by Caro Fraser
Gabrielle could read the astonishment, the recognition in Leo’s face. ‘So you do accept it? That you’re my father?’
‘I suppose it’s a possibility. Why didn’t she tell me?’
‘She said she didn’t know until she was back in France. She said she was going to write to you, but she decided there was no point. That it would have been a mess. You and she weren’t in love.’
Leo said nothing for some moments, staring at the photo, astounded by this revelation. Finally he asked, ‘What happened?’
‘When she found out she was pregnant, she moved back with her parents. A few years later my grandfather died, and the year after that, my grandmother. She sold their house and moved back to England. She’d always loved London. She made a living doing a little modelling work, some acting. Then she met my stepfather. I have two stepbrothers. My stepfather’s pretty wealthy. I love him to bits, but I’ve always known he’s not my real father.’ She stared down at her hands, spreading them out in her lap. ‘When I was a kid it never occurred to me to wonder who you were. I had a very happy life. Then about a few years ago I got curious, the way teenagers do, and started asking my mother questions. She told me what she knew, which wasn’t much.’ Leo looked at her quizzically, and again she shrugged. ‘Your name, that you were a lawyer, or had been when she met you. That you were very good-looking, funny.’ Gabrielle smiled. ‘When she talked about you, I got the impression she’d liked you a lot. So I wanted to find you.’
‘Why now? Why not sooner?’ He gazed at her, the reality only just sinking in that this creature in the leather jacket and Ugg boots, sitting opposite him and sipping Coke, was part of him. His daughter.
‘I was only seventeen, for heaven’s sake. I didn’t know how to do it. Anyway, I was frightened. Frightened you might not be interested. Or that I might not like you.’ She threw herself back in her chair, letting out a long breath. ‘You don’t know what the past few weeks have been like, watching you, hanging about, trying to get up the courage to say something. But here I am.’
‘Yes,’ murmured Leo. ‘Here you are.’ He gazed at her, still trying to fathom his feelings. ‘So,’ he said after a moment, ‘tell me about yourself. You’re a barrister?’
‘Not yet. I’m in pupillage, Fox Buildings.’
‘Criminal law? Interesting choice.’
‘I certainly didn’t want to do the kind of thing you do. Commercial law is so-o-o boring!’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I went to see you in court a couple of weeks ago—’
‘I saw you sitting at the back. I wondered who you were.’
‘—and I can’t tell you how dreary it was.’
‘Sorry about that. Not spine-tingling drama, admittedly. But it has its moments. I’m afraid criminal law is often dirty work for poor rewards.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I spent five weeks sitting as a criminal judge in the Crown Court. Part of my training to become a High Court judge.’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t mind. It’s what interests me.’
‘Fair enough. I happen to find ships and other people’s money rather riveting.’
Gabrielle nodded. ‘You earn a fair bit, don’t you? This house, and everything.’
Leo drained his whisky. ‘How much do you know about me? Beyond what your mother’s told you.’
‘Not much. But more than you do about me.’ She smiled and drained the remnants of her Coke. It was a bewitching smile, lighting up her young face, enlivening her blue eyes. Eyes, Leo realised, which were exactly like his own. He felt his heart dip unexpectedly. ‘We should get to know one another,’ she added.
‘I would like that. I would also like to speak to your mother at some point.’
‘Why?’
‘Obvious reasons. I feel I’ve shirked my responsibilities.’
Gabrielle narrowed her eyes, then cracked the empty Coke tin between her fingers and shook her head. ‘You want to check my story. You can call her if you want.’ She searched in her bag for pen and paper. ‘Here’s her number. I’m sure she’d like to hear from you. I’ll give you my mobile number while I’m at it.’ She put the piece of paper next to her crumpled Coke can. ‘I feel weird, now I’ve actually done it. Met you, I mean. Spoken to you. It’s been haunting me for months. And now it’s done …’
‘A bit of an anticlimax?’
‘Just different to what I expected. I thought it would be more dramatic. Emotional.’
