom.’
    Jordan followed her into the adjoining room and took the seat she indicated. The red light on the speaker in front of him clicked on when she fitted her telephone receiver into its master holder, set up in front of where she sat. She said, ‘Morning, Dan. Harvey’s here with me.’
    â€˜Afternoon, Lesley. Afternoon, Harv,’ came a relaxed American voice.
    â€˜Good morning,’ said Jordan. It was the first time he had ever used such equipment and he felt self-conscious on it. He hated the abbreviation of his name.
    â€˜I’ve read what Lesley mailed me. Might need to expand upon it a little today. This’ll be pro bono. The timer starts if you decide to engage me.’ Beckwith’s voice was very measured, every word carefully enunciated.
    Seeing the frown on the face of the man who had always avoided any contact with the law, Lesley Corbin mouthed, ‘No charge.’
    Jordan