by Caro Fraser
With the matter of the money from Leo at the forefront of his mind, Gideon decided to call Leo before he left chambers, and check that the thing was in hand. Gideon’s finances were, as ever, in a precarious state, and even when Leo’s cheque came through, it would take some days to clear. He wanted to make sure he got hold of the money as quickly as possible.
Leo told Gideon he had taken the necessary steps that afternoon, and that the money would be with him before the end of the week.
‘While I think about it,’ said Gideon, ‘I’d rather you didn’t send it here.’ And he gave Leo the address of the flat in Ealing. He preferred to keep his most personal papers, together with a variety of intimate paraphernalia which would shock Lady Henrietta deeply were she to stumble across it in her occasional wanderings through his room, at his weekend retreat. The Tony Gear dossier was here only because it was an ongoing project, but as he intended to shelve it for the moment, Gideon decided to take it with him to Ealing this evening. This was a Tuesday, and although Gideon was accustomed to devote only Friday and Saturday evenings to his various pleasures, he decided tonight to vary his routine. The prospect of the money coming his way had whetted his appetite for amusement, and he felt too restless to spend the evening in Pimlico. Besides, the following day Tony Gear was making an all-day visit to a performing arts centre in Scunthorpe, which mercifully did not require Gideon’s attendance, and he could afford to get in a little later than usual in the morning and take it easy.
At a little after ten p.m., attired in an immaculate, blue, pinstripe Kilgour French Stanbury suit, Armani shirt and tie, and Tim Little shoes, Gideon took a cab to Foxtrot Oscar on the Royal Hospital Road. His arrival at the restaurant was greeted with a happy cry of ‘Gideon, you old piss artist!’ Gideon always found a number of like-minded friends wherever he went in London. He consumed a plate of eggs Benedict and a bottle of chilled red, chatted for a while, and then set off with a couple of friends for the Ritz club and a spot of gambling.
Even Gideon, however, knew how dangerously close to the limit his finances had gone, and despite the protestations of his friends he left after only an hour. He took a cab to Ealing, to a certain gay club which he liked to frequent, but he could find nothing there to interest him. At around two in the morning, still bored and frustrated, he went to the Ealing flat. He always had alternative ways to keep himself amused. Once there, he took off his shoes, jacket, trousers, shirt and tie, and made his preparations.
So Peter was married. He was married with a kid, he was a lying, cheating bastard, he had strung her along for weeks, and Felicity never wanted to see him again. That was her initial reaction to Monday’s discovery. By the time Tuesday evening came, she’d had the chance to consider the possibilities. Maybe he was separated from his wife, maybe even divorced. Perhaps he wasn’t even married. You never knew. The receptionist had said his little boy had been taken to hospital, and any father would rush off, wouldn’t he? Only if that were the set-up, how come he’d never mentioned the fact that he had a son? Most blokes would, unless there was something else to conceal. No, Felicity thought miserably, everything fell into place. Never seeing her at weekends, only seeing her the odd night here and there … Though God alone knew what he told his wife the nights he was at Felicity’s flat. She had been taken for the proverbial ride by a married man who wanted a bit on the side.
She felt gutted, sick with anger, and above all heartbroken. For she really thought she’d found someone special, had even begun to imagine the relationship could go somewhere. As of today, it was going absolutely nowhere. She felt like calling Peter up, giving him an earful, letting him know just what she thought of him. Only she didn’t have a number for him, except in chambers. He always rang her, always. Now, what did that tell her? Bastard, bastard … She would just have to wait until she saw him at lunchtime next day. Part of her still hoped, though, that she’d got it all wrong.
They met in a coffee bar at Ludgate Circus. After ten minutes of listening to him come out with his usual glib, inconsequential patter, Felicity couldn’t stand any more.
‘How’s your little boy?’ she asked.
His reaction, while it confirmed everything she had suspected, was most gratifying. He stopped mid-sentence, mouth open, and stared at her. The change in his face was quite remarkable. The bright, good looking features blanked, seeming to close up, and for a few seconds he didn’t look handsome at all. He looked down at his coffee and stirred it slowly.
‘I’m really interested – how is he?’ asked Felicity.
Peter cast around for a few seconds, then said abruptly, ‘He had an asthma attack. He’s all right.’
Felicity nodded. ‘When were you going to get round to telling me you were married?’
‘Dunno.’ Peter tried to shrug off his embarrassment by glancing out of the cafe window at the street. He couldn’t meet Felicity’s eye.
‘Don’t just say it like that, like it doesn’t matter,’ said Felicity angrily. ‘You’ve taken me for a complete ride!’
Peter struggled to recover some of his aplomb, smoothing his hair back from his face and then looking her in the eye. ‘Come on, Fliss. What’s the big deal? We have a good time, don’t we?’
‘What’s that got to do with it? You’re married, with a kid! Weren’t you ever going to tell me?’
He shrugged. ‘I might have. I was worried it might put you off me.’
‘Too bloody right it would! I don’t go out with married men. I don’t like the idea of busting up marriages.’
‘Nothing to bust up. Anyway, how did you find out?’
