Purgatory Read online

  9.00 am

  We’re banged up for an hour owing to officers’ staff training.

  10.00 am

  Pottery. I make my way quickly across to the art class as I need to see Shaun, and find out if he now has all the art materials he needs. I’m disappointed to find that he’s not around, so I end up reading a book on the life of Picasso, studying in particular Guernica which he painted in support of his countrymen at the time of the Spanish Civil War. I know it’s a masterpiece, but I desperately need someone like Brian Sewell to explain to me why.

  2.00 pm

  Gym. Completed my full programme, and feel fitter than I have done for years.

  6.21 pm

  Tagged onto the end of the news is an announcement that Iain Duncan Smith has been elected as the new leader of the Conservative Party. He won by a convincing margin of 155,935 (61 per cent) to 100,864 (39 per cent) for Kenneth Clarke. A far better turnout than I had expected. Having spent years trying to convince my party that we should trust our members to select the leader, the 79 per cent turnout gives me some satisfaction. However, I would have to agree with Michael Brown, a former Conservative MP who is now a journalist with the Independent: a year ago you could have got odds of a hundred to one against a man who hadn’t served in either Margaret Thatcher’s or John Major’s governments - at any level - ending up as leader of the Tory party in 2001.

  10.00 pm

  I watch a special edition of Question Time, chaired by David Dimbleby. I only hope the audience wasn’t a typical cross-section of British opinion, because I was horrified by how many people were happy to condemn the Americans, and seemed to have no sympathy for the innocent people who had lost their lives at the hands of terrorists.

  My feelings went out to Philip Lader, the popular former American ambassador, as he found himself having to defend his country’s foreign policy.

  I fall asleep, angry.

  DAY 58 - FRIDAY 14 SEPTEMBER 2001

  6.17 am

  Today is one of those days when I particularly wish I were not in jail. I would like to be in the gallery of the House of Commons following the emergency debate on the atrocities in America, and attending the memorial service at St Paul’s.

  12 noon

  Watching television this afternoon, I find myself agreeing with almost everything the prime minister says in his speech to the House. Iain Duncan Smith responds in a dignified way, leaving the PM in no doubt that the Opposition is, to quote IDS, ‘shoulder to shoulder’ on this issue. It is left to George Galloway and Tam Dalyell to express contrary views, which they sincerely hold. I suspect it would take a nuclear weapon to land on their constituencies - with Osama bin Laden’s signature scribbled across it - before they would be willing to change their minds.

  The service at St Paul’s sees the British at their best and, like Diana, Princess of Wales’ funeral, it strikes exactly the right note, not least by the service opening with the American national anthem and closing with our own.

  I am pleased to see Phil Lader sitting amongst the congregation. But it is George Carey, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who rises to the occasion. He delivers an address that leaves no one in any doubt how he feels about the terrorists, but also expresses the view that this is a time for cool heads to make shrewd judgements, rather than macho remarks demanding immediate retaliation.

  2.00 pm

  Visit. Mary is among the first through the door into the visitors’ room.

  Her news is not good, and she doesn’t try to pretend otherwise. KPMG are going at a snail’s pace, making it clear that they have no interest in my plight, and will deliver their report when they are good and ready. They are hoping to interview me on Monday week, so it looks as if I’ll be stuck at Wayland for at least another month. I feel sure that is not what Sir Nicholas Young, the CEO of the Red Cross, intended when he instigated an internal enquiry, even if it will delight Emma Nicholson. Mary has so obviously done everything she can to expedite matters, but, as she says, it’s an accountant’s duty to leave no piece of paper unturned.

  We discuss our appeal. Mary describes it as our appeal, partly, I think, because she was so offended by Mr Justice Potts aiding and abetting Mrs Peppiatt when she was in the witness box, while in my view not affording Mary the same courtesy when she was put through a similar ordeal.

  We talk about the boys, how admirably they are coping in the circumstances, and the fact that Will is desperate to see me before he returns to New York. Thank God he wasn’t in Manhattan this week. Mary reports that my adopted sister, Elizabeth, is alive and well. Elizabeth had been at work in the city when she heard the explosion and looked out of her window to see the flames belching from the World Trade Center.

  There is a restrained announcement over the intercom asking all visitors to leave. Where did the time go? I feel guilty about Mary. I’ve been unable to hide my disappointment about KPMG’s lack of urgency. She couldn’t have been more supportive during this terrible time in my life, and heaven knows what state I would be in without her love and friendship.

  DAY 59 - SATURDAY 15 SEPTEMBER 2001

  9.00 am

  I call David and ask him to drive to Sale in Cheshire on Monday and pick up a package which is being flown in from Colombia that morning.

  10.00 am

  No gym on Saturday, so I make sure I’m standing by the gate when exercise is called. To my surprise Dale is seated in the corner of the yard having his portrait finished. As I pass, he mumbles something about how much trouble he would have been in had he failed to show up two weekends in a row. When I return to my cell after forty-five minutes’ hard walking, Darren tells me that we probably covered about three miles. I push open my heavy door to find my cell is spotless. The room has been swept, cleaned and the floor polished by Darren’s latest recruit, all for PS1. No problems with the minimum wage at Wayland, especially when you can only pay in Mars bars, tobacco or, if it’s a big deal, a phonecard.

  4.00 pm

  Mr Meanwell calls me into his office to let me know that an envelope containing the rules of backgammon has been opened and sent down to reception. It will not be returned to me until I leave Wayland, as the item is on the prohibited list.

  ‘How can the rules of backgammon be on the prohibited list?’ I ask.

  The rules came in book form,’ he explains, and shrugs his shoulders.

  If they had been in a magazine, could I have had them?’ I enquire. He nods.

  6.00 pm

  Early bang up. I channel hop so I can keep watching the latest news from Manhattan. I am moved by the sight of the New Yorkers on the streets applauding their firemen as they drive back and forth to the World Trade Center. Americans have a tremendous sense of patriotism and awareness of the country they belong to. It must have been the same in Britain during the last war.

  DAY 60 - SUNDAY 16 SEPTEMBER 2001

  12 noon

  Not a lot to report except Sergio is nervous about leaving. He will be deported in twelve days’ time and we haven’t yet received a valuation for the emerald. He’s also waiting to hear about the second package which contains the gold necklace, and can’t wait to see the photographs of the Boteros, as well as the catalogue raisonne.

  I spend a long time reading the papers, and feel the coverage of all that has taken place in America this week elicited the very highest standards of journalism from the British press, not always the case on a Sunday.

  DAY 61 - MONDAY 17 SEPTEMBER 2001

  6.19 am

  The news is still all about New York, where Mayor Giuliani appears to be emulating his hero, Mayor La Guardia. Everything had gone wrong for Rudy Giuliani this year. He stood down from the Senate race against Hillary Clinton when he was diagnosed with cancer, and he then moved his mistress into Gracie Mansion to face the wrath of his popular wife and the Big Apple’s press; in fact to quote the New York Times, ‘he seems to have lost the plot’. And then, without warning, the city he loves is attacked by terrorists and all the talents boredom di