The Disgraced Advocate

Dedication

To Sally

for making me promise to write stories for others to read.

About the Author

Jock Sparks was educated at Rondebosch Boys’ High and at the University of Cape Town. A t the age of twenty-seven he married Sally Stuttaford, and the couple left Cape Town to live in Paternoster a fishing village on the west coast of South Africa. Four years later with their young son, they returned to Cape Town having established a flourishing rock lobster packing and exporting business. During this period Jock represented the fishing fraternity on a select Parliamentary committee to advise on the controlling of the catching, packing and marketing of the West-Coast rock lobster.

At the age of thirty- two Jock entered public life and was elected to serve as a member of the Langebaan Village Management Board. Sally and Jock had four children, and lived in Constantia until her death at the age of forty-three.

Semi-retired at the age of sixty-five, Jock was elected to serve on the board of directors of a development known as Lake Michelle which when completed would consist of three hundred and sixty-five homes in a private, lake environment.

Jock’s love for sport saw him participating in most sporting disciplines during his youth, Thereafter he continued with game fishing and sailing, and took-up school and club rugby refereeing as well as training athletes.

Jock has lived in Hermanus for the past ten years where he swims and walks every possible day, and enjoys being with friends and writing.

Copyright © 2019 Jock Sparks

Published by Jocks Sparks for Smashwords

First edition 2019

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the copyright holder.

The Author has made every effort to trace and acknowledge sources/resources/individuals. In the event that any images/information have been incorrectly attributed or credited, the Author will be pleased to rectify these omissions at the earliest opportunity.

Published by Jock Sparks using Reach Publishers’ services,

Edited by Lorna King for Reach Publishers

Cover designed by Reach Publishers

P O Box 1384, Wandsbeck, South Africa, 3631

Website: www.reachpublishers.org

E-mail: [email protected]

Table of Contents

Dedication

About the Author

True Love – The Most Elusive of All Emotions

The Dark Continent of Unknown Perils and Haunting Beauty…

Sail Away, Sail Way Beyond the Horizon into the Jaws of the Unknown

Thunder, Lightning and Mammals of the Vast Oceans

High Seas, and Staring Death in the Face…

The British Boxing Champion and the Film Star

The Assassin from the East

Death Loomed, and Passed on by

Deception in the Pursuit of Justice

The Ninjas

The Ordained

Honest Deception

Incarceration and pain

Tread Not Where You Daren’t. For Fear of Fate Being Late

Cutting the painter and releasing the guillotine blade

Author’s Note

Fate

The journey of life offers many crossroads,

of thoughts, dreams and aspirations.

Jack Wright’s dream took him to Africa.

Chapter One

True Love – The Most Elusive of All Emotions

Fate introduced me to the beauty of southern Africa, to Emma Hamilton, and brought me face-to-face with people who planned to assassinate me. The unexpected meeting with Emma Hamilton, on board the Mary Lou, a forty-two-foot sloop, led to a romance which was fast-tracked by our mutual love for the sea, and our sorties into the deep blue ocean.

Little did we know that our fast-moving bliss would also catapult us into the arms of the underworld, and embroil us in hatred and deceit, which threatened to tear us apart.

Two months after our first meeting, accompanied by cheering and whistling, Emma and I sailed out of Cape Town harbour on the Mary Lou. Our first three days at sea where a lover’s dream, an extension of how we spent our lives in Cape Town courting – we laughed, played, dined and slept exhausted, believing it would never end.

However, we were wrong. For no sooner had we found complete happiness, than I become aware of a bank of dark ominous clouds awaiting us beyond the blue horizon. They were dark clouds of reality, which rose out of the deep ocean, and began to smudge the clarity through which we were viewing our lives, our dreams and aspirations. Our sailing holiday to the little-known island some thousand nautical miles off the west coast of Africa was to become a nightmare.

Not knowing our enemy nor the threat to our lives, we sailed further and further away from our safe haven, Cape Town, and into a dangerous environment from which there was no escape.

