by Caro Fraser
And Henry went off to speak to Sir Basil, leaving Felicity to her task.
At the end of the day, Henry dropped in on Leo.
‘How is young Miss Waller settling in?’ asked Leo, taking off his spectacles.
‘Seems happy enough. Did you get those bundles for tomorrow’s hearing?’
Leo glanced up. ‘Yes. For some reason all the markers had been moved around. It took me a little time to sort them out, which was annoying.’
Henry raised his eyebrows. ‘Felicity photocopied those. It was the first thing I gave her to do.’
‘Oh. Ah. I see.’ Leo frowned, then glanced away, while Henry tried not to grin. Well, he was responsible for bringing her into chambers. He would just have to hope that it wasn’t the shape of things to come. ‘It’s only her first day,’ he reminded Henry. ‘She’s probably a bit nervous.’
‘Yes, probably,’ agreed Henry, and left, smiling.
When Henry had gone, Leo, for the hundredth time that day, began to ponder his wedding next week. He had arranged everything with the registry office, they were having a drinks party a couple of days beforehand in chambers, he was taking Rachel to Florence for a week … The only thing he had not done was tell his mother. Why? He puzzled at his own reluctance to tell her, to invite her. He wanted no guests at all. Her presence would simply give credence to it all. Family. With each of these steps – the drinks party, the registry office, the honeymoon – Leo felt as though another hoop of steel grappled him closer to Rachel. And he told himself it was inevitable, part of the metamorphosis. From here on, he was to assume a new persona. It was unthinkable that he should exclude his mother. With this thought, he picked up the telephone and prepared himself to tell her about her future daughter-in-law and grandchild.
On the evening before Leo’s drinks party in chambers, five weeks before Easter, Rachel went round to Anthony’s flat. She went on impulse, on the off-chance that she might find him in. They had not spoken since Anthony had phoned her and she had told him about Leo, and now she had the feeling that she should say something to him. She felt haunted by guilt about their relationship, and wanted to ease any sense of grievance that he might still feel.
Anthony looked only mildly surprised when he opened the door and saw Rachel standing there. She was wearing an enveloping grey blouson jacket of soft suede, a present from Leo, a white cashmere polo neck, one of Leo’s purchases after the burglary, and jeans; she was now, somehow, very much Leo’s property, and happy to be so. Anthony was wearing an old rugby shirt and battered cords, and his feet were bare. Rachel was struck by how very young he looked, and beautiful. She had quite forgotten.
‘Come in,’ said Anthony, and she followed him through to the kitchen, closing the door behind her. The radio was on and the ironing board up. A pile of Anthony’s collars lay on a chair and a can of Robin spray starch stood on the table.
‘Doing my collars,’ he remarked. ‘It’s a chore I really hate, so I always put it off and finish up having to do about two dozen at once.’ He switched off the radio and folded up the ironing board. ‘What would you like – a drink? Coffee?’
‘I’ll have a coffee, thanks,’ said Rachel, unfastening her jacket and slipping it over the back of a chair.
‘That’s a pretty jacket,’ said Anthony, glancing at it as he filled the kettle. He knew immediately that Leo had bought it for her; Leo’s taste was instinctively familiar to him, he realised with a pang.
‘Isn’t it?’ replied Rachel hesitantly, tucking back shining strands of her dark hair. ‘Leo gave it to me – a sort of—’
‘Engagement present?’ He glanced at her faintly troubled face. ‘Don’t worry. I do know, you know. We’re having a bit of a celebration in chambers tomorrow evening.’ He spooned coffee into the coffee machine. She thought she detected a faintly grim note in his voice, and said nothing. She suddenly realised, watching him make the coffee, that she had come round here without any clear purpose. What was she supposed to say to him? Suddenly she remembered Mr Nikolaos.
‘We’ve got some good news on the Valeo Dawn,’ she said brightly. ‘The other side seem prepared to accept the experts’ findings about the cause of the fire. We should be able to settle.’
‘Mmm,’ said Anthony, smiling wryly. ‘I was rather hoping that case might become a money-spinner. Still, I’m glad for Mr Nikolaos.’ There was silence again. So even that last little connection between them was severed. Unless she ever instructed him again, which he doubted.
