Errors of Judgment

by Caro Fraser

  Gabrielle wished Leo’s name hadn’t come up. She knew very well that she should have told Anthony about Leo before. To say something now seemed ludicrously difficult. But it had to be done. She opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated. She had no idea how Anthony would react. Leo was clearly someone hugely special to him. What if the discovery changed things between them? She didn’t think she could bear that. She was more than a little in love with Anthony, and the idea of estranging him in some way frightened her.

  ‘What? You were about to say something.’

  She shook her head. ‘It was nothing.’ She would find another moment. She leant forward, stroking his hand with her fingers. ‘So, what do you want to do now? It’s only ten.’

  ‘Why don’t we go to Blunt’s for an hour or two? It’s a while since we’ve been.’ This was true, but only in the sense that he and Gabrielle hadn’t been there together since before Christmas. Anthony himself had visited Blunt’s twice in the past week, but his conscience was eased by the fact that he’d come away a winner both times. His policy of lowering his stakes meant he hadn’t netted as much as he would have liked, but it was good to know he was finding his form. He’d always known it was simply a matter of time.

  Gabrielle shrugged. ‘OK.’ She liked the atmosphere of casinos, and watching people gamble, even though she didn’t do much of it herself. She went mainly to socialise; a number of her friends, and those of her brothers, were regulars at Blunt’s.

  It was a five-minute walk to Mount Street. The casino was busy, and Julia and Piers were there, hanging out with Darius and their usual crowd. Anthony left Gabrielle chatting to friends and went to buy drinks. While he was at the bar, someone gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder. He turned and saw Piers.

  ‘Anthony, how are you?’

  ‘Fine, thanks,’ replied Anthony, mildly surprised.

  ‘Excellent, excellent. Good to see you.’ Piers gave him another pat on the arm, and wandered away.

  Five minutes later, as he was paying for the drinks, Julia came to the bar and ordered a cocktail. She and Anthony greeted one another warily.

  ‘Your husband is being strangely pleasant to me this evening,’ remarked Anthony.

  ‘Probably because he thinks he can sucker you into a private poker game he’s organising. Some Saudi clients are in town, and he’s trying to set up a game for them.’

  ‘Sounds interesting.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’d be rather out of your depth. They’re enormously wealthy. Not quite your league.’

  ‘That doesn’t make them expert poker players.’

  The bartender handed Julia her cocktail. ‘Oh, I quite agree. I imagine they’re more likely to lose than win. But then, so are you. And the thing is, they can afford it. If I were you, I’d steer well clear of it. Remember, I know your limitations. And so should you.’ She raised her glass and smiled. ‘Cheers.’ Then she slipped away.

  Piers caught up with her on the other side of the room.

  ‘Give it an hour or so,’ said Julia.

  Piers nodded. ‘Jolly good. I’d better keep an eye on how he does at the tables. No point trying to enlist him when he’s on a losing streak.’

  But Anthony was on a winning streak. He started out with a modest fifty pounds worth of chips, and by midnight he was several hundred up. Poker wasn’t a game he often played, but his success began to convince him that perhaps he was one of those rare people who were naturally good at it. Gabrielle came and went, sometimes watching with interest, sometimes talking with friends. Anthony knew that a couple of hours of the casino were usually enough for her, and that soon she would want to go. He felt an itch of frustration at the thought of having to leave. He felt he could go on winning all night.

  Sure enough, at the end of the next game, she came over and kissed his ear, murmuring, ‘Quit while you’re ahead. Let’s go back to yours and play games of our own.’

  Anthony swallowed a sigh. ‘OK. Let me cash these in and I’ll be with you in a few minutes.’

  As he was pocketing his winnings, Anthony once again found Piers’ hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Anthony, old man – do you have a minute?’ Piers drew Anthony aside and they were joined by Darius.

  Darius and Anthony shook hands. ‘I’ll tell you what it is,’ said Darius in a confidential manner. ‘My father and I are trying to organise a private poker game here at the casino, something to keep some Saudi friends of Piers amused. We need around eight players, but of course we can’t have just anyone. You seem to be a pretty handy player, and we wondered if you’d be interested in joining in?’

