Purgatory (A Prison Diary 2)

After lunch I make notes in preparation for a visit from William, James and David, my driver of fifteen years. Once I’ve done this I have to learn each of the headings by heart, as I’m not allowed to take anything into the visitors’ room. I count how many topics need to be covered - William eight, James nine, David five. After that I’ll have to rely on my memory.

1.30 pm

I shower and shave before putting on a new pair of jeans and a freshly ironed, blue-striped shirt. I have never been vain, but I am far too proud to allow the boys to see me looking unkempt - and wondering if prison has got the better of me.

2.00 pm

As I leave the cell to join my children, Locke strolls in. I haven’t yet summoned up the courage to tell him about my idea for further redecoration, and I suspect I’ll end up leaving the negotiations to my works manager, Darren.

When I arrive in the visitors’ area, I am searched for the first time in over a week, but compared to Belmarsh this exercise is fairly cursory. I don’t know if suspected drug addicts and dealers receive different treatment. I’m once again allocated table fourteen, where I take my place in the red chair, leaving the three blue chairs vacant. I look around the room that holds about seventy tables, but only five are occupied by prisoners. This is because of the breakdown of the prison computer, which has thrown the visiting schedule into chaos.

James is the first through the door, surprise, surprise, followed by William, then David. Once we have completed the hugs and greetings I explain that I wish to allocate the two hours judiciously. The first half hour I’ll spend with William, the second with James and the third with David, before having the final half hour with all three of them.

While the other two disappear. Will updates me on the KPMG report and my D-cat reinstatement. Mary has been in touch with Gillian Shephard, currently my local MP, who has promised to contact the governor of Wayland and make it clear that once the police have dropped their enquiry, I ought to be moved on to an open prison as quickly as possible. Mind you, the Prison Service’s idea of as quickly as possible…

Will also reports that he hopes to return to America in about three weeks as he has been offered several new commissions for documentaries. To his surprise, he’s also been approached about some work in London.

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While I try to recall my eight points, Will briefs me about his mother. Mary is holding up well in the circumstances, but he feels that she has probably been most affected by the whole experience.

I then ask if Will could do three things for me. First, give Chris Beetles PS200 in order that Shaun will be in receipt of the art materials he needs. Second, select a bowl and plate from the Bridgewater collection and send them to Darren at Wayland, a man whose kindness I will never be able to repay properly. Finally, I ask if he will somehow get hold of my special Staedtler liquid pens, because— Will points to the tray in front of me, where I see he has slipped two behind a can of Diet Coke. I smile, but wonder if I can get the treasure back to my cell without it being confiscated.

Once I’ve completed my list, he brings me up to date on his social life. Ten minutes later he leaves me and James takes his place.

I spend some considerable time briefing James on Sergio’s background, and explain how three weeks in prison, in such intense circumstances, is the equivalent of about three months on the outside. He nods, as he’s well aware that this is only background before I broach the real subject. Having established Sergio’s credentials, about which I tell him I have only my instinct to go on, we then discuss the subject of emeralds in great detail. I explain for an investment of $10,000, subject to valuation, we will acquire one emerald which will arrive in London later this week If Sergio turns out to have been honest about the emerald, it might then be worth getting him to search for a Botero.

‘If he doesn’t manage to find any paintings,’ I add, ‘then the worse case scenario is that Mary will end up with a rather special Christmas present’

Because James has inherited his mother’s brains and my barrow-boy instincts, there’s no need to repeat anything. We agree to speak again by phone towards the end of the week. I smile across at David and he joins us.

After a few preliminaries about his wife, Sue, and whether they had a good holiday, I can see he’s nervous, which has always been David’s way of telling me something is worrying him. I try to make it as easy as possible for both of us.

‘Are you still thinking of emigrating to Australia?’ I ask.

‘No’ he replies, ‘much as I’d like to, it’s near impossible to get on the quota, unless you have a job to go to, or relatives already living there.’

‘I suppose I’ll have a better chance now I’ve been to prison,’ I suggest, before adding, ‘So what are you planning to do?’

‘Sue and I are thinking of settling in Turkey. We’ve spent our last few holidays there, and we like the people, the climate and most of all the cost of living.’

‘So when would you want to leave?’

In a couple of months, if that’s all right with you, boss?’

I smile and tell him that’s just fine. We shake hands like old friends, because that’s exactly what we are.

The four of us spend the last thirty minutes together swapping stories as if I wasn’t in jail. I think I’ve made this observation before, but if your friends could be in prison with you, it would be almost bearable.

I place the pens Will smuggled in into my shirt pocket and just hope. I’m sorry to see the boys leave, and it’s only their absence that reminds me just how much I love them. The officer who carries out the search checks my mouth, under my tongue, makes me take off my shoes, and then finishes with a Heathrow check. I escape - which means for the next week I’ll be able to write with the implement of my choice.

5.00 pm

After supper I convene a board meeting in Sergio’s cell. ‘The ball is now in your court,’ I tell him. ‘You’ve selected the emerald, so we’re about to discover if you’re a serious player or a mountebank.’ He has asked me to use one expression and one word every day that he won’t have heard before. He immediately looks up mountebank in his Spanish/English dictionary.

He then stands and formally shakes my hand. The ball is now in my court,’ he repeats, ‘and you’re about to find out that despite the circumstances in which we’ve met, I am not a mountebank.’ I want to believe him.

DAY 48 - TUESDAY 4 SEPTEMBER 2001