Pleading Guilty

'Does the Jury find the defendant, Mr. Thomas Derwent, Guilty or Not Guilty?' ... Perhaps I should write you a letter, Tom. There are some things I'd like to tell you. Some things I'd like to explain. I'd like to tell you about that party, Tom. How I only went because James was going (your nephew, I know, though he once told me he's never been close to you, that he's always been Julia's darling). How I've never really enjoyed parties, especially the sort I imagined Julia would hold. A table full of her sophisticated arty friends, your clever legal buddies. Everybody quick, everybody beautiful, everybody with so many interesting things to say. And all so removed from my little world - wealthy, cosmopolitan, childless. I could imagine them (long before I even met them) wondering what on earth Julia saw in me - wondering what had attracted her to such an ordinary, such a suburban, such a plain little thing. I saw you wondering that weekend in Oberon, could tell by the slightly quizzical (oh but gentle, gentle) way you asked me if I was enjoying my weekend, if I wasn't too bored (with you immersed in paperwork and Julia so busy organising her next weeks schedule) ... and yes, perhaps I would have been bored or at least a little lost if James hadn't called in. And don't think, Tom, don't think please, that I've never wondered what it was that attracted Julia to me. In the last few months I've thought about it endlessly, endlessly, but I'm no closer to knowing, no closer to understanding, no closer to the truth.