Breath of Corruption

by Caro Fraser

  ‘Calm yourself. He won’t do anything, and he won’t ask any more questions. He’s not interested. I told him to forget all about the invoice, and I think he will.’

  ‘I bloody well hope you’re right, Viktor. I bloody well hope you’re right.’ Sir Dudley ended the call, wondering how on earth he was going to play things at his next meeting with Davies.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Leo decided to work at home the following morning on an up-and-coming House of Lords appeal. There was no need to go into town until his lunchtime appointment with Rachel. He sat in his study with the window open, and reflected that there was something to be said for getting down to work every morning without having to shave and put a suit and tie on. Maybe if he were to join Roger and the others in their virtual chambers, it would be a persuasive factor with Rachel in allowing him more contact with Oliver. Presumably she’d rather he was with his father than a childminder. Or would she? He’d find out the answer to that in a couple of hours’ time.

  Lunch with Rachel was never going to be easy. Leo knew she would arrive in a resistant frame of mind, expecting him to pitch into explanations and excuses, which she could then rebuff from her higher moral ground. He decided to subvert her expectations. He got there slightly ahead of time and ordered a bottle of white Burgundy, even though he knew she rarely drank at lunchtime, a plate of rare roast beef and salad for himself, and a dish of smoked salmon and new-potato salad for her, which he knew she liked.

  ‘You’re looking very pretty,’ he said, when she arrived. And she was. Her dark hair was loose, soft and shining, and she was wearing a close-fitting grey dress and a smart, boxy little black jacket. She accepted the compliment with the faintest of smiles, as Leo pulled her chair out for her, and she sat down. He could tell she was tense, ready to fight her corner. He had already poured her a glass of wine, knowing she would refuse one otherwise. He raised his own glass. ‘Happy birthday. Tomorrow, isn’t it?’

  She nodded, and took a sip of her wine. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘If you’d got here two minutes earlier,’ he remarked, ‘you’d have had the pleasure of seeing your old friend Eddie Stamapoulos.’ Leo gestured towards the depths of the wine bar. ‘He’s just gone through to the back.’

  Rachel immediately forgot her froideur. ‘Really?’ Leo knew this would get her – Eddie was a charming Greek fraudster who had been the bane of her life in a series of cases a few years ago, and for whom she had a love-hate regard. She glanced over her shoulder, as if to catch a glimpse. ‘I wonder when they let him out.’

  ‘God knows. He looked as smiling and confident as ever, lunching with two City punters whom he’s probably going to take to the cleaners any day soon. What was that case you had with him, the one involving the steel cargo?’

  ‘The Mimeris. That was the one where he sold the same steel cargo five times to different people—’ She stopped, suddenly remembering her role and the way she had intended to behave. At that moment the waitress, previously primed by Leo as to the timing, brought their food.

  ‘I ordered for you,’ said Leo. ‘I knew you didn’t want to hang around.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rachel, a little disarmed. She waited till the waitress had gone, then picked up her fork and ate a sliver of smoked salmon.

  ‘I remember when you were pregnant with Oliver, how you insisted on eating smoked salmon for supper every evening for an entire fortnight.’

  Leo could tell that the recollection touched Rachel, and yet at the same time irked her. He knew exactly why. Any reflection of tenderness on his part was bound to upset her. He knew her mind so intimately that every response was predictable. Was it unkind of him to capitalise on that predictability? He had no idea. It was just the way it was.

  She put down her fork and took another sip of wine. ‘Leo, don’t do this, please.’

  ‘Do what?’

  To his alarm, her eyes suddenly grew bright with incipient tears. She looked down quickly, trying to hide the fact. He waited to hear what she would say next.

  Eventually, more composed, she said, ‘We didn’t come here to rake over old times, did we? We came here to talk about Oliver.’

  He could still see the distress in her eyes, and it stung him to frankness. ‘I’m sorry. I was manoeuvring. I wanted you to be the one to bring up the subject. I thought it would give me some kind of advantage.’

  ‘Well, that’s honest. And no, it won’t. However, since the subject has come up, I’ll let you be the first to deal with it.’

