by Caro Fraser
‘I’d love that,’ said Camilla. A summer weekend with Leo at his country house was the most perfect thing she could imagine. Maybe it meant he was getting serious about her.
‘Good. You go home and put some things together, and I’ll pick you up around seven. It only takes about an hour and a half to get there.’
On the way down to Stanton they stopped in Oxford to buy food, and Camilla browsed in the video-rental section of the supermarket while Leo bought some wine.
Camilla appeared at his side as he was paying. ‘Give me something with your address on it,’ she said. ‘Not your London address. The one down here.’
‘I don’t think I’ve got anything …’ Leo searched in his wallet and drew out a receipt from the village-garage repair shop. ‘Here you are. What do you want it for, anyway?’
‘So that I can rent a video.’
As they put the groceries in the car, Leo glanced at the video she’d taken out. ‘What did you get?’
‘Now Voyager. It’s an old Bette Davis film. I really like it.’
Leo shrugged. ‘One way of passing a Friday evening, I suppose.’ He hadn’t watched a Bette Davis film since the days of Francis, an ex-lover, who’d been an ardent fan.
While supper was cooking, Leo took a long, hot bath and listened to some Mahler. As he was getting dressed afterwards, he glanced out of the window and saw Camilla walking slowly round the garden. She was singing something under her breath, but he couldn’t make it out. He watched her for a few moments. She was happy, he knew, but there was nothing to be done. When this weekend was over, she would have to learn to do without him.
After supper they sprawled together on the high-backed sofa, cushions piled around them, and watched Now Voyager, which Leo had never seen. As the film unfolded, he was by turns amused, intrigued but utterly unmoved. Camilla cried at the end, while Leo stroked her bare feet and tried not to laugh.
‘What utter tosh,’ he said.
‘How can you say that? I think it’s a wonderful film. I wanted you to see it. I saw it on television with my mother years ago, and we cried buckets.’
‘You didn’t expect me to cry buckets, did you?’ asked Leo.
‘No. I don’t suppose so.’ Camilla looked a little downcast. ‘You’re not very romantic, are you?’
‘Not a tender bone in my body.’
‘Haven’t you ever been in love?’
‘Hmm. I might have been. I don’t think that has much to do with romance. Real love, in my experience, is painful and gut-churning and very unromantic.’
This evening clearly didn’t qualify, thought Camilla. Sitting around on sofas watching old movies. Whatever existed between herself and Leo, she thought despondently, it wasn’t love. He was too matter-of-fact, he laughed at her too much, though in a nice way, and she had the feeling that, while he might like having her around, he wouldn’t much care if she wasn’t there.
‘What a sweet, serious face,’ said Leo. He kissed her affectionately, and got up and went through to the kitchen. Camilla lay on the sofa for a moment or two, then rose and crossed the room to the French windows which led to the garden. She opened them and stepped out into the warm night air. The grass was damp and chilly beneath her bare feet, and she could catch the drifting scent of the roses which grew by the windows, winding upwards through the trellis. Faint moonlight lit the garden, casting deep shadows and etching the tops of trees against the night sky. She walked across the dewy lawn to the dark, twisted shape of a lilac tree and leant there, wishing that she could live with Leo in this beautiful house, that life could stop here, wishing above all that he felt about her as she did about him. She knew he never would.
Leo saw her from the kitchen window. She looked so solitary in the moonlight with her thoughts. He left the house and crossed the lawn to where she stood.
