The case I hate most in the world is going to trial.   The Boss is joyous at the thought of the enormous fees it might generate but he is not the one who will have to liaise with the dreadful man from the Inland Revenue or put up with the diva-esque demands of our Tax Counsel.

“Can’t you settle it?” asks Jane.

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?”

“Clearly not hard enough.”

“It is against HMRC.  Negotiating with them is like negotiating with The Taliban.”

She nods, sympathetically.  “Worse than negotiating with The Boss.”

Which is saying something, seeing as he prides himself on being the, “toughest litigator in The City.”   But she’s right.  I’ve tried everything to settle this case but nothing has persuaded them to drop it.  The opponent I deal with is like a firebrand preacher, determined to see my client tortured in the bowels of hell for his alleged tax evading sins.

“Your client is making a mockery of the authority of Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs officials!” he declares. 

“He is just trying to reach a sensible compromise.”

“We do not compromise with criminals!”

Had he been talking about any of my other clients, I might have agreed but Mr Haliday is the one honest retainer I have.

“As I have explained to you, on several occasions,” I sigh, “We believe that your interpretation of the legislation is just as incorrect as you believe ours is.   One of us must be wrong but rather than go to the expense of asking a Court to decide, I thought I would see if we could reach some sort of agreement.”

He makes a sharp hissing sound, as if I have just suggested infanticide.  

“You would rather risk tax payers’ money on proceedings would you?” I go on.

“It would not be a risk!  We are 100% certain that we are correct and that your client is a TAX EVADER!”

“He is a seventy year old golf club owner from Eastbourne, not Al Capone.”

“Tax evasion is not exclusive to age or social location.”

“He is not evading taxes he is making use of a Government backed initiative which merely delays paying them.”

“He is abusing a loophole to deny HMRC of its rightful payment.”

“He is building a new golf club, which will employ fifty two people in an employment deprived area.”

“That is not our concern.  We are tasked by law to collect taxes and that is what we do.  We do not concern ourselves with the rights and wrongs of the rules which have been set, we simply apply them.”

“But you are applying them incorrectly and in a way which might put fifty two people out of work!”

“It is not my job to question the Lord Chancellor’s wisdom.  If he decrees that tax avoidance is wrong then it is wrong! Regardless of the consequences, which, incidentally, your client should have thought about before he embarked on this hare-brained scheme.”

You see?  I have done everything I can to get rid of the blasted case, but he will not budge whilst he thinks he has the power of the mighty Lord Chancellor on his side.   I am left with no choice but to give Malcolm the bad news.

“He won’t entertain the idea of a settlement,” I explain.

“Oh dear….” his face falls.  “Have you told Mr Haliday?”

“Not yet. I wanted to speak to you first.”

“Why?”

“Because you are partner in charge of the case.”  

“I’m not sure what I can do.”

No me neither, but there is a protocol to follow.   Clients must have partner contact lest they may gain the erroneous impression that the assistants do all the work…….

“You should call Mr Haliday,” I suggest. “He might take the news better if it came from you.”

“Do you think so?” 

Actually, no.  “Of course.”  I hand him the number, which he dials with the enthusiasm of a condemned man.

“Is that Mr Haliday?”

“Speaking!” booms a voice.

“Oh, hullo, er, this is Malcolm Morris here, from CWS.”

“Hello, Malcolm how are you?”

“Er, well, er, we’re fine and, er, well, we’ve had a little chat with the Inland Revenue.”

“And have they decided to withdraw their ridiculous demands?”

“Er, well.”  he looks at me in despair.

“No,” I interject. ”Hello Mr Haliday. It’s Helen speaking. I’ve been speaking to them this morning.  I’m afraid they will not consider any kind of settlement.  Apparently, it goes against their principle of always being right about everything. ”

“Really?”, he chuckles. “Yes, well, they are notorious for their accuracy!”

“I know.  I thought that last week, when I received my third tax code in three days.  Anyway, I’m afraid there’s not a great deal we can do to frighten them; it’s not their money they are spending.   So we have two choices: we either fight on or pay up, isn’t that right Malcolm?”

