by Caro Fraser
Gideon’s own thoughts were calm and measured, and entirely his own. He allowed himself another glass of champagne, and waited. He glanced at Leo a couple of times, careful to do so only when Leo’s attention was otherwise engaged, and each time he looked, he smiled to himself. There was only one disturbing moment, when a slim woman with long, dark hair came into the room, breathless with apologies for her lateness. Leo rose, kissed her, spoke briefly to her, then crossed the room with her to speak to some other Names.
Gideon leant swiftly down and murmured to his mother, ‘Who’s that woman?’
‘Gideon, you really must get more involved. It’s your litigation too, you know. That’s our solicitor, Rachel Dean.’ She leant confidentially towards Gideon’s ear and added, ‘She was married to Leo Davies, as I understand it, but they divorced.’
By nine, the evening was losing momentum and people were drifting off. Gideon was still leaning by the window when Leo approached him.
‘So – what have you been doing with yourself for all these years?’
‘Oh, this and that,’ replied Gideon. He smiled. ‘Tell you what – if you’re not in a hurry, I thought we might have dinner somewhere and catch up.’
‘That sounds like an excellent idea. I’ll just say a few farewells first.’
Ten minutes later they were strolling up St James’s. ‘What about the Criterion Brasserie?’ suggested Gideon. ‘Simply can’t bear club food.’
‘Fine,’ said Leo.
Dinner lasted two hours. During that time they covered Leo’s fortunes at the Bar and Gideon’s career in the Civil Service. Leo found Gideon very amusing, his apparently louche manner masking a bright wit and bizarrely diverting turn of thought.
‘It’s hard to imagine you in such a staid profession,’ said Leo with a smile. ‘When I heard you’d left the Bar, I rather imagined you’d decided to go into the theatre, or advertising. Something faintly glamorous.’
‘How kind of you to say so. Actually, the Civil Service suits me very well. I enjoy its intellectual discipline and the restraints of protocol. It means that one’s energies and appetites out of hours are so very much more alive, so to speak. Do you know what I mean? The work itself can be – well … exciting is perhaps the wrong word. Intriguing, shall we say? As a matter of fact, I’m moving to a new department within the next couple of weeks. I’m to be PPS to Tony Gear, the new Minister for Artistic and Cultural Development.’
‘Really? Congratulations. That’s something of a coincidence – he’s an acquaintance of mine. We’re both trustees of a new museum of modern art which is opening next month.’
‘How interesting.’ Gideon leant forward over his coffee. ‘I don’t know terribly much about my new boss,’ he lied. ‘I’d be fascinated to hear what you make of him. It could be rather a help.’
Two brandies later, Leo was feeling distinctly mellow. The waiter brought the bill, which Leo insisted on paying. Gideon made only a token gesture of demurral. ‘I suppose,’ said Leo, glancing at his watch, ‘that I’d better ask the waiter to call a cab.’
‘Nonsense. It’s only half-eleven. There’s the rest of the night still ahead.’
‘Perhaps for you, Gideon, but I have to pick up my son tomorrow morning …’
Gideon pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘I refuse to let you desert me now. I’m enjoying myself far too much. Come on.’
Ten minutes later, Leo found himself heading with Gideon to the Ritz Club. Feeling light-headed after the wine and brandy, Leo decided that it was rather enjoyable to surrender oneself to somebody else’s whims.
The next few hours were such as Leo had not passed in some years. At the Ritz Club, Gideon ordered Kirs, and then proceeded to lose a couple of thousand pounds at the gaming tables. Leo watched in amusement, with no desire to play himself. He had grown out of that long ago. This was followed by a quick visit to Annabel’s, where Gideon was greeted by friends, and embraced by a brunette at the bar, with whom he proceeded to have a long and intimate conversation. Leo met, to his surprise, several people whom he knew, and drank two large whiskies while chatting to them.
When they emerged into the dark night air, Leo knew he was tired, but the alcohol had given him something of a second wind. Gideon looked fresh, bright-eyed, and clearly still hungry for amusement.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s give it some real Wellington boot. What about Aspinall’s?’
‘Gideon, it’s three in the morning.’
