by Caro Fraser
‘You don’t look or sound like you’ve been drinking a lot.’
‘I haven’t – Jamie has. I’ve had just one small Scotch in the past three hours. I was waiting for you.’ He put his arms around Sarah. He looked into her eyes for a second, then kissed her. ‘Thank you for the book.’
‘Thank you for the necklace. You have very good taste.’
There wasn’t much he could say to this, since he had in fact asked Felicity to go to Tiffany’s online, choose something in the £800 to £1,000 price range that she liked, and buy two on his credit card.
‘There’s a bottle of champagne in the fridge. Why don’t we open it, and take it up to bed? Unless you’re too tired, of course.’
Sarah wanted to ask him why he was doing this. Did he really think he could just take and leave her as he pleased? No doubt his girlfriend was busy elsewhere, and Sarah herself was here and, as he no doubt presumed, available.
Leo gazed into her eyes, trying to read her thoughts. She was always marvellously inscrutable, but in this moment she possessed an air of remoteness which he had never detected before. It made her even more desirable than usual.
They looked into one another’s eyes, neither of them able to say what they felt, because neither properly understood what it was.
He tried to lift the mood, prompting her. ‘This is where I say, “I’ll get the champagne”, and you say, “I’ll see you upstairs”.’
She smiled sadly. ‘I don’t think so, Leo.’ She drew away from him. ‘It’s simply not that easy.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m not … I’m not actually the person you want me to be any more.’ She crossed the hall. At the foot of the stairs she turned to him. ‘I think it’s best if I leave tomorrow. I’ll stay with my father until I move into my new flat.’
She disappeared upstairs. Leo was left wondering how this had happened, what had extinguished the spark between them. After Jamie had fallen asleep he had spent a long time thinking about her, about what she meant to him. Tonight he had been going to suggest that she shouldn’t leave, that she should stay until she got over Toby, and that they should see what they could find together. But that, it seemed, was never what she had wanted.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The new year crept in, and London came sluggishly to life after the long break. Commuters from the suburbs filled the trains once more, spilling out of the stations and into their offices, offering each other listless new year greetings. The wheels of commerce gradually picked up their pace, and the City hummed once more.
Felicity, to her amazement, had heard nothing from Vince. Optimism gave her confidence, and a few days into the new year she was confiding the whole saga to Carla, the office manager, over early morning coffee in the clerks’ room. Turning Vince into an anecdote was a way of consigning him safely to the past.
‘And the neighbours said he and his mates turned up that night absolutely hammered, and started trying to break the door down.’
‘No!’
‘I know. Just as well I’d gone to stay with my friend Maureen. She put me up for a couple of nights.’
‘I don’t blame you. Sounds a nasty piece of work.’
Felicity dunked a Hobnob. ‘Not nasty as such. Just a bit aggressive when he’s had a few. A big, silly useless waste of space the rest of the time.’
‘I know a lot of men like that.’
‘Men like what?’ asked Henry, who had just come in, his first day back after a two-week Christmas break in Tenerife with Cheryl and her family.
‘Like Vince. Good-for-nothing layabouts. I was just telling Carla, I finally kicked him out. Changed the locks.’ Felicity dusted her hands together. ‘Boom. Gone. Never to be seen or heard of again.’
‘Congratulations,’ said Henry.
‘Now you’re footloose and fancy-free,’ said Carla, ‘we should arrange a girls’ night out. Maybe next—’ Her phone began to ring.
Felicity turned to Henry. ‘So, how was your holiday? Feeling all loved up? You’ve got a bit of a tan.’
‘Bit of red, more like.’ He skipped her question. It had been a revealing experience, being on holiday with Cheryl, her parents, and her sister. Cheryl, he had realised, was very like her mother. It wasn’t hard to imagine Cheryl, much as he loved her, or thought he did, as she would be at fifty-seven. ‘What about you? How was your Christmas? Apart from Vince, I mean.’