‘I tried to ring you in chambers yesterday. What do you mean, “nothing to bust up”?’
‘Debbie and me, we do what we like. Free agents. We sort of agreed to keep it that way a couple of years ago. Only we’re there for the kids, we keep it together for them, especially at weekends, holidays, all that.’
‘Kids? There’s more than one?’
‘Yeah. Ricky, Paul and Leanne.’ He looked down at his coffee once more; his embarrassment seemed to have returned.
‘Oh, how bloody wonderful! And all this time you’ve been stringing me along, letting me think I really meant something to you.’
‘You do mean something to me, Fliss.’ The way he said it, the look on his face, reduced Felicity almost to tears. She so wanted to believe it.
‘I actually thought we had something special, that our relationship might be going somewhere. You let me think that! But it’s not going anywhere, is it?’
‘I’m not leaving Debbie, if that’s what you mean. Not while we’ve got the kids. They’re everything to me.’ It was the first time in the conversation that he had sounded anything like resolute. Felicity could think of nothing to say. She knew now exactly where she stood, her value to him, his order of priorities. He kept his domestic life ticking over, and she was his bit on the side, nothing more, never could be. If he and his wife, Debbie whoever, had decided to do their own thing two years ago, Peter must have been knocking girls off on a regular basis, not telling them, or stringing them along until they found out … She was probably one in a long line. The worst thing was the idea of him keeping it all from her. She didn’t matter enough to know. She was just another bit of stuff.
‘Well, that’s it, then, isn’t it?’ Her voice was flat.
‘Come on, Fliss, it doesn’t have to stop, you know. OK, you feel I’ve deceived you. But you know the set-up now. Debbie doesn’t care. Why can’t we just go on as we are?’ He essayed one of his smiles, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
‘You don’t get it, Peter, do you? I want more than just to be someone’s mistress. What a word! What a stupid, poncy word! I don’t want to be some furtive little thing you do when no one’s looking, a sort of add-on extra to your real life. I’m not putting up with that!’
‘Don’t make it sound like that. You’re really special—’
‘Yeah, like I believe you. Your kids are special, you m
ean. You’re special. I know just what I am to you.’ She picked up her bag and stood up. ‘I really don’t ever want to see you again.’
‘Look,’ said Peter, putting out a hand, ‘sit down again. It’s not that simple. There’s something that’s come up—’
But Felicity was now too wound up and fizzing with righteous anger to listen. She should have seen from the beginning what a smarmy, lying git he was. She’d have liked to have called him that to his face, but since they’d had to conduct the entire conversation on a subdued level in a crowded cafe, she didn’t feel she could. She stormed out of the cafe and up Fleet Street, heels clacking on the pavement, sniffing back her tears. Why did she always pick the wrong blokes? Why did she get taken in? First of all Vince, a waster and a loser who’d ended up in prison and still thought he had some rights over her, and now Peter, all smarm and charm and lies. At least she’d had the strength of mind to end it. It would have been easy, all too easy, just to let it go on, do as he suggested. That was the worst of it. For all that he was a two-faced liar, she really, really liked him. She didn’t really want to stop seeing him. But there was no choice. It wasn’t going anywhere, and she’d only have got hurt in the long run. As long as she never had to see him again, it would be all right. She would get over it eventually. People always did.
That didn’t stop her locking herself in the loo and crying for twenty minutes when she got back to chambers.
Camilla had no idea what she expected from Leo when she saw him on Tuesday. He seemed, however, entirely normal, slightly preoccupied, talking about the case on the way to court, making no reference to anything that had happened the previous evening. It was as though everything had suddenly swung back three months, to the way things had been between them before their affair had started. As though it had never started. Camilla supposed she could expect nothing else. Hadn’t she told him she didn’t want to go on seeing him? She shouldn’t, anyway. She shouldn’t want to have anything more to do with him. He hadn’t denied anything. Not sleeping with Sarah, not the business with Anthony … It was all so horrible that it was just as well he was behaving as he was. With indifference. Not studied, but genuine.
Counsel for Lloyd’s was moaning about some letter or other which the Names’ lawyers had failed to produce. Camilla didn’t even pretend to concentrate. She could think about nothing but the conversation of the evening before. She hadn’t been able to sleep because of it. She realised Paul Rollason had stopped talking. The judge glanced in their direction and murmured, ‘Mr Davies?’ At her side, Leo rose to his feet.
‘My Lord, in view of what Mr Beddoes has said previously, we have sought to see if that letter is available. There is no reply among the Chairman’s papers. As I indicated to the Court on a previous occasion, we are prepared to provide to the Court Mr Long’s finality statement …’
Clearly, it hadn’t affected Leo’s concentration in the slightest. As ever, he was focused entirely on the case, as though nothing had happened in the last twenty-four hours to disturb him. When he sat down, he didn’t so much as look at her, hardly seemed aware of her existence. All day she had sat next to him in court, conscious of his every movement, tone and gesture, but he was on another plane, not thinking about her at all.