‘So? Gaming doesn’t stop till four. Look – there’s a cab – come on.’
So they made their way to Curzon Street, where Gideon ordered champagne and gambled until the tables closed. All the time, as at the Ritz Club, he kept up a flow of fast, amusing conversation. Everyone who passed seemed to know him, stopping to exchange a bright piece of banter with him.
Leaving the club shortly after four, Leo realised he felt extremely ragged. He would have to try to get in a few hours’ sleep before going to pick up Oliver. Gideon, on the other hand, gave every appearance of being relaxed and refreshed by the night’s doings. Leo watched as he took a little leather notebook from his pocket and scribbled some hurried calculations.
‘How much did you lose?’ Leo asked.
‘More than I meant to. I’ve rather been pushing the Coutt’s card of late. Still—’ He slipped it back into his pocket, ‘—what are Friday nights for?’
‘It’s been quite an experience.’ Leo yawned hugely and hailed a cruising cab. ‘Thank you very much.’
‘We must do it again sometime. I’ll give you a ring at chambers.’
‘Do that,’ replied Leo.
In the cab he leant back and closed his eyes. Shattered though he was, and rather drunk, Leo thought he hadn’t enjoyed himself so much in ages. An odd fellow, Gideon. That angel’s face, and those dark, wicked eyes. There was something very compelling about him. Leo very much hoped he would call – it wasn’t every day that one made a new friend.
Gideon, sitting in the cab which was taking him across town to fresher, darker adventures, was thinking something along similar lines.
CHAPTER FIVE
Charles Beecham surprised himself by sleeping late on Saturday morning. When he opened his eyes he saw from the bedside clock that it was nearly half-ten. His flight from California had got in at lunchtime the day before, and Charles had expected to be jet-lagged and up early this morning, brain fizzing. As it was, he felt much better than usual. He rolled on to his back and lay listening to the sounds of the house. He could hear voices in the kitchen below, Rachel’s low murmur and Oliver’s bubbling, bright baby responses, their words indistinct. Thank God the child slept through the night now – well, by and large – and even bigger thanks to God for the fact that Leo was coming this morning to take him for the weekend. Charles loved Oliver, but there was no question that having Rachel to himself, without interruption or distraction, was what he liked best of all. And there was little enough of that, the way things were at the moment. This was the second trip he had made to LA in three months, and it looked like there would be more in the offing, particularly if the deal his American agent was trying to put together ever came to anything. Charles had decided not to mention it to Rachel yet. No point in agitating her – it might all fall through. Besides, she was taken up with this Lloyd’s case, and that would have to finish before any plans could be made. He rubbed his eyes and got out of bed, and went to shower and dress.
Rachel heard Charles moving around upstairs and put on some fresh coffee.
‘Come on, Oliver, take the train into the living room. We don’t want Charles falling over it.’ She scooped up Oliver and his train and wrinkled her nose. ‘And let’s get that nappy changed before Daddy comes. He’ll be here any moment.’
It was what she had been saying to herself for the past hour. Leo usually came no later than half nine when it was his weekend to have Oliver, and she found herself glancing at the clock at ten minute intervals, the knot in her stomach growing ever t
ighter. She shouldn’t care so much about seeing him, but she did.
She changed Oliver’s nappy and took it out to the bin, and the crunching sound of wheels on the gravel made her turn in expectation. But it was only the post-office van, with a parcel of books for Charles. She took them in and put them on the kitchen table.
Charles pulled on some jeans and a faded blue sweatshirt, and gave himself a searching look in the mirror. He thought he looked pretty good for a guy in his mid-forties. All right, the blond hair was going rather grey, and his face looked a bit weather-beaten, particularly after the West Coast sunshine, but the Radio Times were putting him on their front cover for his new series this spring, so that was worth something. The Charlie Dimmock of historical documentary, that’s what I am, thought Charles.
He went downstairs to the kitchen, humming, where he embraced Rachel with jocular passion and poured himself some coffee. Oliver had made his way back in from the living room, pushing his train on his hands and knees. Charles reached down and ruffled his silky hair.
‘Leo not here yet?’ He noticed the parcel of books on the table and picked up the bread knife to open it.