‘Yeah, not bad. I went to my cousin Trish’s for Christmas Day. She and her husband Ian have got four-year-old twins. My aunt and uncle were there, too. We had a lovely time. And I went out a bit, couple of parties, few pubs and that. Trouble was, everywhere I went I was looking over my shoulder in case Vince was there. But I think he’s got the message.’
‘I’m glad. Really I am.’
She gave Henry a warm smile. ‘I know you are.’ At that moment Leo came into the clerks’ room, and she added, ‘Here’s the man I should really thank.’
‘For what?’ asked Leo.
‘For getting rid of Vince. For telling me to change the locks and bin his gear.’
‘Ah. So the deed has been done? Good girl.’
Henry sat down and switched on his screen. He glanced at Felicity as she bubbled forth to Leo the story of Vince’s departure. She seemed a bit overexcited. Probably just the relief of getting shot of him. Funny, though, Vince disappearing without so much as a murmur.
Leo and Henry began to go through Leo’s diary for the week.
‘We’ll need to change the meeting with Sullivan next Tuesday. I’ve got an interlocutory hearing on that redelivery dispute.’
‘I’ll move a couple of things around.’
‘And we need to arrange a courier to pick up a load of box files from Mays Brown on that grounding case. I’d like them before lunchtime, if possible, so I can start going through them this afternoon.’
‘I’ll get Liam on it straight away.’ Henry tapped at his screen and added, ‘I’m told the Judicial Appointments Commission is meeting next week. Going through the applications.’
‘I hope you’ll keep your fingers crossed for me.’
Henry smiled, staring at his screen. ‘You don’t need my luck, sir. I reckon it’s in the bag.’
‘Take nothing for granted, Henry,’ said Leo, before heading off to his room.
Simon was spending the evening at Rachel’s. He spent most evenings there now. The routine was easy, pleasant. Simon would come over around half six, usually straight from work, play with Oliver or help him with his homework, then begin to prepare supper while Rachel put Oliver to bed. When Rachel came down she would take over in the kitchen, then they would sit down to eat together and talk about the day. Sometimes Simon stayed over, and sometimes he went home. It was Rachel who had suggested that he leave a couple of shirts in her wardrobe. Shortly after that, he bought a second electric toothbrush and left it in Rachel’s bathroom.
Oliver and Simon had spent fifteen minutes working on a map of Oliver’s route to school for geography.
‘Right,’ said Simon, ‘you can colour it in. I’m going to see what needs doing for supper.’ He got up and went through to the kitchen, where Rachel was slicing vegetables.
‘How’s he getting on?’ asked Rachel.
‘Fine. Go and see. I’ll finish this.’
Rachel went through to the living room. ‘That’s very good,’ she said, looking over Oliver’s shoulder. ‘I like the compass in the corner.’
‘That was Simon’s idea.’ Oliver busily swapped a red crayon for a blue one. ‘Is Simon staying the night?’
‘He might.’ Rachel felt a little guilty. Maybe Simon shouldn’t be staying. There were probably a few of the mothers at Oliver’s school who would disapprove. She remembered the fuss she herself had made when she found that some girlfriend of Leo’s – or was it a boyfriend? – had been staying overnight on weekends when Oliver was there. And he’d been barely two, not even old enough to pay attention. Now Oliver was six, so she could well be accuse
d of having double standards.
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘Nothing.’ Oliver carried on crayoning, then added, ‘I like it when he’s here in the morning. Instead of just you and me. It makes the day better.’
Later, when Oliver was fast asleep, and when supper was over, Rachel and Simon nestled together on the sofa.
‘Oliver said he likes it when you’re there in the mornings. He said it makes his day better.’
Simon laughed. ‘That’s sweet.’
‘Makes my day better, too.’
Simon kissed her. ‘That’s good to know.’ There was silence for a moment, then he added, ‘I thought it might be an idea if the three of us took a holiday together. In the February half-term.’
She looked at him. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Well, the first idea I had was that you and I should go away somewhere together at the end of the month, and that Oliver could stay with Leo. Then I thought, much as I love being with you – much as I love you – it seemed sad, Oliver not coming along.’