‘Sorry.’
‘No, this is nice. You’re OK.’
There was a long silence. Leo found himself utterly bereft of things to say. At last he said, ‘I feel I’m not rising to the occasion. Finding out about you is something of a shock. A twenty-one-year-old daughter I never knew I had.’
‘I’m twenty-two. My birthday’s March the seventeenth.’
‘Mine’s March the ninth.’
‘Really?’ She seemed delighted. ‘That makes us both Librans.’
‘If you say so. Another Coke? I need a top-up.’ She shook her head. Leo crossed the room and poured himself another Scotch. ‘Have you eaten?’ he asked.
‘Not since lunchtime.’
‘Come through to the kitchen and help me make supper.’
Between them they cooked scrambled eggs and bacon and talked for over two hours. Gabrielle poured forth a torrent of information about herself, her family, her upbringing, her likes and dislikes, her dreams and ambitions. In return, Leo told her about Oliver, about his own mother and his childhood in Wales. Gabrielle was thrilled to discover she had a half-brother.
‘Is Oliver like me? In looks, I mean?’
‘No, he’s very dark. You’re more like your grandmother.’
‘Can I meet her? Would she like me?’
‘I don’t see why not. Yes, I’m sure she’d like you.’
‘Have you got any pictures of Oliver? And your mother?’
Leo duly fetched some, and Gabrielle examined them closely. ‘He’s really sweet. I’d like to meet him. You haven’t said much about your ex-wife – what was her name again?’
‘Rachel. She’s a solicitor. Very …’ Leo searched for words. ‘Very cool and collected.’
‘Uh-huh. Why did you get divorced?’
Leo hesitated. ‘A number of reasons.’ Which was true. That he had been shagging the nanny was perhaps the least of them.
Gabrielle watched his face, remembering the night not long ago, when she’d seen him and that younger man, the kiss they’d exchanged. She couldn’t ask him about that. The relationship was new and fragile right now, but she couldn’t imagine a time when she would dare to broach a subject like that. Not that it mattered. What mattered was that she had finally done it, found her real father – and he was OK. In fact, he was more than OK. She grinned.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. I’m just glad.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Shit, I have to go. I’ve got an essay to finish.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘Barons Court.’
‘Let me drive you.’
She was putting on her boots. Then she got up and slipped on her jacket. ‘No thanks. I’m fine. Anyway, you’ve had two Scotches.’
At the front door, he said, ‘I’ll call you next week. We can have lunch in the Temple.’
She nodded. Standing there on the step, she hesitated, then quickly kissed him on one cheek.
‘Thank you for coming,’ he said.
He watched her cross the square and disappear into the night, then closed the door. He went back to the living room and picked up the piece of paper on which she had written her phone number. He fetched his mobile and entered it carefully, checking twice to make sure he had it right. Then he put the piece of paper in a desk drawer, and went to the kitchen to clear up, feeling strangely elated, and rather old.
CHAPTER NINE
A week later, at quarter to one on Friday, Rachel tidied her desk and headed to the Ladies. She was due to meet Andrew Garroway in a wine bar in Creechurch Lane in fi
fteen minutes, and she wished the whole thing was already over. She stared at her reflection, anxiously dabbing on a little more make-up, when a cubicle door opened and, to her surprise, Felicity emerged.
‘Felicity! What brings you here?’
‘Hiya. I’m here with Robert, having lunch with a couple of your people. Little marketing exercise, really. Nice to see you again.’
Felicity had been a secretary at Nichols & Co some years ago, and had worked briefly for Rachel – not the most illustrious episode in her career. In fact, she’d just been recalling, as she flushed the loo, that the last time she’d been in these bogs it had been to knock back a couple of amphetamines to keep her awake after a heavy night.
‘How are things?’ asked Rachel. ‘Oh, here – you’ve got your skirt tucked in your knickers.’