Which only went to prove that she had been right. He had simply shrugged her off. He must have been lying when he said he loved her. He must have. Look at the way he’d reacted when she’d said that stupid thing about marrying her. She curled her fists into her palms in embarrassment when she recalled that. What a mad thing to say. She’d only done it to show him, to show him how false everything he said was. And it had worked. Now they both knew it. Now he wasn’t going to bother pretending anything any more.
When he got back to chambers, Leo went to the clerks’ room to pick up his post and gather the latest news from Henry.
‘All the new furniture’s arriving next Thursday,’ said Henry. ‘Carpets in on Wednesday, so people can start moving in the week after. I’m still sorting the phone lines out, mind, but we should be ship-shape a week Monday.’
‘Good,’ said Leo. We want this transition to go smoothly.’
‘Oh, while we’re on the subject, Mr Davies, I think I’ve sorted out the matter of a new clerk.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Yes,’ said Henry, with a smile of satisfaction. ‘I had lunch with Peter Weir yesterday, from 3 Wessex Street, and he’s prepared to make the move with Maurice Faber and the rest. I reckon we’re rather lucky, really. He’s got a good style about him, should bring in the business. And the advantage is he’s used to looking after this new lot. Bit of a turn-up, eh, sir?’
‘Yes, well done, Henry. Bringing on board someone who’s already used to Maurice Faber’s gentle ways is certainly a good thing. Doesn’t Peter Weir work on a commission basis, though?’
‘No, salary. So that should be straightforward enough.’
‘Fine. What do Felicity and Robert think?’
‘Haven’t had the chance to tell them yet, sir. I think they’ll rub along nicely with him, though. He’s quite a charming bloke, Peter.’ It had occurred to Henry that Peter Weir might be a bit too charming where Felicity was concerned, but he wasn’t much worried. The bloke was married with kids, after all.
Leo went up to his room and sorted out various papers for a while. After half an hour he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. The bank had confirmed that the funds were in place, all he had to do was write the cheque. He did so reluctandy, detesting having to write out Gideon’s name, then the ghastly amount. It was worth it, though, if it would buy silence, and those wretched photos. For the thousandth time, Leo was plagued with misgivings. He should go to the police, he knew, expose everything that Gideon was doing – not just to him, but probably to nameless others as well. Yet he folded the cheque, slid it into an envelope, sealed it, and wrote Gideon’s name and the Ealing address on the front. He sat back in his chair and stared at it, remembering Gideon as he had been at twenty. Bizarre, really, that it had come to this.
He glanced at his watch and saw that it was after six. It would just have to go with tomorrow’s post. He was in no hurry to enrich Gideon Smallwood. He took the letter down to the clerks’ room and dropped the envelope in the post tray, then went back upstairs. He closed the door to his room and went to the window. There he stood for a long time, thinking about something else entirely.
‘Have you had a row?’ asked Jane.
‘No,’ replied Camilla shortly. She was sitting on the windowsill in the kitchen, her back to the open window, her bare feet propped up on the table. The weather was sultry, and she had changed from her oppressive black suit into combat trousers and a crop top. She had eaten two bananas and a yoghurt in the hope of avoiding Jane’s cross-examination over supper later, but Jane started to badger her as soon as she got in. Camilla’s disappearance to her parents for the weekend, and Leo’s phone calls, had put her into a state of greedy curiosity.
‘So what has happened?’
‘I told him I didn’t want to see him any more. Not because we had a row, but because – well, just because.’
‘There must be a reason why—’
‘Jane! I don’t want to discuss it any more! OK?’
‘OK, don’t get stressy. I just thought it might help to talk about it.’
The doorbell rang, and Jane went to answer it. She buzzed Leo up and waited at the door to let him in, because she wanted to get a good look at him up close. She’d only seen him around the Temple now and then from a distance.
‘Is Camilla here?’ asked Leo, who had hoped to find Camilla on her own.
Oh, yes, thought Jane, he was the business. Not very tall, but obviously in good shape for his age, fantastic bones, knockout eyes, and that silver hair … It took her a second to recover herself. ‘Yes, go through. She’s in the kitchen.’
Camilla was just scraping the last bits from her yoghurt pot when Leo appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. She could feel
herself going pink, and could think of nothing at all to say.
Jane was hovering around in the living room in the background, hoping to pick up snatches of what was clearly going to be an interesting conversation.
‘I’d like to talk to you, if I may.’ Leo’s tone was quite businesslike, even a little stern.
‘Right,’ said Camilla uncertainly. She hadn’t ever seen him look quite like this before.
‘Let’s go for a walk,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder at Jane.
Camilla slid off the windowsill and slipped on some shoes. They went downstairs together and out into the street, leaving a disappointed Jane watching them from a window above.
They walked down the dusty street for fifty yards or so. Camilla wondered when Leo was going to say anything.
At last Leo stopped on the pavement and turned to her. ‘The first thing I need to know is whether those things which Sarah told you have made it impossible for you to care for me.’ It was blunt, almost awkward, and Camilla took a few seconds to answer.
‘They made it – they made it seem like a bad idea, that’s all.’