  Leo began to eat his lunch, allowing himself a few moments’ reflection. ‘I don’t have a lot to say, really. First and foremost, I want to be able to see Oliver – soon. Secondly, and much less important, the explanation I gave you when you came round on Saturday is true. The girl who answered the door is called Lucy, she’s the sister of the woman I’m seeing – Anthea – and she was there because I’d rescued her, drunk, from some Soho nightclub. I’m not the kind of man who sleeps with his girlfriend’s teenage sister.’

  Rachel gave a short laugh. ‘Oh yes, you are, Leo. That’s exactly the kind of man you are.’ All traces of pain and defensiveness had disappeared.

  He shrugged. ‘What can I do? You’re utterly determined to believe what you want. I can only reiterate – the silly kid got drunk, and I had to help. Either way, it’s no reason to keep Oliver from me. I hope you’ll let him come to me this weekend, as usual.’

  She shook her head, her expression withdrawn, closed, and took a couple of mouthfuls of wine.

  Leo put down his knife and fork. ‘What does that mean? Is that a no?’ Silence. He studied Rachel’s face, then he asked abruptly, ‘What is it, Rachel? I mean, really? Do you think I’m neglectful of Oliver, that I don’t care about him?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘So why are you deliberately using a pretext to make out that my private life is a problem? Why are you trying to find an excuse to keep him from me?’

  Rachel put her elbows on the table, and her hands over her face. Was she crying? Leo couldn’t tell. He hoped not. The last thing he wanted was an emotional squall here in the wine bar. Well, if he got one it was probably all his own fault. He had come here intending to keep things relaxed and unemotional, and had achieved exactly the opposite.

  After a few moments Rachel uncovered her face; there were no tears, but her expression was weary, distraught. ‘Very well – I’ll tell you the truth.’ She took another sip of wine, struggling with the words she wanted – or didn’t want – to say. ‘I find it very hard, Leo – seeing you, being with you. I know we should be civilised parents, doing the best for our son, but the fact is – I can’t stand to see you. And every time I have to drop him off, or you come to pick him up, I have to pretend it’s all fine, when it’s not.’

  ‘My God – do you hate me that much?’

  She gave a painful laugh. ‘No, Leo. I don’t like you, but it’s not the same. I have plenty of reasons not to like you – to despise you, even – but somehow they don’t all add up to hate. Quite the opposite. That’s the tragedy.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I need excuses to keep Oliver away, so that I don’t have to see you. Because it hurts so much.’

  There was a long silence. Then at last Leo said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry if it’s hard for you. But for Oliver’s sake you mustn’t let your feelings cloud the issue. Oliver’s the important one here. He needs his father.’

  ‘I just can’t stand to know that you might have your lovers around when Oliver’s there – this Anthea person, for instance, whoever she is—’

  ‘Oliver’s never met Anthea,’ interrupted Leo. ‘Besides, it’s a ridiculous thing to say. I didn’t raise any objection when you decided to take Oliver and go to live with Charles Beecham after we split up. I didn’t go around accusing you of endangering our son’s morals. And what about Anthony? I didn’t say a word, even though he was probably seeing more of Oliver than I was. Look, Rachel, Oliver’s my son, and I have a right to see him, and to live my
life as I see fit. We have to be allowed to get on with our separate lives, without blame or animosity.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Rachel, her voice a little shaky.

  Leo let out a sigh. ‘I still don’t understand why you didn’t stay with Charles. God knows he loved you enough.’

  Rachel stared at her glass. ‘I discovered it’s not enough to be loved. Then again’ – she looked up at Leo –‘it’s not enough to love, either. Is it?’

  ‘That perfect balance is almost impossible to find.’

  ‘What about you and Anthea? Do you have it?’ asked Rachel, her voice edgy.

  ‘I’m not in love with anyone, Rachel. The most important person in my life is Oliver – and you, believe it or not, come a close second.’

  ‘Only as the mother of your son.’