Rachel traced a line with her finger from his brow to his chin. ‘You just said you love me.’
‘Of course I love you. Don’t look so surprised.’
‘You’ve never said it before.’
‘I’ve been in love with you since the day you walked into that wine bar in Creechurch Lane—’
‘Oh God, don’t remind me.’
‘Hey, that was one of the best days of my life. Meeting you.’
‘I didn’t mean that. I meant that man. The blind date.’
‘He was all part of the plan. Without him, I would never have met you. Though getting to know you took some effort.’
‘You were persistent, I’ll give you that.’
‘And aren’t you glad I was?’
Rachel smiled. ‘Very.’ It was true. It frightened her a little to think how differently things could have turned out if Simon hadn’t been so tenacious.
‘So,’ he added gently, ‘the question is – do you love me, too?’
She looked into his eyes. Just a few months ago it had seemed she would never find anyone to take the place of Leo. She knew that she never would, but she realised now that it was still possible to fall in love with someone new. ‘I must do. I haven’t been as happy as this in a long time. Yes, I do love you.’ They kissed, then she added, ‘I think Oliver does, too.’
‘So the half-term holiday sounds like a plan?’
‘It does. Oliver will be thrilled. And I think you’d better stay tonight.’
Simon kissed her for a long time. ‘I think so, too. Make everyone’s day.’
Julia and Piers were having a late dinner at Le Caprice with Darius Egan and his Russian girlfriend. Piers was talking about new clients, two Saudi brothers and their cousin, who were looking for property in London.
‘These guys have serious truckloads of money,’ said Piers. ‘One of them drives a Pagani Zonda. His brother has a Bugatti Veyron. Not to mention a fucking stable full of Ferraris and Lamborghinis.’
‘I’d sooner have a Hennessey Venom,’ observed Darius.
‘Bugatti’s faster.’
‘Who would want to drive a fast car in London?’ asked Julia. ‘The traffic doesn’t go above fifteen miles an hour.’
Piers and Darius ignored her and carried on talking. Julia realised that she had been relegated to the status of second-class citizen, just like Darius’s girlfriend. The Russian girl, whose name Julia couldn’t remember, was sitting toying with her cocktail as though nothing was expected of her. And in truth, as far as conversation went, nothing was. Julia thought for a moment of trying to talk to her, but the effort seemed too much. Besides, she didn’t think there was anything about the girl she cared to know. She tried to tune back into her husband’s conversation with Darius.
‘What I really want is to get some investment from them,’ Piers was saying. ‘A serious injection of that kind of money would mean a chain of clubs. I think it’s there, but I need to keep them royally entertained while they’re here.’
‘If it’s women you’re talking about, that’s no problem. And if they’re into gambling, why don’t you bring them to Blunt’s? I don’t just mean the tables. I could set up a big game in one of the private rooms. High stakes, high rollers. Give them a real taste of excitement. The towel-heads love that kind of thing.’
Piers pondered this. ‘That’s not a bad idea. Of course, there are fringe benefits for you, too.’
‘Of course,’ grinned Darius. ‘That’s why I suggested it. If you think they’d be interested, I’ll see if I can come up with a few names.’
On the way home in the taxi, Piers appeared to be asleep. Julia stared out at the dark streets, thinking nothing. Suddenly Piers opened his eyes, laid his hand on Julia’s, and said in his drawling voice, ‘If Darius sets this game up, it might be amusing to rope Anthony Cross into it. He seems to get a kick out of losing money.’
‘Come off it. He’s a novice. Darius is talking about serious players.’
‘You’re rather missing the point. I don’t want my boys to come out of this on the debit side. That’s not going to be much of a fun night out for them. OK, we need some decent players to make it exciting, but a few gullible losers around the place wouldn’t come amiss.’
