Burning Bright

Chapter 18

‘Oh no,’ I muttered under my breath. Veronique stood and raised her hand to her forehead as though she was a forties movie starlet about to fall into a swoon, there was uproar in the rest of the court, and the court officials began to call for quiet. And failed. The press were focusing in on Eoin’s face as he steadied himself in the dock, fingers curled around the rail. Manish went over and spoke to him, and Eoin nodded, but didn’t look up. He just looked so . . . defeated. I could feel tears trickling down my cheeks but was so frozen, I couldn’t wipe them away. The ushers were failing so badly at quietening the room that eventually the magistrate instructed them to clear the court, and a number of policemen entered to ensure that this was done.

I managed to sneak into the ladies loos and sent a quick text to Moira, but couldn’t face letting Eoin’s mother know. Moira replied quickly. “Fuck. Tiger fund @ €250K. Not sure that matters now. Give him my love if you see him. Mxx”

It took a couple of calls before I realised my name was being broadcast over the tannoy. I guessed it was to be told about the sentencing as the embassies were always informed. I returned to the court room which was eerily quiet after the earlier commotion. Eoin had been allowed to sit and looked up at me with haunted eyes but managed a small smile. I so desperately wanted to hug him, to hold him and tell him everything was going to be all right. Except I couldn’t even have said that as it would have been a lie.

Mr Ahmed was still in the room with his council, along with Manish, but the expressions on their faces couldn’t have been more different.

‘Miss Curran,’ the magistrate acknowledged. ‘I have called you back because you are the bail surety for Mr Macken, and his consular representative, to discuss sentencing. As I’m sure you’re aware, the charge of Grievous Bodily Harm carries with it a sentence of up to five years in prison.’ Dear God. ‘However, given Mr Ahmed’s reluctance to explain his presence at the sanctuary that day, unless you’d like to now you are not in a public arena . . .?’

Mr Ahmed simply repeated, ‘I decline to answer,’ but looked distinctly uncomfortable.

The magistrate gave him a long hard stare that Paddington would have been proud of, and said, ‘Well, you are not on trial today, so that is your right. But your refusal to answer the question does make my decision regarding Mr Macken’s sentence easier to defend. Given the vociferous support that has been demonstrated here today and in the press, I would like to suggest that we harness that support in favour of the tigers. I propose that Mr Macken is detained until ten crore rupees are raised in funding for the tigers.’

I blanched. One hundred million rupees. That could buy you a luxury apartment in Mumbai, one of the most expensive places in the world. It was astronomical. Even Manish was forced to protest, but the magistrate ignored him. ‘Mr Ahmed, I understand that as Chief of Police you may have an opinion on my decision, but given the . . . unusual circumstances surrounding this case, I am anticipating no resistance?’ Mr Ahmed nodded, failing to suppress the rather smug smile at this impossible amount. ‘Well, when you have evidence that the amount raised, providing it does not take more than five years, I shall then release Mr Macken. Take him away,’ and he nodded at the policemen either side of Eoin as they led him out of the room.

‘Your Honour?’

‘Miss Curran?’

I glanced over to Eoin’s departing back as he left the court and tried to phrase the question in a way that wouldn’t make the situation worse. ‘Your Honour, I am extremely grateful that you have considered a fine rather than the full sentence . . .’

‘But?’

‘But . . . as it is such a large sum of money, wouldn’t it be . . . beneficial to everyone, especially the tigers, if Mr Macken was allowed to finish his documentary and use it to raise the funds?’

‘Are you suggesting that I release Mr Macken now?’

‘Well, I thought that maybe a lesser amount could secure his release so that he could raise the rest of the funds.’

Mr Ahmed was looking slightly less smug now, but it was the magistrate’s decision.

‘What you say does make sense, Miss Curran. But I would not be prepared to drop below fifty percent of the money being raised before I could consider release.’

‘That would be more than fair, Your Honour.’ I had been expecting seventy five percent and me trying to haggle, probably pointlessly, so fifty percent was a success, although I knew we were nowhere near that amount. ‘And . . .’

‘And?’

‘The money that’s already been raised for the tigers, that can be taken into account?’

‘When did the fund raising start?’

‘When he was arrested and it became known that he was making the documentary.’

He sighed. ‘I suppose so. Now, is there anything else?’

‘No, Your Honour. Thank you.’

The magistrate left and I showed Manish the text from Moira. ‘Can you calculate this into rupees? It’s in Euros.’ I didn’t trust myself to do it.

He took out his smartphone and did a quick calculation. ‘OK, we’re at twenty one million rupees and we need fifty million. How can we do that?’

‘Can you make a statement to the press?’

‘I’ll do that now. No doubt they’ll still be there waiting.’

‘I’ll get Moira to mobilise twitter and Eoin’s given me access to his blog.’

‘We need to agree a statement, don’t we? And quickly. Kate, you know he won’t be in the remand block any more where it’s at least reasonable. He’ll be in the main prison now, so we have to get this right.’

Ten minutes later, we had a form of words we were both happy with. Manish left by the front entrance while I sneaked out by a side door. Even taking my time to reach the anonymous back of the crowd, Manish had not yet started to make his statement while they hastily constructed a podium and microphone for him to speak. The press seemed particularly interested in what Veronique had to say although at that precise moment I was grateful she was drawing their attention away from me.

Manish finally took his place at the podium and the press swarmed around him. He cleared his throat and began his statement. ‘As you are aware, my client, Eoin Macken, known to many of you as Sir Gwaine in the BBC hit TV series Merlin, has been found guilty of Grievous Bodily Harm against the Vimla Chief of Police. This was following an incident at the Vimla Tiger Sanctuary on 22nd January. My client will be appealing this decision, but in the meantime, we need your help. The penalty for this crime has been set at ten crore rupees which will go directly to the Vimla Tiger Sanctuary. Eoin Macken will be detained until fifty percent of this sum has been raised. We are currently at twenty one thousand rupees, so less than half of the amount required for his release, and less than a quarter of the total penalty required. Please give anything you can on the www.fundraising.com/VimlaTigers website, or look for the press release on Eoin Macken’s blog and twitter account. We shall get the details circulated as quickly as possible. Thank you,’ and ignoring the questions, Manish stood away from the temporary podium and headed in the direction of his car.

It was then that Veronique climbed the steps to the podium and I stood and watched in open-mouthed surprise as she made her own impassioned statement.

‘Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I have come to know Eoin, or Sir Gwaine, very well over the last few weeks.’ I was silently harrumphing. ‘He is a charming and passionate man . . .’ Oh God, I knew that for a fact, ‘who is dedicated to saving the tigers. Please,’ and she wrung her hands together for dramatic effect and then flicked her long blonde hair over her shoulder,’ please do anything you can to help this fine and noble man,’ and she broke down in tears and had to be escorted away from the podium by her brother.

And that’s how Veronique became the face of Eoin’s fund raising campaign. And the global rumours about their relationship started.