The mastermind behind the plot to destroy us gave us three days of innocent bliss, and during that time we sailed deeper and deeper into his trap, for he knew that being that far from Cape Town he controlled the waters off the west coast, and from where his octopus-like tentacles would prevent us from escaping. His power would force us to sail into the centre of a black hole where he, an international crime boss with an obsession to kill me, waited.

Seven months earlier…

On arriving home after a busy yet successful day at the office, and drawn by a mouth-watering aroma, I walked into the kitchen with a broad smile on my face.

Aaah, whatever that is… Cathie, her back to me, was stirring the food on the stove. It was a homely picture which brought back a memory, a flashback to the early months of our marriage when I used to rush home to be with Cathie.

Aaah… I tried again, just what I want for supper.

This time she heard and turned to face me, however the smile I used to see was not there. For the past few months the best I could expect from Cathie was a frown, and a sarcastic greeting of sorts.

I see you’re making headlines again? she said, while placing the spoon on the countertop. Pray do tell me, Jack, what was the murderer you have set free this time guilty of?

I could see the fury bubbling inside of her.

That is, before you persuaded the court to put him back on the streets to commit another and another murder.

She paused, and after drawing in a deep breath, picked up the Daily Mail that lay open on the kitchen table, and using the spoon as a pointer struck the tabloid. The blow was vicious enough to rip the page, and a picture of my support team and me.

Jack, when I read this I knew I was not able to take any more of this. She paused and glared at me silently for a brief moment. It has to stop. I can no longer be associated with a man who portrays everything I am fighting against. If you do not stop liberating killers and crime bosses, I want a divorce.

Cathie, he was not a murderer. The court found him not guilty! I replied trying to keep my voice on an even-keel, without a trace of annoyance.

This was a repeat of what had become a regular argument, her lack of understanding that what I was doing was my job. The fact that I was more successful than others created the publicity she was more than uncomfortable about.

Throughout the past six months during which time we had grown more and more apart, I kept reminding myself that she was a good person, and it was hard for her to understand my situation. Her sudden barrage with a sting at the end stunned me.

Her attack was sudden and her warning of a divorce was new and unexpected, yet the smile on my face was still very evident when I replied, Cathie, that is unfair. The man was truly innocent, his innocence was very clear for all to see, and the evidence was compelling. Would you have an innocent man go to the gallows because his fault in this instance was that he was rotten to the core?

Hmm. Gee Jack. It was her cynical tone. Jack, do you really believe what you are telling me? she hissed. The discussion was pointless; Cathie had prepared herself for an argument with a decisive ending, while all I wanted was friendship.

Cathie, I came into the kitchen to thank you for making one of my favourite meals. As I spoke, I leant over her shoulder to enjoy the aroma, however Cathie reacted swiftly by shifting her body to block my vision. Laughing, I placed my hands on her shoulders to move her aside, thinking that she had calmed down, and as we so often did in the past, would become playful.

Don’t you dare manhandle me? she snarled.

Taken aback, I gulped.

Okay. Okay, my voice was close to a stammer.

What’s so special about porkers and mash? she scoffed.

It’s the way you prepare the sausages, and your red wine gravy. I paused, before adding enthusiastically, Yum, yum, that is special.

Fine, if I have made you happy, then I am glad. However, I wish you would make me happy by selling your shares in the partnership.

A silence shrouded the kitchen. It was a silence that had become all too common in our lives.

I’m sure all your partners who you have made so very rich, would be eager buyers?

I remained silent in an attempt to hide my shock at what she was proposing. It now appeared that the conversation we were having was aimed at being the last. Cathie continued to hammer the final nail into the coffin in which our marriage was to be buried.

By doing that it would stop me from any further embarrassment. Have you any idea what people, friends and strangers are saying behind our backs? I am tired of hearing snide remarks and answering uncomfortable questions.

