by Caro Fraser
‘Very well, actually. I’m about to start putting together a paper on mycotoxins in food cargoes,’ replied Rachel. It struck her for the first time how much she liked Charles’s voice, which seemed to be racy yet relaxed at the same time.
‘Now that,’ said Charles, ‘sounds fantastically boring. Just the thing to take my mind off the Shang dynasties in twelfth-century BC. I feel I need to go into a catatonic state just to wind down. Why don’t we have lunch together, and while you talk to me about those thingies in cargoes I can drink too much wine and let my eyes glaze over.’ And feast themselves upon you, he thought. He had had several vivid and erotic fantasies about Rachel since she had stayed at his house over Christmas, and on the more metaphysical side had felt distinct pangs each time he passed the window seat in his drawing room. With any luck, he told himself, relations between her and her husband might have deteriorated even further. Not a charitable thought, he knew, but sometimes one had to press the worst kind of hopes into service in the cause of a successful seduction.
Rachel laughed. It was wonderful, talking to a man who amused you. Leo had once, when he had cared to. Thinking of this, she remembered the deal which they had struck about leading separate lives. There could be no harm in having lunch with Charles, could there? Yet she knew that even having to ask herself that question was an indication that she did not entirely trust her own feelings where Charles was concerned. And she was well aware that Charles’s intentions regarding their relationship were not of an entirely platonic nature. Still, it would simply be a question of making sure the thing stayed purely friendly. ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘I’d like that.’ She flipped through the pages of her desk diary. ‘Next week doesn’t look too busy.’
‘No,’ replied Charles firmly. ‘Now that you’ve said yes, I want to see you as soon as possible. Waiting till next week would be pure torment.’ No harm in a little positive flirtation, thought Charles. Can’t pretend to be too platonic and matey, or the signals get distorted. She’s got to fancy me a bit, after all, even if she thinks we’re just good friends. ‘In fact, today – no, can’t do today. Tomorrow. How about tomorrow?’
Rachel laughed, a little taken aback. ‘Well, it’s a little sudden, but I suppose …’
‘Excellent,’ said Charles briskly. ‘Caprice. You know Le Caprice? Let’s say twelve-thirty. How’s that?’ They might not have a table at such short notice, but he’d just have to pull rank, play the Channel Four celebrity card. In fact, he’d pop into the restaurant personally on his way back from the studio later today. A smile known to work miracles should be put to good use.
‘Fine,’ said Rachel. ‘I’ll see you then.’ And Charles, in his mercurial fashion, hung up and was gone.
That evening, Sarah was sitting in her favourite wine bar with a handful of friends. It was eight-thirty; she knew she should be preparing for that tutorial on letters of credit and documentary transfers tomorrow morning, but she couldn’t be bothered. If she smiled seductively at Benjamin, that swot with the overactive sebaceous glands in her tutorial group, he would let her copy out his work and, with a few subtle amendments, she could pass it off as her own. He had been getting a bit iffy about that lately, and she might have to resort to something a little more tantalising than smiling to keep him sweet. Not an appetising thought, but anything was better than staying home working every night. Not that she had any intention of failing her Bar finals. She would wait until the exams were four weeks away, and then get her head down. As these thoughts passed through her mind, she turned and glanced with mild interest at the newcomer to the group whom someone was introducing, casually appraising him with her habitual half-smile. He was tall, with a lazy, sardonic face, and dark hair which fell over his eyes, which he pushed back every so often with his hand. He sat down next to Sarah with his drink. He put out his hand and she shook it.
‘You’re a solicitor? Which firm do you work for?’ asked Sarah.
‘More Church,’ replied the man. ‘Know it?’
‘Vaguely,’ replied Sarah, raising her glass to drink, aware that she was being subjected to an appraisal every bit as arrogant as her own. She noticed that the man had a pleasantly drawling voice of the public school variety, which she always found something of a turn-on. To her it betokened a superb indifference, which she preferred to everyday demonstrations of polite interest. Those bored her. She added, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.’
‘Richard Crouch,’ he replied.
‘What kind of work do you do?’