  ‘Don’t make it sound inconsequential.’ He leant forward and touched her hand lightly. ‘You and I, whatever else went wrong between us, have a child. That means we still have important work to do together, and I want us to do it as amicably as we can. We’ve got a lot of sports days and parents’ evenings ahead of us. Whatever else happens in our lives, the fact of Oliver will always keep us together. Won’t you let that be enough?’

  The touch of his hand was almost unbearable for Rachel. The fact was, what she really wanted was never to have to see Leo again, because that way the pain would diminish in time. But he was right – she had no real reason or excuse to prevent Oliver from seeing his father, and that meant it would all go on and on. She would have to accept it.

  ‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘I know you want the best for him.’

  ‘Then can I see him this weekend?’

  ‘I was taking him to see friends in Hampshire.’

  ‘Sunday, then?’

  She nodded, bemused. It always came to this – he was so good, so persuasive, that he always got what he wanted. Which was why he was such a brilliant lawyer. Leo would find an advantageous position in every situation.

  He took his hand from hers and went on, ‘I might try to work from home more often, so that I can pick Ollie up from school occasionally. In fact, I thought I might try to do that tomorrow, if I can get away. Believe me, I want to be as big a part of his life as I can.’

  She gave a weak smile. ‘I thought you didn’t like him being called Ollie.’

  ‘Sometimes it seems to suit him – particularly in his more unruly moments.’

  There was a silence, then Leo said, ‘Look, let’s for God’s sake try to be friends. When we meet, when you come to drop him off or I to pick him up, let’s not have any more rancour or hostility, OK?’ Rachel sipped her wine and said nothing, but her silence spoke assent. Leo added, ‘There’s simply no basis for that in our relationship any more.’

  No, thought Rachel sadly, there was no basis for any kind of emotion, and that was the problem. Her problem.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  When he left Rachel, Leo headed off to chambers pretty much unprepared for the drama which had been unfolding there throughout the morning. The little he learnt came from Michael Gibbon, whom he met coming in the opposite direction through Serjeants’ Inn.

  ‘Leo! Where have you been all morning?’

  ‘Working from home. Why?’

  ‘Felicity’s been trying to get hold of you, but apparently your phone’s switched off.’

  ‘Bugger.’ Leo reached into his pocket for his phone and switched it on. ‘I didn’t want to be interrupted. What’s going on?’

  ‘I’m in a hell of a hurry and I can’t really stop, but it’s to do with Maurice. Read your emails. I’ll talk to you at the end of the day.’ And he hurried off towards Fleet Street.

  When he reached chambers, Leo went straight to the clerks’ room. Apart from Felicity, Henry and Peter, who were all busy on the phones, there was no one else about, and the atmosphere was one of business as usual. Just as he was about to turn and go upstairs to his room, he saw Felicity signalling frantically to him to wait. When she got off the phone she bustled over, bosom heaving in agitation, eyes bright with angry excitement.

  ‘Mr Davies, have you read your emails yet?’

  ‘I’ve only just come in. I passed Michael outside and he said you’d been trying to reach me. What’s going on?’

  ‘Nobody knows – that’s just it! We all came in this morning and found a load of emails from Maurice Faber’s computer, and they’re all fee notes he’s been sending out for work done. He’s been billing clients direct!’

  ‘This all sounds extremely strange. What has he got to say about it?’

  ‘He’s more bothered about the fact that someone’s got into his computer. He’s all like – My God, there’s a hacker in our midst! Something must be done about it!’

  Henry came over. ‘It’s not very good, Mr Davies. Someone’s got into the system and has been downloading confidential information from Mr Faber’s laptop, and sending it all round the building.’

  ‘See?’ exclaimed Felicity. ‘Nobody seems to have their priorities right here! Why is nobody bothered about his direct billing?’

  ‘Keep your voice down, Felicity,’ said Henry. ‘We can’t speculate about the content of confidential files at this point.’

  ‘Can’t we? I bloody can! No wonder his figures are down.’