It was bad enough when we lived in our first home, but since moving it had become intolerable living and rubbing shoulders with famous film stars, industrialists, novelists, you name it – and they are our neighbours. What happened to the good old days when we spent evenings with family and friends having an old-fashioned barbeque, which included a great deal of laughter?

Now, instead, we spend our evenings with over-boozed, out-of-shape men and women. We never see the stars lighting up the dark nights as we’re always inside some glitzy hotel or restaurant.

Jack, I am sick of it. What riles me is you have the audacity to walk into my kitchen and tell me that bangers and mash are your favourite meal.

Suddenly, I regretted having followed the smell of cooking into the kitchen. I also regretted the unmentionable amount of times, over the past months, I had been subjected to feeling like the lowest form of humanity. I stopped – not to allow my thoughts to drift any further.

Call me when dinner is ready, I’ll be in my study, I called back as I left the room.

Yes darling. She was now mimicking a suppressed wife.

To Cathie, the cheap theatrical performance of a pathetic housewife was like water off a duck’s back. What really got up my nose was that she was saying it so often it was becoming an ugly characteristic.

Cathie, we must chat.

Yes darling. It was that voice again.

Okay, Cathie that can be the title of our swansong. You know the kind of song; Sinatra was so good at singing. For the first time since I came home, Cathie appeared interested. She had heard what I had said but did not know what I meant.

What do you mean, swansong?

Oh, it’s just a joke. Forget it.

Minor victories over Cathie hurt me more than they pleased.

If it was a joke it was uncalled for. I am not in the mood for your flippancy.

Talking about flippancy, I took your suggestion about selling my practice as a flippant remark.

Oh! Of course, Jack. How amiss of me. I should have realised you would not sell your valuable, immoral practice.

Her darting eyes suddenly became lifeless.

Why on earth should you? How stupid of me. I should know – wives are two a penny. She paused, allowing the hatred in her voice to fill the room, Aren’t they just, Jack?

When the dust of our failed marriage settled, I found myself wanting a break from my life’s work, to discover the world beyond the shores of the United Kingdom and Europe. However, the thought of parting with a law practice that I had built-up over the years, stopped me from tossing the good and the bad into the same trash can. Instead, I settled on the idea of taking a year’s sabbatical. The decision made good sense, as holding on to a secure home base left me strongly motivated to tackle the future with the same vigour as I had my career.

Cathie, now my ex-wife, was a barrister’s dream. She was an intellect as well as a socialite whose passion spread to the extremities of outdoor life. Her bubbly and genuine personality made it easy for her to make friends, and win the admiration of men and women alike. Our first three years of marriage was absolute bliss. However, after that our dreams began to fall apart.

By nature, we were both breadwinners, and as resourceful and successful as our marriage was, so were our business interests. However, due to the rushed lives we lived, we were unaware that our business dealings were on a collision course.

Cathie’s innate ability and her deep-rooted social connections presented her with the material the public wanted to know about, and her readers began to see her as their custodian of justice and moral standards. As time passed, and with crime on the rise, the hat Cathie wore started to erode the success I, as a defence barrister, enjoyed. After that, it was only a matter of time before the ideological battle spread into our home and finally our bedroom.

Now a free man with the skeletons of the past locked away in the cupboard, my mind turned to the future. I looked for a prospect with a difference, and because I had no predetermined goal, my youthful dreams of Africa revisited me. The Dark Continent became a challenge.

The man whose name I bore became my mentor during my years as a young boy, and once again entered my dreams for the future. The little I knew of my great, great-grandfather allowed my imagination at a young age the freedom to create an inspiring character, and in doing so, I placed him on a pedestal, which made him a worthy person to emulate both in kind and spirit.

His inspiration encouraged me to become an achiever, while others sat in contentment around warm fires. The hardships of his life compared to mine inspired me to run in the heat of summer, and in the storms of winter, to become faster and fitter than my peers. He taught me the importance of a clear mind free of trivial thoughts while keeping an eye on the future.