She turned at the touch of his hand and in the fragrant dark he held her close, then kissed her. The kiss moved something in him, something that went beyond affection and habit. He began to undress her in the garden, tracing the soft nakedness of her stomach and breasts, marvelling at the pearliness of her skin in the moonlight, the translucence of her eyelids as she closed her eyes to his touch. Looking on her young loveliness in the summer night filled him with something that was both wistful and erotic at the same time. By the time he took her to his bed, Camilla was wordless, lost with longing. Every caress sent further ripples of desire through her body, jolting her with pleasure. For a long and tantalizing time Leo played with her, taking her to an exquisite threshold of need, until he himself could stand it no longer. It was an act of consummation such as he hadn’t known before, his lust so mixed with tenderness that, when he spoke to her, a rush of loving, agonized words, he had no recollection of having once play-acted in the same way at Sarah’s request. He didn’t even hear his own voice, so immersed was he in her looks, her sounds, taking her pleasure as his, drawing it out as long as he could. When at last she cried out, it went to his heart, and he buried his face in her shoulder, astonished by what he felt.
The urgency of their lovemaking slowed; she drew her breath in sighs, her body dropping away from his, warm with pleasure. He leant on his elbows, watching her face, her closed eyes, the soft pulsing of her throat. He dropped a kiss on the flushed skin of her neck, and as she opened her eyes to smile at him, the gladness he felt was blotted out by an imminent sense of loss.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked, as Leo got up from the bed.
‘Stay where you are,’ was all he said, as he pulled on his trousers.
He went downstairs and through the French windows, which still stood open to the night air. From the climbing rose bush he broke off a stem, with one open rose and a bud, and took it back upstairs. He laid it on the pillow next to Camilla, who stared at it, touched it, and then laughed.
‘I am not entirely without romance,’ said Leo, and kissed her forehead. “‘Roses for the flush of youth …’” He gazed at her for a moment and then said, ‘I have to go downstairs and lock up.’
When he had gone, Camilla lay fingering the petals of the rose, and breathing in its scent, utterly happy.
‘I can’t see you all this week, I’m afraid,’ said Leo on Sunday evening, as they drove through the London traffic.
‘Why not?’
It tugged at his heart, the way she asked this. She never thought to behave as though she was indifferent, or pretend that she was similarly too busy to see him.
‘I have a lot of things to attend to. The case is going to end soon, and I’ve got to start looking ahead to other work.’
She nodded. It was happening again. Despite the perfect weekend, the lovemaking, the long conversations, the careless pleasure of two days spent together, here was that note of preoccupation in his voice again, that absent look that didn’t include her. She was beginning to learn the pattern. Maybe by the time next weekend came it would be better. And she would still have his company throughout the long days in court; there was that.
Camilla told herself that Leo had enough to do with that week’s final closing cross-examinations, and with preparations for the Names’ reply submissions. No wonder he needed to spend the evenings working. There was really no perceptible change in his manner towards her – he still talked in the same close way, still passed her the odd jokey little note in court – but she couldn’t help feeling as though he had closed some door on her. As the week went on, Jane said nothing, but Camilla was conscious of the significance of her glance when Camilla came home regularly each evening. She began to wish Jane would say something, so that she could have the reassurance of hearing her own voice say that there was nothing wrong, that Leo was merely working hard. As it was, there was an I-told-you-so quality about Jane’s silence which only served to fuel Camilla’s anxiety. She thought of what Jane had said about how men like Leo quickly grew bored with girls of her age. Maybe that had happened. Maybe work was just an excuse.
As the week drew to its close, she desperately
hoped he would want to see her, that he would casually mention at the last minute that there was a film they should see, or ask her if she’d like to spend Saturday evening with him, maybe even the whole weekend. But when the court rose on Friday, Paul Rollason and his junior joined them on the short walk back to chambers, and so there was no opportunity for Leo to do or say anything, even if he had wanted to. She went to her room, and filled the time with work she didn’t have to do, simply in the hope that Leo might look in, suggest a drink … Every time she heard feet on the stairs, her pulse quickened, but it was only the various members of chambers leaving for the weekend, one by one. Eventually, when everything was silent, she put away the papers she had been working on, and locked up the room. She went slowly downstairs past Leo’s room. She turned the handle and went in, but the room was empty.
‘Looking for Leo?’ Sarah’s voice startled Camilla.
‘Not really,’ said Camilla, blushing a little, not exactly pleased to see Sarah.
