Chapter 13: Queer Customer

It was late September and, thought Judge Embert Wimple, a good thing, too. The country was bathed in watery sunshine. True, the cricket season was over, but there were compensations. The gardeners were surely about to call it a year. That would be a blessing, particularly on this occasion, as the judge and his wife had new next-door neighbours, a young couple. The man’s idea of relaxation was to mow his half-acre of lawn twice a week, to the height of carpet pile – and not shag carpet, either, the judge reflected bitterly. Well, perhaps one had to make allowances. The newcomers had previously lived in a flat and were revelling in their first experience of owning a large garden.

Esmeralda Wimple was off on another short jaunt, calculated to improve her already profound grasp of perspective. The judge was happy to have his evenings free for contemplation, as he had set aside his examination of the latest developments in rocket propulsion, returning to his main preoccupation of cosmology in its widest sense. His thoughts were far removed from what he was about to deal with as he took his place in court. What was it today? Fallowfield versus Pryce, something about a contretemps in an eating house. And what about the advocates? Ah, familiar faces, Jeremy Turnpenny for the prosecution and Roderick Prendergast for the defence. That was positive on two counts. First, there probably would be no fireworks and second, neither barrister would expect his honour to be too well acquainted with what was coming up. The judge nodded at prosecuting counsel. “What delights have you for us today, Mr Turnpike?”

Turnpenny was pleased to note that the judge seemed to be quite jovial. “Interesting ones, Your Honour,” he said. We are concerned with the events of the fifth of May. Late in the evening of that day my client, Mr James Fallowfield, having spent an afternoon here in the city, went for a meal at a restaurant called ‘The Strasbourg Goose’, which is owned by the defendant and is situated about three miles north of the city centre. Mr Fallowfield had a meal, of which the main course was lobster. He was thoroughly dissatisfied with what was offered to him, but he did his best with it. When it came to payment, there was a dispute. My client was –”

“Just a moment,” the judge interjected. “If your client was unhappy about the matter, why did he not speak up earlier?”

“He restrained himself for two reasons. First, he was so hungry that he would have eaten almost anything put before him. Second, he could hardly have been expected to pronounce on the quality of the meal without eating it, or trying to.”

“I see. Go on.” “I was about to say that Mr Fallowfield offered payment, notwithstanding his justified complaint.”

Turnpenny paused to allow the inevitable further interjection. “What was the nature of that complaint?”

“Serious, Your Honour. The first course was a clear broth which my client equated with the effluent from the operations of a washing machine. When it came to the main course, the vegetables were steamed to a sloppy pulp. Still worse was the lobster. Mr Fallowfield maintains that he observed some movement on the plate, and he was not convinced that the creature was actually deceased?”

“Good grief,” the judge groaned. “I appreciate that there is a passion for fresh food nowadays, but that would be too much for most people. Furthermore, I have always thought that lobster changes colour when cooked. Did that not give your client a clue?”

“Mr Fallowfield had never before eaten lobster, so did not know what to expect.”

“Extraordinary. The idea of a meal escaping from the plate is new to me, though I seem to recall that James Bond encountered something of the kind. What then?”

“Despite his reservations, Mr Fallowfield agreed to pay in full for the meal. In doing so, he became embroiled in an argument with the waiter, who summoned the owner, Mr Pryce, who in turn brought in the restaurant’s security officer. At the time there was only one other patron, who was an old man and heavily intoxicated with drink. The waiter, Mr Pryce and the security officer hustled my client into the kitchen, where he was intimidated into washing crockery and cutlery for two hours before being released. Mr Fallowfield was in fear for his physical safety, so did not protest on the spot. He now seeks satisfaction.”

“Thank you,” said the judge. “That seems clear enough, but we will not jump to conclusions.” He turned to defending counsel Prendergast. “What is your version, Mr Pendlebury?”

“May it please Your Honour, there is something of a history involved here. The plaintiff had dined at the Strasbourg Goose on several previous occasions, each time causing trouble. Indeed, had my client, Mr Pryce, known that Mr Fallowfield was in the restaurant, he would have refused him service. As it happens, the waiters at the establishment change from time to time and the one who served Mr Fallowfield was ignorant of that gentleman’s idiosyncrasies.”

The judge was now fully absorbed. “Tell us a little more about them,” he said. “I mean the idiosyncrasies, not the waiters.”

“That is easily done, Your Honour. On his last visit to the Strasbourg Goose before the occasion that concerns us, he had ordered a sirloin steak. He caused much consternation by demanding a hammer and some tacks, saying that the only way he would get any value for money from the dish would be by nailing it to his shoe soles. This was a totally unwarranted slur on my client, who is well known for producing excellent steaks. Two months before that incident, Mr Fallowfield had dined at the restaurant, ordering fried plaice and a green salad. He caused uproar by demanding aspirin tablets, claiming that they would offer the only possibility of, as he put it, resuscitating the salad, which he said was made from wilted ingredients. He also asked for a bottle of Beaujolais and on learning that there was none in stock, demanded that the waiter go to the nearest off-licence shop to rectify the perceived shortcoming. This was done, then Mr Fallowfield created another scene when he railed at the waiter for failing to advise him against drinking red wine with fish.”

The judge was beginning to tire of the litany. “Is that all?”

“Not quite, Your Honour. Mr Fallowfield had patronised the restaurant on one still earlier occasion. He made no complaint about the food, but inveighed against the lack of stabling.”

“Stabling?” Did he arrive on horseback?”

“No. As far as we can ascertain, he does not own or ride a horse. He said that he was taking a stand against what he called declining standards at our catering establishments, saying that the absence of stables would have been unthinkable in times gone by.”