I picked up the gnarled stick and threw it once again. Induna – a German Shepherd – took off, his powerful limbs stretched out, sending the soft sand flying behind him as he raced towards the water’s edge. Two extended leaps brought the dog into contact with the rising shore break that engulfed him. Moments later the dog’s drenched head, with ears flat, reappeared in the white water left behind by the wave. With a surge of power, the dog moved forward against the current; his half-exposed body rose to leap across the remaining yard, and as he splashed back into the water, his jaw snapped closed on the stick.

My mind left the faithful hound to travel to a land that was just a name some eight thousand, five hundred miles south, which I imagined had a warmer climate. Was I like Induna to be loyal to emotional forces and follow my dream of Africa – a vision that had given me a purpose and motivation throughout my growing years? Was I about to follow the example of my ancestor, and walk across the vast grass plains, and climb the high mountains as he had done centuries ago?

A dinner party at the home of a friend shortly after my divorce took my plans for the future a step further.

The balmy evening encouraged the guests to enjoy pre-dinner drinks in the courtyard that looked across a meadow which stretched downhill towards a forest of oak trees. The picturesque area of ancient flagstones, flanked by pergolas on which vines grew, and beneath, six-foot hydrangeas flourished.

I was the last to arrive, at a time when James was in the cellar selecting the wines for dinner. Left to my own I mingled with his guests and immediately became involved in a conversation regarding the pending Springbok rugby tour of England.

Ah! So, you have met everyone? James announced as he approached from behind.

We had not finished shaking hands when his housekeeper interrupted, and with an exasperated expression, he muttered, Sorry Jack, old sport. It is hell playing host and hostess, as you will find out in time. With that, he left the courtyard leaving me to move around introducing myself as James’s old school friend.

One of the guests I had not met was a woman who appeared to be the youngest at the party. She wore her hair back in a ponytail, which accentuated her youth and her classic Scandinavian features. A long white dress hugged the lines of her slim body, highlighting the shapely contours of her tanned skin. She had a regal look, which few beautiful women possess, and with her aura of demureness, she was exquisite.

I crossed the courtyard to introduce myself to a man who I noticed was following her as she moved around, linking up with every group she joined so as to be in her company. The aspiring beau’s infatuation made him keen to discuss Eva, and in a short time I learnt all I needed to know about her.

She lived on her foster father’s vast estate south-west of London, where she spent most of her time horse riding. Her foster father had adopted her shortly after her birth; however, Eva and her father were at present at odds with one another over his dictatorial ways, especially when it came to which countries she could visit.

I moved to the drinks table and joined a group of men. Soon after I noticed, as did the others, Eva approaching, and everyone shuffled in a way that gave her a choice of where to stand.

Does anyone know anything about South Africa? she queried looking around the circle.

Not much, someone answered.

Well. I’m planning to visit the country. There’s a lot of talk about what is happening in that region of the world – some good and some bad. People are saying that Africa is the future breadbasket of the world. I’d like to see the Dark Continent and draw my own conclusions.

Sounds interesting, someone said.

I haven’t been to southern Africa, which is strange as my foster father spends a great deal of time in that region. In spite of this, whenever I mention visiting Cape Town or Windhoek, he becomes irritated.

At that point I broke away from the group and made my way towards the drinks table.

May I join you? It was her voice.

Only a pleasure, I replied turning to face her. Her face projected uncertainty, which was a far cry from the confident image she portrayed when joining the group of men five minutes ago.

You are different to most men, she said as our eyes met.

Most men? What makes you say that?

I’m not sure, but when you left the group while I was speaking, you caught my eye. I had a sudden urge to get to know you. Perhaps now I will find out. However, to start with you don’t seem to care a darn what people think of you. She paused before adding, I like that.

I saw a naughty smile appear on her lips.

Jack, you appear to be your own man.

I smiled, wondering who had put Eva up to pulling my leg.

I’m topping up my drink. Can I do the same for you?

Yes, thank you.

I took the empty glass from her hand and nodded with a smile. Eva showed innate confidence by moving alongside me before effortlessly slipping her arm through mine as she fell into step as we walked towards the drinks table.