Julia said nothing for a few moments. A small, vindictive part of her wouldn’t mind seeing Anthony getting into something he couldn’t handle. She felt he’d behaved extremely badly towards her since they’d renewed their acquaintance last autumn. OK, maybe she had let him down cruelly in the past, but good manners dictated that he should grow up and get over it. As for his relationship with Gabrielle – it seemed to her that sometimes he flaunted it just to annoy her. But deep down, and mixed up with all this, was the knowledge that in Anthony she had lost something precious. He really had loved her once. Only in the last year or so of her marriage to Piers had she come to realise what a rare and valuable thing that was. A part of her wanted it back, but she knew it was impossible. Anthony hated her. For that he deserved to be punished.
‘Why mention it to me? You don’t usually involve me in any of your schemes, business or otherwise.’
‘Don’t whine, Julia. I mention it to you because you still have a little thing for Anthony – don’t pretend you don’t. And he probably does for you. You were the love of his life, after all. Or so he said, in his somewhat callow way. I’m sure you can persuade him that gambling with the big boys is right up his street.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Please do.’ Piers took his hand away and closed his eyes again, and the taxi purred on its way to Holland Park.
When the Judicial Appointments Commission convened the following week to review the various applications to the High Court Bench, its chairman, Sir Alastair Flockton, was not in the best of humours. His irritable bowel syndrome, to which he was a martyr, was manifesting itself in bursts of flatulence which he was trying with great difficulty to contain. The medication which he had taken didn’t always work, and holding in wind made his insides roil and bubble in a most unpleasant way. Concentration was not easy.
‘So now we come to …’ He glanced down the list. ‘Ah yes, Leo Davies.’
‘An excellent candidate, in my view,’ observed Ian Cole, himself a High Court judge.
Lady Justice Daphne Hunter nodded. ‘I know the candidate. I believe he is of absolutely the right calibre. And he performed exceptionally well in the structured discussion stage of the assessment process.’
‘He certainly has all the right credentials,’ agreed Baroness Paradeep. ‘And I think his background helps, too – state school, and so on. The judiciary needs to demonstrate that people from disadvantaged backgrounds can rise in the profession.’
Dudley Callow OBE, a former commander of the Royal Anglian Regiment and one of the lay members, gave her a sharp look. ‘Disadvantaged? He’s fifty. He went to a grammar school. He’s not exactly a product of New Labour educational policies.’
> Mervyn Woodall thought he could see where Baroness Paradeep was tending, and assumed some politically correct qualities were being sought. ‘He’s Welsh. Doesn’t that help?’
‘In what way?’ enquired Sir Alastair, shifting a little in his chair. His stomach growled audibly.
Mervyn blinked. ‘Aren’t they classed as a minority? I mean, isn’t being Welsh some form of …’ He gestured vaguely.
‘It’s not classed as a disability. Not yet,’ murmured Gregory Hind.
‘To come back to the point,’ said Lady Daphne firmly, ‘I think Mr Davies’ experience and professional qualities speak for themselves. I really don’t see how his application can be faulted.’
There were general murmurings of agreement, and Sir Vivian sensed his moment had come. He leant forward. ‘Am I not right in thinking that the issue of good character is one which is just as important as professional attributes?’ There was a silence. ‘In fact,’ went on Sir Vivian, ‘if I may quote from guidance specifically offered to candidates on the JAC website, “public confidence will only be maintained if judicial office holders and those who aspire to such office maintain the highest standards of behaviour in their professional, public and private lives”.’ He laid careful emphasis on the penultimate word.
Magdala Keel, a lay member, and co-founder of an activation forum for gender equality, spoke for them all. ‘I’m not quite sure what you’re saying.’
Sir Alastair, his IBS momentarily forgotten, added, ‘If there are matters which you feel prejudice his application or disqualify him in some way, they really should be made known to the committee.’
Julian Hooper, a bookish, well-meaning QC who both liked and admired Leo, came to what he thought was Leo’s aid. ‘Look, if you’re talking about rumours about Davies’ private life, I frankly don’t think they’re relevant.’ All eyes swivelled to Julian. ‘I say rumours, but actually certain facts have been pretty well known to most people for some time.’ Julian became aware that he might not be helping, but floundered on. ‘I mean, surely what someone gets up to in their personal life is neither here nor there.’ He glanced around the faces. ‘Is it?’