‘The coffee will take a moment or two,’ he added, fetching a beer for himself from the fridge. He cracked it open and tipped the can briefly in her direction. ‘Here’s to both of you,’ said Anthony, glancing at her and wishing she did not look so heart-stoppingly lovely. It had done him some good not to see her for the past month or two. He had felt only a brief, deep pang when he had heard that Leo was to marry her. The idea of Leo marrying would have astonished him once. Now, nothing surprised him.
‘Thank you,’ she said faintly. She sat with her hands clasped between her knees, watching him. It was up to her to take the initiative, she realised. She had come here uninvited, after all. There was a pause, during which Anthony got up to pour out her coffee, and she said, ‘I felt I wanted to see you, to explain things to you …’
‘Don’t be absurd!’ he broke in. She felt grateful for the interruption. ‘Why should you explain anything to me?’ His voice sounded mild and mocking, but not unkind. He set her coffee in front of her. ‘I’m very happy for you. Truly.’
How could he tell her anything of what he really felt? How could he begin to explain to her that the loss he felt most deeply was the loss of Leo, that this news had brought home to him the knowledge that, somehow, he had always felt that he had come first in Leo’s heart? That was ridiculous, he knew – he had spurned Leo long ago. Why should he still imagine that he retained the chief part of his affection? But, rightly or wrongly, he had always thought so. Now he knew otherwise. If he had tried to explain any of this to Rachel, she would not have begun to understand. She had come to make an apology where none was needed. He had been in love with her – was still a little in love with her – but that infatuation was eclipsed by his recent awareness of how entire and consuming his affection for Leo had always been. Would always be. And now she had the prize, she had Leo’s love and all the rest of him.
Suddenly Rachel looked up and said, ‘I’m having a baby.’
Anthony could think of nothing to say. How much he had lost, he realised. Rachel was beyond him – he saw now that she had always been. But to lose her to Leo, to lose Leo to her … There was something a little ludicrous about all of it. And then some faint comprehension began to dawn. Of course Leo was bound to marry her – what else would anyone do in such circumstances? He had known there must be some reason, some motive which he could not fathom. He suddenly felt lighter in his heart, as though Leo was not entirely lost to him.
‘Oh,’ he said at last. ‘That’s – that’s something of a surprise.’ Already he was adept at producing the remark designed to elicit the information he wanted, without the need for a question. Part of his acquired skills.
‘Yes,’ murmured Rachel, ducking her head, unable to prevent her soft smile of pleasure. ‘Yes, we were both – well, it was unexpected, I suppose.’
At that moment, the doorbell rang.
‘Half a tick,’ said Anthony, and got up. When he returned, it was in the company of a stocky blonde man, whose voice she had heard booming in the hall, and two girls. The girls were of a type she knew; confident, careless Sloanes with distant, amused eyes, half-smiling mouths, and plenty of easy, bright conversation.
‘—and so we thought the Bistro Vino, and then a club somewhere,’ Edward Choke was saying as he came into the kitchen. ‘Oh, I say – hello!’ he added, seeing Rachel sitting with her coffee. She smiled back.
‘Rachel,’ said Anthony, ‘meet Edward Choke, who was in pupillage with me. And’ – he turned to the girls, who were ey
eing Rachel surreptitiously – ‘Alexandra and Stephanie. This is Rachel, everyone.’
‘Just call me Tiggy,’ said the girl whom Anthony had introduced as Stephanie, leaning over and shaking Rachel’s hand. ‘Anthony, darling, do you have such a thing as an ashtray, or are we in a smoke-free zone?’ She curled her arm into Anthony’s and gave him a caressing look and a small, swift kiss before detaching herself and going to rummage in the cupboards.
‘Look here,’ said Edward, who was surprised and enchanted to find this unexpected treasure in Anthony’s kitchen, ‘why don’t you join us, Rachel? We’re just off for a spot of supper, then – well, see how the evening goes. What about it?’
Rachel stood up and lifted her jacket from the back of the chair. Alexandra watched as she put it on, wondering how wealthy Rachel might be, and why she’d never seen her around. Rachel smiled at Edward. ‘I’d love to, but I’m afraid I can’t. Really.’