Having replenished our glasses, Eva took charge and led me to a quiet corner table on the far side of the courtyard where we sat in an awkward silence – that was until our eyes met, and Eva awarded me with a smile as alluring as water is in a desert. On seeing my reaction, she confessed.

When I hijacked you on your way to the drinks table, a gentle expression replaced her smile, I hope you didn’t think it forward of me? Eva paused while her demure expression remained.

Not at all, why should it be considered forward? That is what people do at dinner parties. They move around and mingle.

I would love to be like you – everything seems so easy, she replied with a smile. Anyway, perhaps my guilt stems from the fact that I had an ulterior motive. It was the only way of getting to tell you my plan, she confessed with a disarming smile.

I laughed. Good for you. I have wanted to meet you too; you’ve just made it easy for me.

She giggled, Jack, is that your charm? Making everyone feel good about themselves?

Her aura of shyness evaporated and was replaced by a naughty smile.

Why would you want to meet me? she asked.

Well, it is when you meet someone interesting that you become aware of what you have missed. Besides, you are the only person here who I have not met.

I could see my honest answer amused her.

Well, now that you have met me, do you feel you have missed out?

I smiled at her forthrightness.

Keep that question on hold, and ask it sometime in the future.

"You are as I imagined you to be. To be a friend that James refers to as his best friend, you would have to be a no-nonsense person.’’

That was nice of James to call me his best friend. I can’t think of what I’ve done to have earned that title.

Jack, that is the reason I wanted to speak to you. You do know James is my nearest neighbour?

No, I didn’t.

Well anyway, we both exercise our horses early in the morning when more often than not we cross paths, and continue riding on together.

It must be a marvellous way to spend the early hours of the morning, I said with a touch of envy.

Okay, she said as if urging herself on. My proposal, let me tell you about it while I still have the nerve, she said with a burst of gusto.

I laughed at her eagerness to finish what she was about to ask. Is your proposal that terrible?

She shrugged her shoulders. No! It is not! James thought it was an excellent proposal. However, my concern was how you saw it. I do want you to know that I felt it to be far-fetched, that is my going to Africa. That was before I met you. However, since meeting you, I am more determined to go. It sounds like an exciting country, she said pausing to draw in a deep breath.

Well, in a few words, will you come to Africa with me? As she spoke, her hands covered her mouth, and in reaction to her embarrassment, she stood up. Oh! My dear, what have I said? What I meant was, could we meet up in Africa and have a sort of contactable understanding? she gasped out, looking down at me.

Of course, Eva. I would enjoy meeting up with you in Cape Town. We are bound to have varying interests keen to pursue, and having someone to meet up with would be a great pleasure, I said, while rising from my chair.

Jack, that’s marvellous.

With that, she flung herself towards me, and as she did, she said something that sounded irrelevant at the time.

Now my keeper can suck eggs.

My outstretched arms prevented her from falling. I felt the softness of her cheek against mine and the beat of her heart pounding against my chest. She moved her head to look up at me, our eyes met, and I felt the moist softness of her inner lip. The damp, soft touch of our inner lips triggered an electric pulse which stung, forcing our mouths to part. With our bodies still locked, Eva’s eyes searched my face, and then, with a gentle smile, she took a step back, away from me.

Wow! Jack. What else can I say but wow! Is this going to complicate our lives?

No! No! I was struggling to think of something to say that would not offend her. What we did was in the spirit of the moment, and no more.

Her eyes steadied on mine, and after searching my face, she nodded. Yes, you are right. It was party fun, she murmured.

I gave her a good hard look. She was charming. No man in his right mind would not have enjoyed the interlude.

Later, when asked to sit down for dinner, Eva disappeared and I joined two men who I had met earlier.

Are you getting yourself into trouble? one of the men asked.

Whew! You can certainly say that. Do you fellows know Eva?

Peter laughed; it was one of those, do we know laughs, which spurred me on to my next question.