‘Oh, shipping, commercial stuff … Actually, I’m involved in the Lloyd’s litigation at the moment. Acting for a firm of auditors, Marples and Clark.’
Sarah’s glance narrowed imperceptibly. ‘You mean this Capstall thing – where the Names on his syndicate are suing the managing agents, and everyone else in sight?’
Richard glanced at her in slight surprise, but without adjusting his pose of casual unconcern. ‘Are you familiar with the case?’
‘Hmm.’ Sarah smiled and let her glance slide away. ‘You might say that.’ And as she thought of Anthony, not without a tiny pang of bitterness, one of those coincidences of thought and event occurred, and she looked towards the doorway and saw Anthony himself coming into the wine bar with Camilla. They went to sit at a table near the window, while Sarah and her friends were tucked further back in the smokey recesses, but still she could see him quite clearly. Her pulse quickened slightly at the surprise of encountering him. She had imagined they might bump into each other before now in the confines of the Temple, but this was, in fact, the first time she had seen him since they had spoken on the phone. Her attention distracted from the man at her side, she watched as Anthony said something to Camilla, then reached out and put his hand over hers before getting up and going over to the bar. Sarah turned away quickly, anxious, for some reason she could not presently fathom, not to be seen by either Anthony or Camilla.
She turned back to Richard Crouch. ‘I’m sorry – what were you saying?’
‘It was what you were saying, actually – about the Capstall case.’
‘Oh—’ Sarah hesitated, glanced briefly again at Anthony as he walked back to his table with a bottle of wine and two glasses. ‘Oh, yes … I …’ She was about to say that she knew someone who was involved in it, and then she was fleetingly touched by malicious inspiration. ‘Actually,’ she said slowly, mischievously, catching Richard’s eye, ‘I heard something rather interesting the other day about a couple of the barristers who are working on that case.’
Richard’s lazy expression brightened. Like all City solicitors, he relished good gossip. He raised his glass and drank, his eyes on Sarah’s face, and murmured, ‘Do tell me.’
‘Well,’ Sarah leant forward and lowered her voice slightly, ‘apparently the two counsel who are acting for the Names have been having a bit of a fling together.’
He stared at her in mild but genuine astonishment. ‘The two instructed by Nichols and Co? But that’s Leo Davies and – and – what’s the other chap’s name?’
‘Oh, I forget,’ murmured Sarah. ‘They’re in the same chambers. Anthony something.’
‘Cross. Anthony Cross,’ recalled Richard. ‘Good grief. You mean they’re actually …?’
Sarah shrugged. ‘Apparently. It’s what I’ve heard. Quite a passionate affair, by all accounts.’
At that moment another man appeared and tapped Richard on the shoulder. ‘Come on. I booked that table for half eight.’
Richard glanced up at him and drained his glass. Then he said to Sarah, ‘Sorry, have to go. Meeting some friends for dinner. Anyway …’ He paused, looking at her thoughtfully. ‘It was interesting talking to you. See you again, perhaps.’
‘Bye,’ murmured Sarah, half-smiling. She watched him leave. Then she sat back in her chair, musing, wondering how long it would take that little breath of scandal to seep through the ranks of barristers and solicitors working on the Capstall case. If her judgment of Mr Crouch was correct, she
imagined it would not be very long.
The next day Charles sat waiting for Rachel in the restaurant, trying to concentrate on the newspaper which he had brought with him, glancing up each time someone came through the door, his heart taking a little dive of disappointment when it wasn’t her. A number of women diners glanced across occasionally at the lanky, good-looking man in the corner with the greying blonde hair, vaguely recognising his features and trying to place him, but he was oblivious of their attention. He felt exactly as he had done when he was sixteen, and had waited forty-five minutes outside the fish and chip shop in Richmond High Street for the girl he had thought would be the love of his life. Valerie. He would never forget her. She hadn’t showed up. Maybe Rachel wouldn’t show up either. He sighed, returned to his paper, and was just becoming interested in an item about genetic engineering in tomatoes when she appeared. He hadn’t even seen her come in. Suddenly she was just there, smiling down at him, and he scrambled away his paper and stood up, leaning across to kiss her. Heads in the restaurant turned again.