‘I think he went to Daley’s with Michael and David. I’m on my way there myself. Want to join me? Oh, listen, I must tell you who I bumped into at a dinner party last weekend. Do you remember that very tall man, Roland, who used to hang around with Gus Guthrie and his friends at Oxford, and who edited that bizarre magazine …?’
Camilla went downstairs with Sarah, caught up by her gossip and cheerfulness. Camilla never quite knew where she stood with Sarah, who had done some pretty spiteful things in the past, but who could be very friendly when she chose. They had a shared past, having been to the same Oxford college, and that brought its own special comfort at a moment when Camilla was feeling particularly bereft and in need of company. Besides, there was the possibility that Leo might be in Daley’s, and although she wouldn’t have cared to go there alone, which would look too much like chasing after him, it was another thing to go in the company of someone else from chambers.
‘How’s the case coming along?’ asked Sarah, as they crossed Fountain Court. ‘You know, I’m sorry if I was ever stroppy when you asked me to do things for you. It was just a strange kind of situation.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ said Camilla, thawed by Sarah’s charm. ‘It’s hard to know how the case is going, really. Leo’s cross-examination has been excellent, but some of the witnesses …’
Sarah only half-listened as they walked up Essex Street to the wine bar. She frankly couldn’t care less about the rotten Lloyd’s case, but it helped to get Camilla warmed up, and it also brought in Leo, a subject she intended to explore more fully later on.
When they reached the wine bar at the end of Essex Street, Sarah was quick to notice how Camilla scanned the place hopefully, and how crestfallen she looked when she realised Leo wasn’t there. You could read this girl like a book. Which was what she’d been doing all week, taking careful note of the fact that Leo and Camilla hadn’t left once together, unlike last week when, on two evenings in succession, and with a gut-churning sense of jealousy, she had seen them drive off together from King’s Bench Walk. Well, if Camilla was stupid enough to expect some sort of consistency from Leo, it was about time someone put her straight about him.
‘Oh, stay and have a drink, anyway,’ said Sarah. Camilla glanced quickly at her. Was it so easy to tell that she had only come in hopes of seeing Leo?
‘All right. I’ll have a glass of white wine, thanks.’
Sarah bought a bottle, and they sat at a table outside on the pavement and talked. The conversation was entirely steered and manipulated by Sarah, and consisted of ephemeral, cosy gossip designed to create a secure, confiding sort of atmosphere. Camilla wasn’t used to drinking more than the occasional glass of wine, and by the time the bottle was two-thirds empty and they had got on to the subject of men, her inhibitions had loosened a good deal, and she was beginning to feel a real womanly kind of bond with Sarah. In fact, thought Camilla, Sarah was much nicer than people supposed. She let Sarah fill her glass again. Sitting here in the dusty summer air, surrounded by other City girls on a Friday evening having similar heart-to-heart talks, made her feel better about everything. The wine made thoughts of Leo less painful. It wasn’t anything to worry about. He would call her, and everything would be fine again. How could she doubt him, after the way things had been last weekend?
‘Thinking about Leo?’ asked Sarah, with a look of girlish sympathy. The surprise of this broke Camilla’s train of thought. She felt instandy defensive, but before she could say anything, Sarah added, ‘I wouldn’t waste your thoughts on him, if I were you. He’s as bad as all the rest. Worse, in fact.’
Camilla felt dormant fears come suddenly, horribly to life. This was surely just a glib remark, an all-men-are-bastards throw-away line – wasn’t it? ‘What do you mean?’ she asked. She couldn’t help herself. She could have deflected Sarah’s remark, said something to turn the conversation away from Leo, but something made her pursue it.
‘First of all, tell me – tell me honestly.’ Sarah leant confidingly across the table. ‘Have you and Leo been having a bit of a fling recently?’
Without wanting to, Camilla replied, ‘Yes.’ She waited for a few seconds, then asked, ‘Is it that obvious?’