What’s her story?

Robin, who was watching me with a broad smile on his face, asked, Why, are you interested in getting to know her better?

I chuckled. No, just enjoying the evening. Nevertheless, I am curious as I sense Eva is a little hellion. Speaking from hearsay, she appears to be unplayable. Has she a boyfriend?

No, many have tried to take her out on a date, but none have gotten as far as the front door.

Mmm, which sounds as if she has someone in mind, someone she meets on holidays.

We smiled at the thought, shrugged our shoulders, and left it at that.

Eva spotted the three of us, beckoned me, and nodded a greeting at the other two, who had tenuously taken a step towards her, however stopped on seeing my wink as I left them to join Eva. She slipped her arm through mine and to the beat of the tune playing, whirled me around with greater strength than I would have expected from a woman as slender as she was.

As we glided across the floor, Eva looked up at me. Her face wore the smile of satisfaction, but her eyes told me she was thinking about something else.

Jack, I’ve only spent a few hours in your company, and yet I’m having the time of my life. I feel as if we’ve known one another for months, if not years. I’m beginning to believe that life can be a load of fun – is that possible?

Anything’s possible, that is, if you really want what you are seeking.

Her large blue eyes softened, and for a moment I saw the hurt that lay beneath her bubbly personality. It must have been a brief moment of weakness for her eyes sharpened swiftly.

It was shortly after dinner when Eva was leaving the party, that she asked me to see her to her car.

Well, I guess this it until we meet again, I remarked as we walked across the driveway. Eva had not spoken since we left the house, and I was interested to know what was going on in her mind.

Yes, until we meet again, she repeated my words. Our meeting-up in Africa is still on, isn’t it? she added, sounding uncertain.

Absolutely!

My response must have reassured her as her answer had a lilt of mischief, as did her smile.

Well, Jack! Then it is goodbye until we meet again, she said thrusting her hand towards me. I took her hand in mine, and on feeling a strong tremor, my eyes focused on hers to see a quick glimpse of her tearful translucent blue eyes as she bowed her head to hide her feelings. Bending down my dry lips touched her forehead while I spoke in a low voice.

When in Cape Town visit the yacht club and ask reception to contact me. If I’m not at the club, leave your contact details. I’ll be in Cape Town by the middle of August, and will be returning to the UK after the southern hemisphere’s summer.

Moments later, as she drove off down the driveway, I heard her shouting, Don’t forget to meet me in Cape Town.

Chapter Two

The Dark Continent of Unknown Perils and Haunting Beauty…

Within seconds of the seat belt lights turning off, the plane shuddered, then rose and fell violently as it moved through unsettled pockets of air. The airhostess, losing her footing, snatched hold of the nearest armrest, and in doing so lost control of her tray, sending juice and beer spewing in all directions. The pilot reacted swiftly, banking the plane and dropping it down a thousand feet into an area of stable air. The shaking and rattling of the fuselage stopped, and the pilot announced that we were now flying at three thousand feet over the mountains of the Boland, and were due to land at Cape Town International in twenty minutes.

Looking out the window, I saw squares of brown land boarded by wide tracks. The patchwork of vineyards were similar in size and each block was divided by a track, the width of the tractor. It all looked so perfect and quiet as the countryside waited for spring.

Suddenly, the picturesque farmlands turned into grey cliffs with threads of cloud circling the deep crags. The aeroplane banked to the right, and below, the cliffs disappeared into the ocean. As the sea rose towards the plane, I could see row after row of white water sweeping in towards the coastline. With the mountainous farming region now a memory, I thought of Cape Town as I imagined it was during my childhood years. A sweeping turn took the aircraft over a large bay, which lay between two mountain ranges. Beneath us in the glistening sea, far below, two dark silhouettes were growing in size. At first I was unable to identify the elongated sea monsters, the size of small boats; however, as we passed over the dark shapes, they slowly turned into two large prehistoric man-eaters. The great white sharks, a specie