“Er, yes, Helen’s right.  It doesn’t look good.   If I were you, I would think about paying up.”

Typically ballsy advice from Malcolm.

“Nonsense!” Haliday snorts. “I shall not give in to those bullies.  We’ll fight on, eh Helen?”

Nothing would give me greater pleasure.  “Absolutely.  If you want us to.  We will do our best to defeat them.”

“Is there anything else we can do in the meantime?”

“What do you mean?”

“Embarrass them, perhaps.”

I have been thinking about this.  “We could go to the press.”

Malcolm almost falls out of his chair. “The press!”

“Yes,” I nod. “The Daily Mail loves stories like this.”

“The Daily Mail!”

It’s as if I’ve suggested a naked feature in Playboy.  

“Good idea Helen,” Mr Haliday agrees. “They won’t want The Daily Mail on their backs.”

“Who would?  Perhaps we could wheel out some of your OAP players to talk about what a tragedy it would be if the club was to close.”

Malcolm has turned a very noticible shade of green.  “I don’t think the Inland Revenue would want the press to be involved!”

“That’s the point.” Mr Haliday chuckles.  “The last thing they will want to deal with is the press, so if we involve a few of the papers, it might put pressure on them.  Isn’t that right?”

“Absolutely,” I agree, glad that my client appreciates my tactics, even if my colleague does not. “We can’t put any financial pressure on them so we’ve got to find other ways to do it.”

“We can’t take part in propaganda!”

Sometimes Malcolm is so wet I want to wring him out.

But Mr Haliday roars with laughter. “Why not?!  It’s not as if this is a fair fight.  Anything we can do to influence the outcome is all right with me.”

“We will not be able to influence the outcome,” he warns. “The English Judiciary does not subscribe to The Daily Mail.”

How does he know?   They might love a bit of Baz Bamigboye.

“The Telegraph then!” Mr Haliday laughs. “That should do it.”

“No, no, no,” he shakes his head. “Judges will not be swayed by newspaper articles.”

“But The Revenue might,” I point out. “And that’s the aim.   If we make it a cause celebre they might be more willing to talk.”

Malcolm’s shoulders are now so droopy they are almost hitting the desk.  “It’s up to you,” he sulks. “But my advice is against it.”

“Well, I appreciate your input, both of you,” he replies. “I shall give it some serious thought.”

Malcolm puts the phone down with a frown.  “We should not encourage our clients to turn their claims into news stories,” he advises.

“He seemed to like it,” I point out.

“Nevertheless, we are litigation lawyers not media stars.”

Although, if The Boss had his way, things might soon be different.  

“Marvellous idea,” he proclaims.  “Make sure you get the journos to mention our involvement.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Good, and whilst you’re there, see if you can interest them in any of our other cases.”

“Aren’t most of them confidential?”

“Well, yes, in theory, but, I’m not asking you to disclose state secrets!” he laughs. “Just tell them enough to cultivate their interest.  I’ll do the rest.”

That’s what I’m afraid of.

“Well, good work Helen.” he nods. “It’s nice to see you thinking outside the box.   It’s all about media coverage these days, you know, even ligitation.  It’s not about how good you are, it’s how much publicity you generate.”

And he should know.  He’s spent the morning posing for marketing shots in front of our new building. 

“Our new offices will be at the cutting edge of legal services in The City,” he tells the PR team. “They will include the most up-to-date conference and networking facilities combined with advanced IT support functions.  Our lawyers will be available to clients by video link to anywhere and at any time.  It is the start of a new legal services revolution!”

This is news to me.  I find the text on a printout he recklessly leaves outside his office.   A quick investigation (an interrogation of Clive) reveals that we are all to be provided with camera-equipped laptops with video conferencing facilities.

It’s sold as being a “marvellous advancement in communications” but we have grave concerns.

“They can call us up at any time, from anywhere!” Jane moans.

“It won’t be used for video conferencing.” I agree. “It will be used by The Boss to keep tabs on us.  He’ll keep the cameras rollling all the time and have a video wall in his office…..”