Sarah smiled. ‘We’ve all been there. We all know the signs.’
‘What signs?’ Camilla could feel her face burning up. She kept asking things she didn’t want to hear the answers to. She couldn’t help it. Everything which had been warm and summery and wine-filled had gone flinty and unpleasant.
Sarah leant back and, with the air of someone reciting a well-worn story, said, ‘I’ll bet it’s been three or four weeks of bliss. You feel unutterably special, you have his company and his attention, he’s charming and funny, nobody ever made love to you the way he does, the best sex in the world … And suddenly it’s all gone off the boil, and you feel lost and confused, and you don’t understand what he’s doing to you.’ Camilla said nothing, stared at her glass. ‘Am I right? Of course I am. You’re just another of Leo’s victims, and London is littered with them, male and female.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ said Camilla, believing everything, wanting to get away, but rooted to the spot. She lifted her glass to her lips, but the wine tasted tepid and sour.
‘What? Boys as well as girls?’ Sarah laughed. Camilla no longer felt any kind of womanly bond with her at all, only a sick sense of mistrust. ‘You don’t know Leo as well as I do. Nobody does. Do you know, I’ve actually seen him when he’s so overcome by some desirable young man that he can’t help himself. Literally. That’s how close I’ve been, darling. And if you don’t believe what I say, ask Anthony. He’s another one of Leo’s cast-offs. You should start a club together.’
‘Shut up. I don’t believe any—’
‘You know yourself how attractive Leo is, how hard to resist,’ Sarah went on. ‘Are you telling me you’ve never noticed what a very special relationship Leo and Anthony have? Or had, I should say. Leo finally got him into bed a couple of months ago, and then dumped him just like that. It’s cracked poor old Anthony to pieces. Not that Leo cares. He just moved on to you.’
Camilla’s mind scrabbled for self-possession. Had Sarah brought her here just to drop all this poison in her ear? Probably. It was pathetic how easily she’d let herself believe Sarah wasn’t as bad as all that. Of course she was. Worse. All this horrible stuff about Leo … ‘Sarah,’ she said, keeping her voice as even as possible, ‘whatever exists between myself and Leo is none of your business. If you’re saying all this out of spite because you have some sort of a thing about Leo yourself—’
Sarah’s laughter at this was so delighted, so genuine, that it stopped Camilla in midsentence. ‘Some sort of thing about him? Oh, that’s wonderful …’ Sarah shook her head. ‘Since we’ve been having such a wonderfully girly chat, tell me if this sounds familiar …’ She began to describe sex with Leo – at any rate, a random interlude – in vivid and intimate detail. Everything that was being described, Camilla had experienced. Sarah wen
t on and on, her voice low and charged with erotic detail, inexhaustible in her description, making Camilla feel as though Sarah had somehow witnessed everything she and Leo had done together. ‘I know the kind of words he uses, the things he suggests … He’s a practised old Casanova, if you’ll forgive the cliché.’
‘Even if all of that is true,’ said Camilla, who had a feeling she might cry at any moment, ‘you’re only saying it because he doesn’t want you any more.’
‘Darling, I’m the only person he keeps coming back to,’ replied Sarah, picking up the bottle and draining the remains into her glass, ‘because I’m the only person who knows him for exactly what he is, and doesn’t care. Not like you. You really do care. Well, I’m sorry if I’ve wrecked your romantic idyll, but from what I can gather, it was probably over, anyway. Don’t fool yourself into imagining any of it was ever genuine. From the moment he takes a new lover, no matter how loving and sincere his behaviour, dear Leo already has one eye on the exit. You’re no different. No doubt I’ll hear all about it soon enough. He does like to tell me about his various conquests. I still haven’t had the full details about Anthony, though.’ She raised her glass to her lips and smiled. ‘I’m looking forward to those.’
Camilla felt unable to take any more. ‘I never realised until now what an out-and-out bitch you are, Sarah,’ she said unsteadily. ‘You enjoy hurting people, don’t you?’