As she sat down, he marvelled at how vivid and compelling the reality of her was. His imperfect recollections of her were insipid by comparison. She was wearing her hair tied back, revealing her long, slender neck, and was wearing some woollen, clinging dress of greyish blue. She looked older, more sophisticated than she had done in shirt and jeans, and Charles felt faintly intimidated by her composure. He had no idea that Rachel had spent twenty minutes that morning deciding what to wear, or that her apparently serene manner now was due to nervous restraint. She had told herself that she had no business worrying about what to wear. It was only lunch with a friend, after all. Why, then, had she felt a faint tremor of guilt as she fastened on the silver filigree necklace which Leo had given her the Christmas before last, when she had supposed him still in love with her?
But any faint troublings of her conscience were eclipsed now by the sight of Charles. He smiled his broad, captivating smile, but without his usual self-conscious intent.
‘You look—’ The appropriate superlative eluded him. ‘Very well,’ said Charles, gazing at her, then glancing away as if in search of a waiter, in case his admiration was too obvious.
‘Thank you,’ replied Rachel. ‘I think I’m a great deal better than when I last saw you.’
Again his heart took a little tumble off the springboard. Oh God, she and her husband were back together again, everything was sorted out, and he was going to have to sit through an agonising lunch listening to a rhapsodic account of how perfect her marriage was. He needed a drink. Forcing a smile, he asked, ‘You mean everything’s all right now? With your husband, I mean?’ It really was ridiculous the effect that she had on him. Charles Beecham, the suave media personality, the handsome Lothario, reduced to a mass of nervous longing by this cool creature.
Rachel glanced away dismissively. That was one subject she definitely wanted to steer clear of. ‘No, nothing’s changed there. Apart from the fact that we’ve agreed to the truce I told you about. He leads his life and I lead mine. Now’ – she smiled, picked up the menu and scanned it – ‘let’s forget all that and talk about something pleasant.’
Over lunch they talked easily, animatedly. Rachel asked about his children and his work, and Charles, especially after his second glass of wine, basked in the knowledge that he was being amusing and scintillating, and that she was enjoying herself. He loved the way her blue eyes seemed to grow even more incandescent when he made her laugh, so he tried to do it as often as possible. And when Rachel was explaining to him the mysteries of toxic mould growth in food cargoes, he was able to sit and take pleasure in simply watching her, without listening to a word she said. At one point she broke off, smiling, and shook her head.
‘You’re not remotely interested in any of this, are you?’
He sat back, arms folded. ‘Not in the least. But I could spend all day listening to you. So long as I’m not expected to take notes and answer questions afterwards, that is.’ He paused, then said softly, musingly, ‘Do you know how incredibly beautiful you are?’
Rachel ducked her head slightly, looking away. She was not accustomed to being talked to in such a way, and had none of the usual skills of female repartee with which to respond. ‘No,’ she murmured. ‘At least, I don’t think I am.’ She looked round quickly for the waiter. ‘I really think I could do with more coffee,’ she added.
Charles, watching her, suddenly realised that lunch was nearly over, and that, apart from being amusing and companionable, he had not advanced his cause one whit. Instinct took over, and he surprised even himself by using a tactic which he had not employed for years. He leant forward, caught her gaze, and said in no more than a murmur, ‘Don’t laugh at this, but I have fallen terribly in love with you.’ He did not smile, and the words, the earnestness of his voice, astonished Rachel. For several long seconds neither said anything, but as they looked at one another, each was conscious of an honesty of exchanged emotion. Good God, thought Charles, maybe it’s true. Maybe I actually am in love with her. Not just fancying her, or lusting after her, but completely and helplessly nuts about her.
Rachel managed to glance away. ‘No, you’re not,’ she said faintly. That he had spoken as he had, that they had looked at one another so candidly, had made her realise just how dishonest she had been about her possible feelings for this man. All it had taken were those few words, and she felt intensely vulnerable. Oh, just to be loved by someone as kind and easy as he was … But she pushed the thought aside. There was still Leo. There would always be Leo. Charles was the kind of man who probably made love to as many women as took his fancy. It was nothing more than that.