It was a mild enough enquiry, but something about its redundancy irritated Rachel. ‘I don’t know where he’s got to,’ she replied. ‘I saw him last night but he didn’t say anything about being late. Charles, do you have to use the knife? It’s so dangerous. Here, use the scissors.’
Charles, who didn’t see why it mattered if he used the bread knife, obediently put it down and took the scissors. He was used to these domestic reproofs and took them with his customary good humour. Rachel always got a bit edgy when Oliver was going off for the weekend.
‘That must be Leo now,’ said Rachel, glancing up at the sound of a car, something like relief clearing her features. She was unaware that her expression, and the speed with which she moved to open the door and go to greet Leo, told Charles certain things he would rather she had kept hidden. Charles wanted so much to fill the space which Leo had left in her life, wanted Rachel to be as much in love with him as she had been with Leo. But he knew that Leo, despite all the pain he had caused Rachel, or perhaps because of it, was still very special to her. Charles stood at the kitchen window, the scissors motionless in his hand, watching as Leo got out of the car and Rachel moved forward, tentative as a girl in love, to greet him. A raw sense of pain and jealousy filled his heart. Absurd, he told himself. He knew he had nothing to fear from Leo. He was her past. Oliver was what they had in common, but Rachel lived here now. She was his, and tonight he would have her all to himself.
‘You’re late,’ said Rachel, lifting her hand to shade her eyes from the watery sun. Immediately she knew it sounded like a rebuke. She hadn’t meant to be that way. She would like to have been able to say how glad she was to see him. But that was the way things came out when she was with Leo. ‘I meant I was worried – you know, in case something had happened.’
Leo closed the car door and stepped, forward to kiss her cheek, a perfunctory, sexless kiss. The very faint scent of his expensive cologne was achingly familiar.
‘I met an old friend at that do at the Guards’ Club last night, and I’m afraid we made rather a night of it. I had to catch up on some sleep.’
‘Coffee?’ asked Rachel, leading the way into the kitchen.
‘Yes, please – I’d love some. Morning, Charles.’
Charles raised a hand in greeting and poured them both some coffee while Rachel went to fetch Oliver’s things. Leo sat at the kitchen table and glanced at the half-opened parcel of books.
‘What’s this?’ he asked, as Charles set down the mugs of coffee.
‘Copies of my new book. I don’t know why my publishers send me so many.’
‘So that you can distribute them to your loved ones and to your extensive circle of admiring acquaintances. Let’s have a look.’
Charles hacked through the rest of the packaging with the bread knife and handed one to Leo.
Leo surveyed the cover, which consisted of a full-length shot of Charles in weather-stained khakis, squinting handsomely at the camera from a barren, brown landscape. Lawrence of Arabia, the boyish Englishman abroad, thought Leo. He had found himself briefly in love with Charles Beecham not so long ago. It had been a disappointment to discover that Charles was rampantly heterosexual, to say nothing of the fact that he was in love with Leo’s ex-wife. Leo put the book down and sighed.
‘Your doting female readers are going to love it.’
‘What d’you think of the title?’ asked Charles.
‘From an Antique Land? Very good, if people catch the reference. Otherwise there’s a danger of you sounding more like Hugh Scully than Shelley’s traveller.’
Rachel came into the kitchen carrying Oliver, who stretched his small arms out at the sight of Leo.
‘Come here, King of kings.’ Leo took Oliver from Rachel and sat him on his lap and kissed him. ‘My, you’re getting heavy.’ He glanced up at the rucksack in Rachel’s hand. ‘He can’t need that much. It’s only till tomorrow night.’
Rachel flushed slightly. ‘It’s just some of his favourite toys and books. And some spare nappies.’
‘Rachel, I’ve got plenty of nappies. And anyway, he doesn’t need to bring toys or books. There are lots at the flat, and at Stanton. You know that.’
She shrugged and set the rucksack down. ‘What had you planned to do over the weekend?’
‘I don’t know. The usual things that dispossessed fathers do. If the weather holds out, we might go to London Zoo. Or we may head down to Stanton this evening and have a peaceful Sunday in the country. What about you two?’