‘Rachel,’ said Anthony, laying his arm around Rachel’s shoulder, noting that she did not stiffen as he did so, ‘is shortly to be married to our own dear Leo.’
‘What? Leo Davies? Well, congratulations!’ Edward beamed and decided that this was an excuse to give Rachel a kiss. Then he stood back and looked at her, which gave Rachel the curiously unpleasant sensation of being an exhibit whose only interest lay in belonging to Leo. ‘Well, well! And I’d always thought he was a raving poofter!’ Edward laughed immoderately, while Anthony closed his eyes briefly and smiled. Rachel said nothing, buttoning her jacket up slowly.
Anthony escorted her to the front door. ‘Thanks for dropping round,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry you’re going so soon.’
‘I’ve got to go round and sort out a few things at my flat,’ she replied. ‘I’m putting it on the market next week. I’m staying in Mayfair at the moment.’ Anthony nodded. ‘Well,’ she said awkwardly, ‘I’d better leave you to get on with your evening.’
And my life, thought Anthony, closing the door and leaning against it for a moment, listening to the sound of Tiggy’s bright, shrill voice in the kitchen.
In a set of rooms in the House of Lords, dark-panelled, discreetly carpeted, the air laden with a hush befitting the dignity of the assemblies of old men, Sir Basil was mingling at his ease with his future fellows on the Commercial Bench. The Lord Chancellor believed in holding regular little gatherings of his judiciary, feeling, as the outsider he perceived himself to be, that it helped to bring an informality and friendliness to his dealings with them.
‘And so Leo Davies is to be married?’ remarked Sir Bernard Lightfoot to Sir Basil, sipping at his whisky, and thinking that it was really rather superior to the last Lord Chancellor’s stuff. Lord Steele clearly knew his malts.
‘Yes – yes, we are all very pleased, of course.’ Sir Basil smiled serenely round at the little circle, at Sir Bernard’s narrow, lofty countenance, at Sir Edward Appleby’s gnome-like face, at Sir Frank, thoughtful and jowly, and at the Honourable Sir Roger Ware, who wore his usual imperturbable, knowing half-smile.
‘I must say,’ said Sir Bernard languorously, ‘that some of us were a little surprised. After the rumours which have been circulating, you know.’
Sir Frank sighed; why must Bernard always be so tiresome, making mischief? But Sir Basil must already know.
‘I’m sorry?’ Sir Basil inclined his white head courteously in Sir Bernard’s direction, thinking that he had always disliked appearing in court before this man. He had a mocking, deprecatory manner, as though he found everything, even her Majesty’s High Court of Justice, Commercial Division, childishly amusing.
‘Well, you know, Sir Basil,’ replied Sir Bernard easily, shifting his weight, ‘that since Davies applied to take silk his private life has come in for some rather close scrutiny. And not all that we hear has been to the good. Rent boys, unusual proclivities, that kind of thing …’
Sir Edward Appleby blinked, making his glasses jump, glancing from face to face as he listened. Oh dear, thought Sir Frank, and took another sip of his drink. Then he rallied, squaring his shoulders slightly, lifting his chin. Taking on Sir Bernard was always something he would do his best to avoid, but on this occasion …
‘Do you know,’ he said suddenly, ‘I have been given to understand that all these rumours are purely mischievous, that they have been put about simply to sully Davies’ reputation at a critical time. That, in short, they are nonsense. I personally felt that they should be – ah – discounted from the outset. I am surprised, Bernard, that you should still be perpetuating them, given the damage they can do.’ Sir Bernard stared at Frank with a face like elegantly carved stone. ‘The man has done nothing, to my certain knowledge, that deserves reproach. He is one of our most brilliant up-and-coming men, and I think it ill behoves us to – ah, as it were – to seek to discredit him. He is to be married shortly, he has applied to take silk, and I, for one, wish him well on both counts.’
Sir Edward Appleby nodded vigorously, and Sir Basil, into whose mind a doubt had crept as he listened to Sir Bernard, added, ‘Quite. Such rumours are clearly scurrilous nonsense. I very much hope he will be successful.’ It gave him some satisfaction to assist in this squelching of Sir Bernard.
Sir Bernard said nothing but, with the faintest of smiles, excused himself from the little group. It broke up shortly thereafter, and Sir Mungo accosted Frank.
