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  A tall, elegantly dressed man with a head of silver hair entered the courtroom. Even before he’d taken the witness stand, he’d given the favourable impression Sir Cuthbert had planned. Once the witness had sworn the oath, Sir Cuthbert gave him a warm smile.

  ‘Mr Pym, will you please state your name and occupation for the court record.’

  ‘My name is Michael Pym, and I am the senior surgeon at Guy’s Hospital in the City of London.’

  ‘How long have you held that position?’

  ‘Sixteen years.’

  ‘So you are a man with a great deal of experience in your field. Indeed, one might say—’

  ‘I accept that Mr Pym is an expert witness, Sir Cuthbert. Get on with it,’ said the judge.

  ‘Mr Pym,’ said Sir Cuthbert, recovering quickly, ‘would you please tell the court, with all your considerable experience, what a patient can expect to go through during the last week of his or her life when suffering from such a painful and debilitating disease as cancer?’

  ‘It can vary, of course, but the vast majority of patients will spend long periods of time in a semi-conscious or unconscious state. In their waking moments they are often aware that their life is ebbing away, but apart from that they can lose all sense of reality.’

  ‘Would you think it possible for a patient in this state of mind to make an important decision on a complex legal matter, such as the signing of a will?’

  ‘No, I would not,’ replied Pym. ‘Whenever I require a medical consent form to be signed under such circumstances, I make sure it is done some time before the patient reaches that condition.’

  ‘No more questions, m’lud,’ said Sir Cuthbert, resuming his seat.

  ‘Mr Pym,’ said the judge, leaning forward, ‘are you saying there are no exceptions to this rule?’

  ‘The exception proves the rule, m’lud.’

  ‘Quite so,’ responded the judge. Turning to Mr Todd, he asked, ‘Do you have any questions for this witness?’

  ‘I most certainly do, m’lud,’ said Mr Todd, rising from his place. ‘Mr Pym, did you ever come across Lady Barrington, either socially or professionally?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘So you haven’t had the chance to study her case history?’

  ‘Of course not. She was not my patient, so that would be a breach of the Medical Council’s code of conduct.’

  ‘So you never met Lady Barrington, and you are not familiar with her case?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘So it’s quite possible, Mr Pym, that she could be the exception that proves the rule?’

  ‘Possible, but highly improbable.’

  ‘No further questions, m’lud.’

  Sir Cuthbert smiled as Mr Todd sat down.

  ‘Will you be calling any other expert witnesses Sir Cuthbert?’ enquired the judge.

  ‘No, m’lud, I feel I have made my point. However, in your bundle of evidence I have placed three written statements for your consideration from equally eminent members of the medical profession. If either you, m’lud, or Mr Todd feel they should appear before the court, they are all on hand and available to do so.’

  ‘That’s good of you, Sir Cuthbert. I have read all three statements, and they confirm Mr Pym’s opinion. Mr Todd, do you wish to call any of these witnesses, or indeed all three of them?’

  ‘That will not be necessary, m’lud,’ said Todd. ‘Unless of course any of them knew Lady Barrington personally, or were familiar with her case.’

  The judge glanced at Sir Cuthbert, who shook his head. ‘I have no further witnesses, m’lud.’

  ‘Then you may call your first witness, Mr Todd,’ said the judge.

  ‘Thank you, m’lud. I call Mr Kenneth Langbourne.’

  Mr Langbourne could not have been cut from more different cloth to Mr Pym. He was short, and a couple of buttons were missing from his waistcoat, which suggested either that he had recently put on some weight, or that he wasn’t married. And either the few tufts of hair left on his head had a will of their own, or he didn’t possess a comb.

  ‘Would you please state your name and occupation.’

  ‘My name is Kenneth Langbourne, and I am the senior surgeon at the Bristol Royal Infirmary.’

  ‘How long have you held that position, Mr Langbourne?’

  ‘For the past nine years.’

  ‘And were you the surgeon in charge of Lady Barrington’s case while she was at the Bristol Royal Infirmary?’

  ‘Yes, I was. She was referred to me by Dr Raeburn, her family GP.’

  ‘Am I right in saying that after carrying out several tests on Lady Barrington, you confirmed her family doctor’s diagnosis of breast cancer, and informed her that she had only a few weeks to live?’

  ‘Yes, it is one of a surgeon’s more unenviable tasks to have to inform patients of a terminal prognosis. It’s even harder when the patient in question is an old friend.’

  ‘And can you tell his lordship how Lady Barrington reacted to this news?’

  ‘Stoical is the word I would use to describe her. And once she’d accepted her fate, she displayed a determination that suggested she had something important to do, and hadn’t a moment to lose.’

  ‘But surely, Mr Langbourne, she must have been exhausted from the continual pain she was suffering, and drowsy as a result of her medication?’

  ‘She certainly slept for long periods, but when she was awake, she was perfectly capable of reading The Times, and whenever visitors came to see her, it was often they who left exhausted.’

  ‘How do you explain this, Mr Langbourne?’

  ‘I can’t. All I can tell you is that it’s sometimes quite amazing how a human being will respond once they accept that their time is limited.’

  ‘Based on your knowledge of the case, Mr Langbourne, do you consider that Lady Barrington would have been capable of understanding a complex legal document such as a will, and of putting her signature to it?’

  ‘I can’t see why not. During her time at the hospital she wrote several letters, and indeed she asked me to witness her signature on her will in the presence of her solicitor.’

  ‘Is that a task you carry out regularly?’

  ‘Only if I’m confident that the patient is fully aware of what they are signing. Otherwise I would refuse to do so.’

  ‘But on this occasion, you were satisfied that Lady Barrington was fully aware of what she was doing?’

  ‘Yes, I was.’

  ‘No further questions, m’lud.’

  ‘Sir Cuthbert, do you wish to question this witness?’

  ‘I have only one question, m’lud,’ said Sir Cuthbert. ‘Mr Langbourne, how long did Lady Barrington live after you’d witnessed the signature on her will?’

  ‘She died later that night.’

  ‘Later that night,’ repeated Sir Cuthbert. ‘So, just a matter of hours?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No more questions, m’lud.’

  ‘Will you call your next witness, Mr Todd.’

  ‘Yes, m’lud. I call Mr Desmond Siddons.’

  Siddons entered the courtroom as if it was his front parlour, and delivered the oath like a seasoned professional.

  ‘Would you please state your name and occupation?’

  ‘My name is Desmond Siddons. I am the senior partner of Marshall, Baker and Siddons, and I have been the Barrington family’s solicitor for the past twenty-three years.’

  ‘Let me begin by asking you, Mr Siddons, if you were responsible for executing the earlier will, which Sir Giles contends was in fact Lady Barrington’s final testament.’

  ‘I was, sir.’

  ‘And how long ago was that?’

  ‘Just over a year before Lady Barrington’s death.’

  ‘And did Lady Barrington later get in touch to let you know that she wished to write a new will?’

  ‘She did indeed, sir. Just a few days before she died.’

  ‘And how did the latest will, the one that is the subject