A Prisoner of Birth (23 page)

"Letters," said the officer. "Two for Cartwright, and one for you, Moncrieff." He passed the single letter to Danny, who checked the name on the envelope.

"No, I'm Cartwright," said Danny. "He's Moncrieff."

The officer frowned, and handed the single letter to Nick and the other two to Danny.

"An I'm Big Al," said Big Al.

"Fuck off," said the officer, slamming the door behind him.

Danny began to laugh, but then he looked at Nick and saw that he had turned ashen. He was holding the envelope in his hand, and was shaking.
Danny couldn't remember when Nick had last received a letter. "Do you want me to read it first?" he asked.

Nick shook his head, unfolded the letter and began to read. Big Al sat up, but didn't speak. The unusual doesn't happen that often in prison. As Nick read, his eyes began to water. He brushed a shirtsleeve across his face, then passed the letter across to Danny.

Dear Sir Nicholas
,

I am sorry to have to inform you that your father has passed away. He died from heart failure yesterday morning, but the doctor assures me that he suffered little or no pain. I will, with your permission, make an application for compassionate leave in order that you can attend the funeral.

Yours sincerely,

Fraser Munro, Solicitor

Danny looked up to see Big Al holding Nick in his arms. "His dad's died, hasn't he?" was all Big Al said.

"C
AN YOU TAKE
care of this while I'm away?" asked Nick, unfastening the silver chain from around his neck and handing it to Danny.

"Sure," said Danny, as he studied what looked like a key attached to the chain. "But why not take it with you?"

"Let's just say I trust you more than most of the people I'm going to meet up with later today."

"I'm flattered," said Danny, putting the chain around his neck.

"No need to be," said Nick with a smile.

He looked at his reflection in the small steel mirror that was screwed into the wall above the washbasin. His personal possessions had been returned to him at five o'clock that morning, in a large plastic bag that hadn't been unsealed for four years. He would have to leave by six if he was to be in Scotland in time for the funeral.

"I can't wait," said Danny, staring at him.

"For what?" asked Nick as he straightened his tie.

"Just to be allowed to wear my own clothes again."

"You'll be allowed to do that at your appeal, and once they overturn the verdict you'll never have to put on prison clothes again. In fact, you'll be able to walk straight out of the courtroom a free man."

"Especially after they hear ma tape," chipped in Big Al with a grin. "I think today's the day." He was about to explain what he meant when they
heard a key turning in the lock. It was the first time they had ever seen Pascoe and Jenkins dressed in civilian clothes.

"Follow me, Moncrieff," said Pascoe. "The governor wants a word with you before we set off for Edinburgh."

"Do give him my best wishes," said Danny, "and ask him if he'd like to pop in for afternoon tea some time."

Nick laughed at Danny's imitation of his accent. "If you think you can pass yourself off as me, why don't you try taking my class this morning?"

"Are ye talking to me?" asked Big Al.

Davenport's phone was ringing, but it was some time before he emerged from under the sheets to answer it. "Who the hell is this?" he mumbled.

"Gibson," announced the familiar voice of his agent.

Davenport was suddenly awake. Gibson Graham only rang when it meant work. Davenport prayed it would be a film, another television role, or perhaps an advertisement—they paid so well, even for a voiceover. Surely his fans would still recognize the dulcet tones of Dr. Beresford.

"I've had an availability inquiry," said Gibson, trying to make it sound as if it was a regular occurrence. Davenport sat up and held his breath. "It's a revival of
The Importance of Being Earnest
, and they want you to play Jack. Eve Best's signed up to play Gwendolen. Four weeks on the road before it opens in the West End. The pay's not great, but it will remind all those producers out there that you're still alive." Delicately put, thought Davenport, although he didn't warm to the idea. He remembered only too well what it was like to spend weeks on the road followed by night after night in the West End, not forgetting the half-empty matinees. Although he had to admit that it was his first serious offer for nearly four months.

"I'll think about it," he said.

"Don't take too long," said Gibson. "I know they've already put a call in to Nigel Havers's agent to check his availability."

"I'll think about it," Davenport repeated, and put the phone down. He checked his bedside clock. It was ten past ten. He groaned, and slid back under the sheets.

Pascoe rapped gently on the door, before he and Jenkins escorted Nick into the office.

"Good morning, Moncrieff," said the governor, looking up from behind his desk.