‘Thanks.’ Felicity groped behind and tugged it free. ‘Wouldn’t have done to go off to lunch showing my arse to the world, would it? Yeah, things are OK, thanks.’ And then, because it was the foremost thought in her mind these days, and because in the old days Rachel had been a haven of calm in the troubled seas of Felicity’s life, she added, ‘Vince is getting out of prison this afternoon. I’m taking the afternoon off to go over to his mum’s to help with the party.’
‘That’s good.’ Rachel caught sight of Felicity’s troubled face in the mirror. ‘Isn’t it?’
Felicity began to wash her hands. ‘I dunno. I’m a bit all over the place. You know, in my head. I feel like I have to be there for him, but all I wanna do is run away.’
‘Why?’ Rachel decided Andrew Garroway could wait for a few minutes.
‘Because I reckon he thinks that everything’s going to go on between us like it was before. But I’m not sure it’s what I want. In fact, I pretty much know it isn’t. I’ve really got myself together these last couple of years, and I just don’t see myself going back to – well, how it used to be.’
Felicity might have been the world’s most exasperating secretary, but Rachel had always been deeply fond of her, and she hated to see her looking so baffled and despondent.
‘You want my advice?’
‘Oh, God, yeah – anything, please.’
‘Tell him what you’ve just told me. Make it clear to him that your relationship can’t be the same as it used to be. It’s your opportunity to draw a line under the past, to say, look, I don’t want that relationship any more. It’s going to be like this from now on. I’ll be your friend, I’ll support you, but I’m not the person I was, and you have to respect that.’
Felicity listened, impressed. She nodded. ‘Yeah. You’re right. He’s coming out, he’s got to start over. He can’t expect me suddenly to take on responsibility for his whole life.’ She paused. ‘It’s just—’
‘What?’
‘Well, I’ve been visiting him while he’s been inside and all, and I kind of feel like he’ll think I’ve been leading him on and that, if I tell him it’s not going to be the way he expects it to.’
Rachel took her hairbrush from her bag. ‘You’ve been his friend. The fact that you didn’t abandon him doesn’t mean he can make assumptions.’
‘No. No, I see that.’ Felicity looked doubtful. Then her face brightened as she looked at Rachel in the mirror. ‘You look nice. Off somewhere?’
‘I’m meeting someone for lunch.’ For a second Rachel thought of confiding in Felicity about the online dating thing, this awful meeting she’d set up, but the moment passed.
‘That’s good.’ Felicity glanced at her watch. ‘I’d best be off. See you soon.’
‘Stay in touch.’
After Felicity had gone, Rachel brushed her dark, silky hair and gazed at her reflection, her mind moving from Felicity’s problems back to her own, and the lunch date ahead of her. Why was she doing this? It was ridiculous to go looking for love. Things should happen spontaneously, not in this tacky, manufactured way. She sighed and closed her bag. Maybe he would be great – kind, amusing, normal, easy to like. Maybe he would be ‘the one’. But she knew in her heart that she’d already met ‘the one’, and he was probably irreplaceable.
Simon Wren was standing at the bar with friends when the dark-haired girl came in. A gust of cold air from the opening door caused him to turn, and suddenly there was this miraculously lovely creature, just a foot away. Most City women had a tendency to exaggerated self-assurance when they entered any room, be it pub or trading floor, but this one had a look of gentle wariness. Her eyes skimmed the busy wine bar, then she began to thread her way through the crowd of lunchtime drinkers. Simon craned his neck, curious to see who she was meeting, and saw her stop at a table by a pillar, where a bulky, middle-aged man with thinning fair hair, dressed in a chalk-stripe suit, was sitting, busy on his Blackberry. He looked up and got to his feet, slipping his phone into his pocket, smiling and saying something. They shook hands. Simon could see a plate of smoked salmon sandwiches and two champagne glasses on the table, and a half-bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. A romantic rendezvous, or a business meeting of the upper-end variety? It was hard to tell. The man took the girl’s coat and hung it on a nearby peg. She put a hand to her neck to lift her dark, silky hair away from her shoulders as she sat down. Simon was struck by the grace and fluidity of her movements, like those of a dancer.