  ‘Calm down, Felicity,’ said Leo. ‘Henry’s right. The most important thing is to find out how someone got into Maurice’s computer. If it’s the work of an outside hacker, then we have a serious problem on our hands, particularly from the point of client confidentiality. Is it just Maurice’s computer, or is anyone else affected?’

  ‘Just Mr Faber, so far as we can tell,’ replied Henry. ‘Peter spoke to the computer people earlier and they’re coming over to have a look.’ At that moment Peter Weir finished his phone conversation, and came over to join them.

  ‘The computer gurus say it’s unlikely to be an external hacker. They said if anyone wanted to download confidential information from our system they would just do it – they wouldn’t broadcast the fact to the entire world. Anyway, apparently our system’s incredibly well protected, and it’s unlikely anyone outside would be able to get into it. They can’t be sure, obviously, but they did suggest from the sound of it that someone in chambers could be mischief-making.’

  ‘All right,’ said Leo. ‘Just carry on for the time being. I’ll go and have a word with Maurice.’

  Leo went up to his room and switched on his own laptop. He read the emails and inspected the fee notes cursorily. They did appear to show that Maurice had been billing clients directly, but there could be an explanation. He read, too, the emails from Maurice to third parties chasing up payment of sums due. Strange.

  He went to Maurice’s room and found him on the phone, apparently in a state of some agitation. He waved Leo to a seat.

  ‘Yes,’ Maurice was saying, ‘I want this investigated as speedily as possible. Yes. Yes, thank you.’ He put down the phone. ‘Have you seen what’s been going on?’

  Leo nodded. ‘Someone’s got into the system. Why just your laptop?’

  ‘That is exactly what I intend to find out. I was speaking to the Met just now. They’re going to send someone over.’

  ‘You want to involve the police? Why?’

  ‘Why? Because this is a serious breach of computer confidentiality, Leo! You, as head of chambers, should be the first to appreciate that. I intend to have every member of chambers fingerprinted, and issued with a copy of The Computer Misuse Act. If I find out it was someone inside this building—’

  ‘Slow down, Maurice,’ said Leo. ‘Peter’s already spoken to the IT people. They say it’s unlikely to be someone from outside. They’re going to have a look, but they seem to think whoever did this did it from within chambers.’

  ‘All the more reason for a thorough investigation. I am absolutely livid that this has happened – as you should be!’

  ‘Well, I’m startled, yes—’ It occurred to Leo to touch upon the m
atter of the direct billing which Maurice had apparently been doing, but he decided that perhaps now was not the moment. ‘But I’d rather we tried to sort the matter out ourselves, before involving the police. I think that’s the more obvious way to go about things. There’s enough bad feeling in chambers without the police fingerprinting everyone in sight. Don’t you think?’

  ‘No, I can’t say I agree with you. I think—’

  Leo interrupted him. ‘I know what you think, Maurice, but as head of chambers, I want this handled internally, if possible – initially, at any rate. So call the Met and tell them that there is no need for them to look into the matter just yet.’ Maurice’s dark brows drew together in an angry frown. He seemed about to protest, but Leo said firmly, ‘Now. Please.’

  Maurice hesitated. He couldn’t ignore Leo’s authority. ‘Very well,’ he muttered, and picked up the phone.

  After he had made the call, Leo rose. ‘Thank you. Let’s see if we can’t sort this out on our own.’ As he reached the door, Leo turned and added, ‘By the way, I think there are other matters arising out of this incident which need to be discussed. Such as the content of the documents. But we’ll come to that in good time.’

  Leo went back to his room to ponder the matter. He suspected that Maurice’s outraged demand that the police be brought in was probably mere bluster on Maurice’s part, a way of obfuscating the issue of the embarrassing nature of the documents disclosed. He sat down at his laptop and reread them. It was pretty clear that the paramount motive for disseminating Maurice’s private files had been to make trouble for Maurice. He wondered who was responsible, and how they’d managed it. Someone with a grudge against Maurice, and a juvenile sense of humour. He glanced at his watch. Twenty to three. Sir Dudley would be here with his solicitor in twenty minutes, and that was enough to worry about. Life, at the moment, seemed to be just one damned thing after another.