by Caro Fraser
Leo regarded Anthony for a moment. Could he tell him? God, he longed to talk to someone, longed to unburden himself and share the suspenseful waiting. Anthony would understand. He felt a sudden, sharp surge of affection as he looked at Anthony’s candid, anxious features. Whatever happened, Anthony would always be someone he could talk to. And then, if it came to the worst, he would be there … Leo nodded. ‘Good idea.’
‘Good, I’ll just—’ He broke off, glancing round at Camilla, who was sorting through stacks of bundles with an exasperated Walter. ‘Leo and I are just going round the corner for some lunch. D’you want to join us?’ he asked her.
‘Yes, I’ll be with you in a minute …’ She turned back to Walter. ‘No – it’s the other one, with the yellow tabs …’
Leo glanced at Camilla and then back to Anthony, and after a second’s delay, said suddenly, ‘On second thoughts, there are one or two things I have to attend to in chambers. You two go on without me.’
He felt an unreasonable anger as he left the court. Why did that bloody girl have to come between them? After what he had told her at dinner a couple of weeks ago, he hadn’t expected the relationship with Anthony still to exist. But it would appear that she hadn’t yet ended it. As he crossed through the Strand traffic, Leo tried to assure himself that it was only a matter of time before Camilla and Anthony had ceased to be an item, and he could be assured of the younger man’s exclusive attention and friendship. At that moment he felt it was something he badly needed. But it was not, he reflected darkly, a day for feeling sure of anything. On his way into chambers he bumped into Cameron’s portly figure. ‘By the way,’ Leo said to him, ‘I think it’s about time we called that chambers meeting to discuss the new tenants, don’t you?’ The sooner Camilla had to make her choice – and Leo was pretty sure he knew which way she would choose – the better for everyone.
By the time Leo mounted the broad carpeted staircase to the Harley Street consulting rooms where his fate awaited him, the sense of dread which he had carried about with him all day was so much a part of him that he was scarcely aware of it as a separate emotion. It was by now a permanent state of mind, woven into his consciousness. The doctor’s receptionist smiled her cold, bright smile and asked Leo to take a seat. The minutes ticked by. Leo tried to fill his mind with thoughts of Davenport’s examination that afternoon of one of the underwriting experts, but they trickled away from his mental grasp like so many grains of sand. He sat, utterly blank, waiting.
After five minutes that seemed like eternity, the doctor put his head round the door and looked in Leo’s direction, his smile sufficiently affable to give Leo a faint hope. When the door closed behind them both and he saw the man seat himself at his desk and then look up with the same smile, he knew in an instant that it was all right.
‘Your tests, I’m glad to say, were negative, Mr Davies.’
The next few moments, whatever else passed between them, Leo was almost unaware of. He spoke and smiled mechanically, and left the consulting rooms with a sense of total unreality. Only when he reached the cold air outside on the pavement did he begin to feel human again, receptive to external influences. Rarely, he thought, had he been so consciously thankful for that physical well-being which he had always taken for granted. He thought with fleeting guilt of Francis, but the thought was eclipsed almost instantly by his own vast sense of relief, and after that he did not think of him again.
Freddie was nothing if not diligent. Over the next few weeks he attended the court every day, sitting for long, uncomfortable hours through the examination and cross-examination of streams of expert witnesses – auditors, actuaries, claims handlers, underwriters, American lawyers. In Freddie’s consciousness they blended into one amorphous middle-aged being of indeterminate height, usually balding, with glasses and a droning voice. What the lawyers said to this creature, and what he replied, made little or no sense to Freddie most of the time, although there were occasional spells where he could follow the gist of the thing. But each day seemed to consist largely of a dreary trawl through endless bundles of documents and lists of figures, with references to people and things of which Freddie had never heard. When, he wondered, was Leo going to get that man Capstall on the stand and demand of him why he had perpetrated his gross acts of folly in Freddie’s name, and the names of countless others? That was what this case was all about. The rest of it was just so much padding. He rubbed his eyes with dry, cold fingers and tried to concentrate on what was going on, longing for the luncheon recess so that he could go and have his sandwich and cup of coffee at the tea bar round the corner on the Aldwych. Sir Basil was poring over some document in front of him, a copy of which Anthony, conducting the cross-examination, was quoting from aloud. The man on the witness stand was staring at his own copy of the document with a bored and weary air.