‘What was all that?’ he asked, catching at Frank’s sleeve, having heard him speaking in rather sterner and more forthright tones than were customary with him at a social gathering.
Sir Frank drew himself up and smiled. ‘We were discussing Leo Davies’ marriage. An excellent thing, don’t you think? I would say it fairly scotches those rumours we’ve all been hearing, wouldn’t you?’
‘Well, I should say it does,’ answered Sir Mungo, looking round for one of those chappies to come and refill his glass. A waiter caught his eye and came over. ‘Another gin and tonic, please. I knew nothing of this,’ he added, turning back to Frank. ‘I suppose it’s that girl we met at Lincoln’s Inn a while ago … Oh, you weren’t there, were you? Very charming. Very lovely.’
Sir Mungo nodded to himself, waiting for his drink to arrive, thinking of all that had been said about Leo. The last he’d heard was that he was damned in the Lord Chancellor’s eyes, and those of his department. Well, now was the time to put all that right. His drink arrived, he excused himself to Sir Frank and ambled off in the direction of Lord Steele. Sir Frank’s eyes followed him happily.
‘Attaboy, Mungo,’ he murmured to himself.
‘Well, of course, Mungo,’ Lord Steele was saying some ten minutes later, ‘I never liked passing judgment on any man on the basis of scandal. I’m very pleased to hear that there is no cause for concern of the kind that the Judicial Appointments Group had feared. You know, of course,’ he added, ‘that we must be careful in these matters. But clearly we can expect the necessary stability … I was always reluctant to pass up a man of Davies’ undoubted ability.’
‘I think you will find,’ said Sir Mungo with determination, ‘that when you come to invite comments from the Lords of Appeal, they will be of a favourable nature.’
The Lord Chancellor nodded and smiled; he would enjoy taking a firm line on this with Colin Crane tomorrow morning.
The party at Caper Court the next evening went well; it made up, in some measure, for the abrupt and depressing termination of the Christmas party. Everybody was in high spirits, pleased to have something to lift the gloom of raw early March.
When Leo finally left at nine o’clock, he felt happy, and slightly the worse for drink. He would have liked to go on for dinner with the rest of them – had very nearly agreed to do so, as in the old days – but he had realised later that he was no longer part of the younger, raucous element in chambers. There had been a time when he and Michael had been the first to continue festivities of any kind, regardless of whether one was in court the next day or not. But he was conscious that that mantle had now been passed to the like
s of William and David. Roderick, Cameron and Sir Basil had left a little earlier, as befitted their dignity. Now Leo felt that he, too, should bow out and leave the rest to it.
He slipped downstairs and out into the cold air of Caper Court, pushing back the sides of his unbuttoned overcoat and thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets. The Temple was quiet, deserted, as he walked towards the cloisters, his footsteps ringing clear on the cold paving stones.
He heard someone call his name, and stopped to turn as he drew near to the stone pillars; Anthony came towards him through the gloom, his own step unhurried. He stopped as he reached Leo.
‘Hello,’ said Leo, ‘you going this way?’ He jerked his head in the direction of King’s Bench Walk.
‘No,’ said Anthony. He paused, and they regarded one another; Leo’s face was half in the shadow of the cloisters, his expression neutral, cautious. Anthony had scarcely spoken to him all evening, but had managed to make this meeting look accidental. ‘I just wanted to say – well, all the best.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Leo, a little amused at the sombreness of Anthony’s tone. Anyone would think he was leaving on an Antarctic expedition. He suspected that Anthony had drunk a good deal that evening. Suddenly Anthony stepped forward, held Leo by the arms, and kissed him, briefly and firmly, on the mouth. It was all Leo could do not to embrace Anthony and draw him to him. His limbs tingled with emotional electricity, and he remembered, with clarity, how things had been between them two years ago. Anthony had risked much, had confronted himself, in this act. For a wild, fleeting moment, Leo wished that none of the past few months had ever happened, that he could renounce the whole thing, leave the Bar, cease the emotional sham of his life, and … and what?
Anthony stepped back, leaning against one of the pillars; now his face was lost in shadow. ‘Tell me—’ he said.
‘What?’ Leo’s voice was low, expressionless, lost.