‘Enjoy the peace and quiet,’ murmured Charles. ‘Sorry,’ he added, catching Rachel’s glance. ‘Just a mild pleasantry. I’ve actually booked a table at an extremely new and expensive restaurant for tonight, so while you and Oliver are eating scrambled eggs, or whatever, we will be—’
‘Charles,’ interrupted Rachel suddenly, ‘would you mind getting Oliver’s buggy from the hall and folding it up?’
‘Sure.’ He rose and left the room.
There was silence for a few seconds. Leo, still jiggling Oliver on his knee, picked up a copy of the book and inspected the cover again.
‘Oh, by the way,’ he said, glancing up at Rachel, ‘when do you think we’ll have the last of the statements?’
‘By the end of next week, I hope. Fred has to go up to Scotland to take two, and I have to go back to see some woman in Swanage.’ Leo nodded. ‘What did you make of the Names you met last night?’
Leo put down the book. ‘Much the same as the last lot, but I see what you mean about factions having developed. That’s going to be a pain unless we can sort them out.’
Charles came back into the kitchen with the buggy. ‘What’s this about factions?’
‘Oh, we were just discussing the latest Lloyd’s case. Rachel has very kindly instructed me.’
‘Really?’ Charles glanced at Rachel. ‘You didn’t mention it.’
‘You’ve been in the States for a fortnight. Leo only came into the case last week.’
‘Oh, I see.’
Leo stood up, setting Oliver gently down on the floor. ‘We’d better make tracks, then.’
Charles brought the buggy out to the car, while Leo strapped Oliver into his car seat and loaded the rest of his belongings. Rachel stood on the driveway and waved until the car was out of sight.
She went back into the kitchen, arms folded, her expression thoughtful.
‘That’s going to be cosy,’ remarked Charles. ‘Working on a case with your ex-husband.’ He picked up the mugs and took them to the dishwasher.
Rachel was surprised at the tone of his voice, which was as close to chilly as Charles’ voice ever got. ‘I instructed Leo because he happens to be a very good lawyer,’ she replied. ‘One of the best.’
‘Is that all it is?’ Charles leant against the sink, regarding her.
‘Of course it is! What
on earth are you getting at? Leo and I got divorced last year – remember?’
He held out his arms and she moved towards him and into his embrace. ‘Sorry.’ He kissed the side of her head, stroking her hair. ‘I love you so much. So much. I want it to be the same for you. I don’t want you to think about Leo – ever.’
‘I don’t,’ she lied. ‘Not in that way. He’s Oliver’s father – that’s all.’ She drew back a little and looked into Charles’ eyes. ‘I do love you. I wouldn’t be here with you if I didn’t. You know that.’ It was true. How could she not love someone who was so honest and open and affectionate? All the things that Leo wasn’t.
‘Good. That’s all I need to know.’ He hugged her again, wondered if this was the moment to mention the American thing. No, he decided – best leave it for now.
Sarah woke late. The flat was empty. Lou, her flatmate, had gone to Amsterdam for the weekend. Everything was in a mess, no one had cleaned the bathroom for a week, and Sarah couldn’t be bothered to do it now. She sat by the window in the kitchen with a mug of coffee and last night’s copy of ES, and wondered what to do with her Saturday. Certainly not clean this place up. That could wait till Lou got back. She could ring up friends and see if anyone felt like lunch and shopping, but she’d been spending too much recently. Time to rein things in till next payday.
Her mind drifted to Leo. She found herself thinking about him more than usual these days, which was hardly surprising, given what she had in mind. That last time they’d had a drink together, she’d judiciously played it cool. Perhaps it was time to warm things up a little. Then she remembered – she’d overheard him mentioning to Michael that Oliver was going to be staying with him this weekend. Oh, well …
She gazed down at the quiet street and pondered this. If he was on his own with Oliver, might it not be a clever move to drop in on them, get to know the kid, do a bit of sunny, big sister stuff? Leo, so far as she knew, regarded her in no light other than the sexual and practical. If she wanted to make a husband of him, then he would have to see that there was another dimension to her. With a smile, Sarah finished her coffee and went to shower and dress.