“Under constant surveillance,” Alex warns. “Like on Big Brother.”

Jane looks ashen. “I shall be sacked in an instant if he knows what I actually get up to during the day.”

“Will Jane Black please come to the Diary Room?” Alex affects a Geordie accent. “She has been evicted from the Big Brother house.  She is to have no further contact with her housemates.”

“Don’t you think The Boss has got better things to do than spy on us all day?” Liz asks.

“No,” we say in unison. 

“You’re right,” she admits.

We lapse into silence until a new thought crosses Jane’s mind.

“This could be the start of The Boss’s new reality television career,” she points out.  “If fee income slackens off he can sell the tapes to Channel Four.”

“We could be celebrities.”

As absurd as that seems, there is no denying that, if he wanted to turn his hand to entertainment, The Boss could give Simon Cowell a run for his money.

The others agree and it sparks a discussion about the sort of reality show it might be.  Jane favours a Super Nanny-type show where The Boss demonstrates how he subdues his errant assistants with his brilliant management techniques; Liz thinks it’s more likely to be a Fame Academy format where we’re all tutored by experts in litigation disciplines before putting on a show of our skills for the panel.   But Alex has the best suggestion.

“Set in the dangerous environs of the City of London,” he declares. “Join fifteen junior lawyers as they battle it out with poisonous reptiles, dirty rats and creepy crawlies to become King or Queen of the Jungle in the new series of I’m a Litigator Get me Out of Here!”

“It would be a cheep show to make,” Jane observes. “No need for props or make up – just show up and start filming.”

“Day 1: Helen tackles the high wire challenge: a death-defying feat of keeping both Miranda and The Boss happy at the same time; Day 2 Alex wins extra Hobnob rations for the assistants by defeating Danielle and Melinda in the filing time trial; Day 3 Tarquin flounces off set when Jane is elected as team leader for the third day in a row; Day 4 Liz loses focus (and points) when she is distracted by Dan’s amorous advances, could this be the start of a jungle romance.?”

We all (except Liz) fall about.   

“I have not been distracted by Dan’s ‘amorous advances’!” she fumes.

“Oh yes?” Jane laughs. “Then do explain why you were seen, in a pub, with him on Valentine’s day?”

She colours scarlet. “How did you?!”

“I don’t need information technology to help me keep tabs on people.” Not when she runs the most advanced spy network in London.

“We were just having a quiet drink,” she says, unconvincingly.

“Of what?” Alex laughs. “Love potions?”

Liz looks like she might punch either one of them.  I put my hand on her shoulder.  “Don’t listen to them,” I tell her. “They are only jealous.”

“Too right!” Alex agrees. “I wouldn’t mind having a ‘quiet drink’ with the Dreamy Dan.  He’s lovely.  Mind you, we’re so starved of good looking men round here, I even found myself thinking The Boss was attractive, the other day.”

“He is, in a Don Corleone sort of way.” I agree.

“For the record,” Jane points out. “I am not jealous.  I would rather scoop out my eyeballs and eat them than date a lawyer.”

“I think most lawyers feel the same about dating you,” I laugh. 

“Look, completely confidentially, Dan and I have been on two dates but things are very casual and we do not want anyone else to know yet.  Can I count on you three to keep it quiet?”

We look at each other.  Jane and Alex are dying to say no (Jane so she can tease Dan and Alex so he trade gossip with the secretaries) but we agree, on condition that Liz keeps us informed of every stage of the courtship.

“You three are such voyeurs,” she grumbles.  “Before you ask, I’m not going to give you any of the gory details.  If there ever are any.”

“That’s no fun.  You must tell us what sort of underpants he wears,” Alex decrees.

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, go on,” Jane urges. “We get so few pleasures at work, the knowledge that Dan is wearing saggy Y fronts under his Armani suits will cheer us all up. ”

“No!” she refuses.

“Kill joy,” Jane urges.

But Liz is unbowed and I’m quite glad.   Despite our new-found fondness for technology, there are still some things that should not be publicised and my colleagues’ choice of underpants is one of them.