His voice went on, earnest and gentle. She had never heard him speak like this before, and was surprised at how easily it moved her. ‘I’m going away on Saturday. To China. For this series. Can I see you again before then?’ he asked. The atmosphere between them was suddenly charged, and he decided to see how much emotional capital there was to be made out of keeping it at this pitch. No frivolity.
She looked at him. ‘No,’ she said, and knew instantly that she spoke against her will. But what else could she do? While there was Leo, still the possibility of a future with him, there could be no question of letting anyone else into her life. And Charles, she sensed, was dangerous.
‘When I get back, then? I’m only going for three weeks.’
She hesitated. ‘I’ll be away. At this conference. But I couldn’t, anyway. Look, Charles—’
‘Don’t. Don’t try to tell me that this is nonsense. You have no idea—’ He broke off, his gaze still fastened on her face, then suddenly smiled ruefully. ‘I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. I can’t bear to see you looking at me in that guarded, unhappy way. Look, forget what I said and just – just behave as though I had never said anything. Please. Too much wine, got carried away by your intoxicating presence. Now, smile at me. Please?’ He looked so droll and pleading that she could not help but smile. A tension within her relaxed. ‘Good,’ he said, deciding to steer the atmosphere back to sunnier waters, pleased with the way in which matters had significantly intensified. ‘But no matter what you say, I have to see you again. If only to continue the seminar on mould growth, or whatever it was.’ He motioned to the waiter for the bill. ‘I’ll call you.’ She opened her mouth to speak again, possibly in protest, and before she could say anything he added, ‘I don’t care how often you say no, I’ll keep calling.’ He gave a carefree smile. ‘Now that I’ve found you, I have absolutely no intention of letting you go.’ When he said this, Rachel was conscious of feeling a mixture of helplessness and anxiety. If only everything could be entirely beyond her control, in the way that he suggested. But life wasn’t like that, she knew.
Lunch finished in the same companionable way in which it had begun, but there was no escaping the new emotional element which Charles had introduced. He kissed her goodbye in the same brotherly fashion as before, and the hand which he raised as her taxi drove away was
no more than the casual salutation of one friend to another. But as she tried to marshal her concentration at work that afternoon, Rachel’s mind kept slipping back to the things he had said in those few profound moments, and the expression in his eyes, and each time she felt a delicious and irrepressible thrill at the recollection. As for Charles, as he ambled back into the restaurant for another glass of wine and a quick chat with some friends he had caught sight of in a corner, he felt well pleased with the day’s doings.
That evening Leo came home tired and dispirited. He felt as though he had been wading through run-off contracts for half a lifetime, and the Capstall case, which had seemed so attractive in its significance at the outset, was beginning to oppress him. It consumed every waking moment, and, although the spirit of determination with which he fought every case was in no way dimmed, he longed for some variety in his working day, some change of pace. The total absorption which the case demanded gave him an odd sense of isolation, which was heightened by the fact that he now felt oddly cut off from Anthony, who spent most of his free time with Camilla. As he parked the car and locked it, Leo reflected on this, ruefully acknowledging to himself that he found it difficult, as he had always done, to accept that anyone should displace him in Anthony’s life.
He paused by the car, staring up at the blank windows of his big house. God, he thought. Only four years ago he had been in love with Anthony, and even though it had never amounted to anything in the long run, he had always supposed himself to be paramount in the younger man’s affections. Not even Rachel had stood between them, ever. Oh, Anthony had thought she had, but Leo had known otherwise. And now there was this girl. Leo tossed the car keys lightly in the palm of his hand, staring down at them, thinking coldly of Camilla. He would be a fool to let Anthony make the same mistake that he had made. He knew Anthony, knew his susceptibility. The best thing for Anthony would be to remain single, uncommitted, leading his own life, instead of getting caught up in the tangle of other people’s. He glanced up again and saw the light come on in Oliver’s room, then Jennifer drawing the curtains. He sighed and let himself into the house.