"Good morning, Mr. Barton," Nick replied.

"You realize," said Barton, "that although you have been granted compassionate leave in order to attend your father's funeral, you remain a category-A prisoner, which means that two officers must accompany you until you return tonight. The regulations also state that you should be handcuffed at all times. However, given the circumstances, and in view of the fact that for the past two years you have been an enhanced prisoner, and that it's only a few months before you are due to be released, I'm going to exercise my prerogative and allow you to be uncuffed once you cross the border. That is, unless either Mr. Pascoe or Mr. Jenkins has reason to believe you might attempt to escape or commit an offense. I'm sure I don't have to remind you, Moncrieff, that if you were foolish enough to try to take advantage of my decision, I would have no choice but to recommend to the Parole Board that you should not be considered for early release on"—he checked Nick's file—"July seventeenth, but that you should serve your full sentence, another four years. Is that fully understood, Moncrieff?"

"Yes, thank you, governor," said Nick.

"Then there is nothing more for me to say other than to offer my condolences for the loss of your father, and to wish you a peaceful day." Michael Barton rose from behind his desk and added, "May I say that I am only sorry this sad event did not take place after you had been released."

"Thank you, governor."

Barton nodded, and Pascoe and Jenkins led their charge out.

The governor frowned when he saw the name of the next prisoner who was due to come in front of him. He wasn't looking forward to the encounter.

During the morning break, Danny took over Nick's duties as the prison librarian, reshelving recently returned books and date-stamping those that prisoners wished to take out. After completing these tasks, he picked up a copy of
The Times
from the newspaper shelf and sat down to read it. Papers were delivered to the prison every morning but could only be read in
the library: six copies of
The Sun
, four of the
Mirror
, two of the
Daily Mail
and a single copy of
The Times
—which Danny felt was a fair reflection of the prisoners' preferences.

Danny had read
The Times
every day for the past year, and was now familiar with its layout. Unlike Nick, he still couldn't complete the crossword, although he spent as much time reading the business section as he did the sports pages. But today would be different. He leafed through the paper until he came to a section that he had not troubled himself with in the past.

The obituary of Sir Angus Moncrieff Bt. MC OBE warranted half a page, even if it was the bottom half. Danny read the details of Sir Angus's life from his days at Loretto School, followed by Sandhurst, from where he graduated and took up a commission as a second lieutenant with the Cameron Highlanders. After winning the MC in Korea, Sir Angus had gone on to become Colonel of the Regiment in 1994, when he was awarded the OBE. The final paragraph reported that his wife had died in 1970, and that the title now passed to their only son, Nicholas Alexander Moncrieff. Danny picked up the Concise Oxford Dictionary that was never far from his side and turned to the back to look up the meaning of the letters
Bt
.,
MC
and
OBE
. He smiled at the thought of telling Big Al that they were now sharing a cell with an hereditary knight, Sir Nicholas Moncrieff Bt. Big Al already knew.

"See you later, Nick," said a voice, but the prisoner had already left the library before Danny could correct his mistake.

Danny played with the key on the end of the silver chain, wishing, like Malvolio, that he could be someone he wasn't. It reminded him that his essay on
Twelfth Night
had to be handed in by the end of the week. He thought about the mistake his fellow prisoner had made, and wondered if he could get away with it when he came face to face with Nick's class. He folded
The Times
and placed it back on the shelf, then crossed the corridor to the education department.

Nick's group were already sitting behind their desks waiting for him, and clearly none of them had been told that their usual teacher was on his way to Scotland to attend his father's funeral. Danny marched boldly into the room and smiled at the dozen expectant faces. He unbuttoned his blue and white striped shirt, to ensure that the silver chain was even more prominent.

"Open your books to page nine," Danny said, hoping he sounded like Nick. "You'll see a set of animal pictures on one side of the page, and a list
of names on the other. All I want you to do is to match up the pictures with the names. You have two minutes."

"I can't find page nine," said one of the prisoners. Danny walked across to help him just as an officer strolled into the room. A puzzled expression appeared on his face.

"Moncrieff?"

Danny looked up.

"I thought you were on compassionate leave?" he said, checking his clipboard.

"You're quite right, Mr. Roberts," said Danny. "Nick's at his father's funeral in Scotland, and he asked me to take over his reading class this morning."