  ‘I might,’ replied Anthony. He had been stung by Julia’s remarks earlier, by the implication that he had neither the skill nor the money to participate in anything high-level.

  Piers chuckled. ‘I have to tell you, Tony, these boys are absolutely fucking loaded. They throw money around like confetti. And they’re not exactly card sharps. Anybody who’s any good stands to do pretty well out of the evening. I’m certainly going to be playing.’

  ‘The stakes are pretty high,’ said Darius. ‘Lowest opening bet in any game is two hundred.’

  Anthony smiled. ‘I think I can manage that.’

  ‘No, of course. I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t think you were good for it. Just letting you know.’

  Anthony considered for a moment. There were risks – he knew to his cost how losses could mount up in one evening – but it was a one-off game, and if tonight was anything to go by, he might come out of it pretty well. He could even make a killing. He nodded. ‘OK, count me in. When is it?’

  ‘We were thinking next Saturday. Probably kick off around ten, make it an all-nighter.’

  ‘Bring Gabrielle, if she wants to come,’ added Piers. ‘Julia will be there, and some of the other girls. Galina, probably Connie and Abigail. Gabrielle knows them all. Hate to sound sexist, but it’ll be an all-male game. You know what the Saudis are like. But it should be quite a party. Plenty of food and champagne on the go. Fun for all.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll see if she’s interested.’

  Anthony mentioned the game to Gabrielle later, when they were in bed. ‘I said I’d play. Do you fancy coming along?’

  ‘I don’t mind, if Connie’s going. I’m not a huge fan of Galina – Darius’s girlfriends are always weird. Like they’re just for decoration. Julia’s all right, in her way.’ She propped her head on one hand. ‘How long do you give that marriage?’

  ‘Piers and Julia? I think in many ways they’re perfectly suited.’

  ‘Really? That’s not the way it comes across to me. He can be really foul to her, you know. And it’s perfectly obvious she has an eye for other men. You included.’

  ‘Julia and I were over a very long time ago.’ Anthony reached up and drew her mouth towards his. ‘I love no one but you.’

  Gabrielle wondered if now was the moment to tell him about Leo. No – the timing wasn’t quite right. She would wait for another opportunity.

  Leo found himself in a hideously restless mood that evening, and he knew exactly where it was leading. The club he ended up in at two in the morning was one he hadn’t visited for over a year. Some of the faces were familiar, but there was no one there he would have called a friend. It wasn’t that kind of place. He bought himself a drink and stood at the bar, watching the men cruising, eyeing one another. Even those who were obvious couples threw out stray glances. The place was loud with music and conversation, the thump from the dance floor at the far end relentless.

  A part of Leo wondered what he was doing there, but another part of him knew exactly. Idly he eyed a knot of attractive young men drinking at a nearby table. He recognised one of them as Joshua, and his gaze froze. Forgotten feelings of fear, love and desperation suddenly flooded him, confusing him. It took him a moment to understand that what he was experiencing was nothing more than a conditioned emotional response, the merest remnant of love.

  Leo waited for his feelings to subs
ide, studying Joshua with the fascinated detachment of one long since cured of his passion. His features were slightly pouchy now, not as delicate as five years ago; his red-gold hair still curled at his collar, his eyes still held their implacable beauty, their Garbo-like expression. He was talking to a dark-haired young man, glancing around occasionally. And of course, after a few seconds he saw Leo.

  Joshua smiled, but without surprise – Leo guessed that Joshua had perhaps seen him come in, and had waited to choose his own moment of connection and acknowledgement. Leo could not bring himself to smile, but he knew that his own expression must be one of vulnerability. How could it be otherwise?

  Joshua rose and came over. He leant on the bar and surveyed Leo with a smile. ‘Hello, Leo. How are you? You look as good as ever.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m well.’ Leo was interested to note that five years had given Joshua composure and maturity, but also an aura of self-awareness bordering on affectation. He still seemed, as he had at nineteen, ready for anything, but in quite a different way. ‘You look well, too,’ he added. ‘How’s life treating you?’