‘Come on, Simon – Sauvignon or Pinot Grigio?’
Jeremy was waving the wine list in front of him. ‘What? Oh, just an orange juice for me, thanks. Got a meeting with clients this afternoon.’
‘Bor–ring.’ Jeremy turned back to the bar and his conversation with Clive, leaving Simon free to watch the dark-haired girl, and wonder about her.
Rachel’s first thought was that Andrew Garroway was a bit older and fatter than his online photo. Her disappointment made her feel faintly ashamed.
‘I ordered some sandwiches,’ Andrew said. ‘Crayfish and rocket. Didn’t have a clue, really. Hope that’s all right.’
‘Fine,’ smiled Rachel.
He nodded. ‘Good. And I thought a little champagne might be a nice way to break the ice.’ He filled their glasses and handed one to Rachel, raising his own.
‘To new friendships.’
Rachel smiled and took a sip. She didn’t really want to drink at lunchtime. She wasn’t hungry, either, but she put a sandwich on her plate.
‘So – time to get to know each other,’ said Andrew. ‘You’re a lawyer?’
‘That’s right. I’m a partner in a City law firm.’
Andrew pushed out his lower lip and raised his eyebrows. ‘Impressive.’
‘Not really.’
‘I don’t know about that. Not many girls at senior level in our outfit. But then, commodities trading is something of a male preserve.’ Andrew eyed her, keeping his smile in place. Stunning looking, but a bit on the chilly side. Definitely in need of defrosting.
Rachel, detecting her own lack of warmth, did her best. ‘So, tell me all about commodity trading. Is it interesting?’
It wasn’t, as it turned out. Rachel sat with her chin on her hand, taking an occasional nibble at her sandwich, and said not a word for ten minutes while Andrew expounded on what he did all day, what the market was like, what his colleagues were like, the things they occasionally got up to after work, the enormous freebies they got by way of hospitality from generous clients – the tickets to Wimbledon, the private boxes at Ascot, the boozy private lunches at Twickenham before important matches. Did Rachel like rugby?
‘Not really. I don’t know much about it. My ex-husband was very keen. But then, he’s Welsh.’ Why on earth had she mentioned Leo?
Andrew lifted the bottle, about to refill her glass. Rachel covered it quickly with her hand.
‘No, thanks. I have a meeting later.’
Andrew shrugged and refilled his own.
To rekindle the conversation, Rachel said, ‘You have two children, don’t you?’
‘A boy of sixteen and a girl of fourteen. You have a young son, as I recall.’
&nbs
p; ‘Yes. Oliver. He’s just six.’
‘Lovely age. Wait till you hit the drama of the teenage years. A nightmare, I promise.’
Andrew proceeded to tell her about his children, and then Rachel talked about Oliver for a while. From this the talk drifted to their homes, the problems of commuting, the usual talk of City people. The conversation wasn’t exactly stilted, but it reminded Rachel of small talk that people made at parties. Maybe she could like Andrew, if she could get to know him. It wasn’t his fault he’d been a bit boring about his job. People generally were. He had a handsome, sensual face, and an easy manner, but there was something missing in their conversation, a lack of connection, of genuine interest. He asked her questions, he listened to her answers, he smiled and nodded and laughed, but it seemed to Rachel that his mind was elsewhere.
They had spun out the sandwiches and the champagne for forty minutes. There was only a small amount left in the bottle. He offered to refill her glass.
‘No, really. I’m fine, thanks. You finish it.’
‘Waste not, want not,’ said Andrew, tipping the remains of the bottle into his glass. ‘What time’s your meeting?’
‘Half three. Why?’
‘Should be time enough. I’ve booked us in at the Novotel round the corner.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Only an hour to get to know one another properly, but better than nothing.’ He smiled openly at her, with just a hint of insinuation, as though what he’d said amounted to no more than a bit of casual flirting.