  ‘Pretty well, actually. I like to think I’ve moved on and up in the world since I knew you.’

  ‘No longer a struggling artist?’

  ‘I’m working as a set designer.’ He nodded to the table. ‘I’m with some friends from the theatre. Why don’t you come and join us for a drink?’

  Leo sat down at the table and Joshua introduced him as an old friend. Leo imagined the others knew very well what that meant. They were polite, guarded, sizing him up. The dark-haired man to whom Joshua had been talking extended a hand and Leo shook it, noting its slender strength. His entire body was lean and toned, with remarkable poise. This, thought Leo, was exactly the kind of distraction he had come looking for tonight.

  ‘This is Sergei,’ said Joshua. ‘He’s a dancer with the Barinov Ballet Company. They’re in residence at the theatre where I work.’

  ‘You like ballet?’ asked Sergei. He had a Slavic face, with sharp cheekbones and a full mouth, and large, liquid eyes. Leo thought he looked like trouble, and felt stirrings of interest and desire.

  ‘I do. Not that I go very often. I prefer modern ballet to traditional. That said, I rather like Matthew Bourne’s take on the classics.’

  Sergei smiled, pleased. He asked Leo what he did, and Leo told him. They chatted for a while about London, which Sergei was visiting for the first time, and Leo could sense a chemistry. Joshua was talking to the others, his attention elsewhere, possibly deliberately. Leo felt he had Sergei all to himself.

  ‘It’s interesting that you work in the law,’ said Sergei. ‘It is one of the institutions I admire most in your country.’

  ‘You should visit the law courts some time,’ said Leo.

  ‘I would like that,’ said Sergei. ‘Maybe you could show me around?’

  ‘Maybe I could,’ said Leo. ‘Shall I give you my number?’

  ‘Please.’

  They exchanged phone numbers. Leo was just wondering how to detach Sergei from his friends and invite him back to Chelsea, when Sergei suddenly said, ‘I have to go. I have rehearsals in the morning.’ He rose with exquisite grace, gathering up his jacket and kissing a hand to his friends. ‘Spokoynoy nochi, malyshi.’ He turned to Leo. ‘And goodnight to you, Leo. I hope we meet again.’ The promise in those large, lovely eyes was unmistakeable.

  ‘I hope so, too,’ replied Leo. He watched him go, wondering if it would look too crass to follow him; wondering, too, if that was what Sergei intended. As he drained the remnants of his drink, trying to make up his mind, Joshua seemed to read his thoughts.

  ‘No point in going after him,’ he murmured. ‘He really means it about the rehearsals. I’m surprised he stayed up as late as he did. A dedicated professional.’

  ‘It was the last thing on my mind.’

  ‘Really? Remember, you’re talking to someone who knows you very well.’ Joshua surveyed Leo, thinking how little he had changed in five years. The features were still sharply handsome, the gaze of his blue eyes still intense, and even the silver hair wasn’t ageing – quite the opposite.

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Of course I do. And no one changes. Not really.’

  ‘You have.’ Leo lifted his glass, then realised it was empty.

  ‘Have I?’ Joshua seemed happy at the prospect of talking about himself. ‘Have another drink. I’ll buy.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll have a Scotch.’

  Joshua went to the bar. While he was waiting to be served he considered the situation, remembering the hold he had once had over Leo. It had been fun for a while, wielding so much emotional power, with such easy material gains. Leo had everything – wealth, status, possessions – yet it had been Joshua, with nothing to his name but some scrappy artistic talent and superb good looks, who had been in total command of the relationship. But the affair had eventually taught Joshua a strange truth – that freedom, even when it meant hardship and uncertainty, was better than the ease and comfort of belonging to someone you didn’t love. Not that he hadn’t been fond of Leo. Looking back, he wished he’d been more appreciative of the efforts Leo had made. Or at any rate, kinder to him. With several relationships with older men behind him – and the tender, fretful concern of a certain middle-aged choreographer hovering somewhere even now – he had a better understanding of what impelled their generosity.

  He took the drinks back to the table and sat down.

  ‘So, tell me how I’ve changed.’

  ‘You’ve grown up. That is to say, you’ve lost the charmingly ingenuous air you once had.’

  ‘You mean I’m not naive any more.’ Joshua meant to be lightly sardonic, but Leo took the remark at face value.

  ‘Evidently not.’

  Joshua was conscious of being looked at critically by Leo – it was a new experience. Only in that moment did it occur to him that Leo was no longer in love with him. Why would he be? It was just that his youthful vanity had expected it.

  ‘Don’t you think you played a part in my loss of innocence?’

  The ghost of a smile crossed Leo’s face. ‘That was lost well before you knew me. Why do you think you ever said hello to me in the first place? I wasn’t talking about your heart and soul. I was merely talking about your expression, your features.’

  At these words, Joshua’s hand strayed unconsciously to his face. He stroked his chin, gazing reflectively at Leo, working on what he had said.

  ‘I’m not so very different.’ The flicker of anxiety made him look vulnerable, younger.

  Leo was suddenly struck by a vivid memory – Joshua in his leather jacket, holding the rucksack hastily crammed with his belongings, turning round in the doorway to look at Leo before shrugging off his hand and leaving, walking out of Leo’s life for good.

  Leo swallowed his whisky quickly. He had no wish to revisit that pain. ‘Not so very. I think I am, though. Not so good at these late nights. I have to go.’ He stood up. Joshua looked at him for a hesitant few seconds, and Leo could tell from his face that he was rapidly debating whether there was anything to be gained here. ‘There’s one thing about you that hasn’t changed, Joshua. You still have a beautiful transparency.’

  He left the club, hailed a cab and headed home, cold in his heart.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Caspar and Darius Egan had gone to considerable trouble for Piers’ Saudi friends, setting aside a lavishly furnished suite of rooms on the first floor of Blunt’s for the occasion. In one room a blue-baize-covered poker table had been set up for the game, and in an adjoining room champagne was cooling in silver buckets, alongside a selection of spirits, beer, and an array of glasses. Platters of cold food had been laid out – crayfish in aspic, blinis, smoked salmon, caviar in bowls of ice – with warming stands ready for hot food to be served later. Next door was a large sitting room, whose windows overlooked rain-soaked Mount Street, lit by discreetly placed lamps, and furnished with deep leather sofas and low t
ables, with a large plasma television screen on one wall. Off this room was a bedroom with an en suite bathroom in between.

  When Anthony and Gabrielle arrived, Darius, Piers and Julia were already there in the sitting room with the three guests of honour. Darius’s Russian girlfriend, Galina, had brought along a trio of other Russian girls – Valeriya, Dina and Katia. All were dressed in tight-fitting short dresses and eight-inch hooker heels, and all wore expressions of ineffable boredom.

  Everything about the young Saudis suggested wealth, but of a crude, unsubtle kind. They wore bespoke suits that were a little too sharp, silk shirts, and handmade Italian shoes, and sported Rolex Oyster watches and a profuse amount of gold jewellery. The air was heavy with the smell of Clive Christian No. 1 cologne. Darius introduced them. Farid Al-Rahman was a tall, well-built man in his mid twenties, with a patchy beard on a strong jaw, and a smile made disarming by the smoked glasses he wore, which hid the expression of his eyes. His younger brother, Hakim Al-Rahman, was a corpulent youth who looked barely out of his teens. He didn’t get up to shake hands, but stayed lounging on the white leather sofa, grunting a greeting and extending a flabby hand studded with heavy gold and diamond rings. The third, Gabir Al-Wadhi, was a wiry man with a heavy short beard and bright eyes that glittered under heavy brows. He seemed the senior of the trio, and introduced himself as the cousin of the other two. He excused Hakim by saying, ‘He has taken a holiday from his manners as well as his morals.’ He threw the boy a chiding glance. ‘Hey, Hakim?’

  Hakim ginned and shrugged, and took another swig of his drink.

  Darius turned to Gabrielle. ‘Glass of champagne?’

  ‘Lovely,’ murmured Gabrielle, and sat down on a sofa opposite the Russian girls.