‘This item is obviously a crucial document, Mr Cross,’ said Sir Basil.
‘Indeed, my Lord, it speaks for itself. If I may continue—’
‘I confess to having a little difficulty with the manuscript. Can we go over that part again slowly?’
‘Indeed. If I can go back to page 177, under “asbestos”, the document continues as follows: “There was a review of the movement of incurreds during calendar year 1986. The assumption had been made that this group represented twenty per cent of total deterioration …”’
It was no use, thought Freddie, he didn’t have a clue what they were on about. He sighed and eyed Sir Basil, envying him his apparent ability to follow all this complex evidence so thoroughly, entirely unaware that each evening Sir Basil had to go home and ring up an amenable friend from the Court of Appeal and get him to explain the knottier points to him.
‘I’m going up to town to see my agent this morning,’ Charles told Rachel over breakfast. ‘We can catch the train together.’
‘You’d better hurry,’ remarked Rachel. Charles hadn’t yet shaved and was still in his dressing gown, and she couldn’t see him getting ready to leave the house in twenty minutes. She sometimes wished that Charles wasn’t quite so sloppy about things. He must be the worst timekeeper in the world, and if there was one thing she couldn’t stand, it was having to wait while someone else dawdled around.
He got up from the table, but not with any particular briskness. ‘Bags of time,’ he said cheerfully, rubbing a hand over his chin and smiling at Oliver. Then he went off whistling to run the hot water. Rachel picked up the plates from the table and suppressed a sigh, convinced that he was going to make her late for the train. She particularly wanted to get to work on time, because she had a mass of paperwork to sort through before lunchtime, when she would be seeing Leo. She had rung him yesterday and arranged to see him briefly today. Now that she and Charles were living together, she wanted to sort things out, arrange for a divorce as soon as possible, and set herself entirely free from the past eighteen months and the misery of loving someone like Leo. She thought fondly of Charles as she picked Oliver up from his high chair, reflecting on how much pleasanter he was to live with than Leo. Not quite so tidy, of course, nor so personally fastidious, but she was pretty sure, given time, that she could change all that.
Charles had found that he generally came up with some of his most inspirational thoughts whilst shaving. The task was so boring that it usually generated a free flow of creative ideas. This morning, however, he found himself preoccupied with thoughts of himself and Rachel. It was over a month since he had asked her to come and live with him, and everything had been very pleasant since. But he had begun to wonder whether she was quite in tune with his way of living. She was terribly tidy. In one way that was a good thing – at least he didn’t have to scour the house for the Radio Times or waste time swearing and hunting for the car keys. She made sure everything was always in its proper place, the rooms were always tidy, cushions on the sofas, no newspapers littering chairs and tables. But in another way it was incredibly irritating. Charles had not realised until now that swearing and hunting for the ca
r keys were part of a ritual for him, something almost therapeutic, and ultimately rewarding in a small way. It was a little dull to know that from now on they would always, always be in that ceramic pot on the kitchen dresser. He sighed and plunged his razor into the water, then scraped mechanically at his chin. Still, everyone had their own ways, and adoring her as he did, it must all be worth it. He just wished that he could put from his mind the casual remark which she had uttered last night, about how he should perhaps cut down on his drinking. Now that had worried him.
They had come at last to the day for which Freddie had waited so patiently. Admittedly Leo had had Capstall on the stand for all of the previous day, but that had been merely to take him through a variety of documents and letters, all just stuff leading up to the real issues. There had been some interesting moments, but Freddie was convinced that today they would get to the heart of the thing, that Leo would get Capstall to demonstrate to all the world what a charlatan he was, and to admit that everything he had done had been negligent in the extreme. He noticed, as he edged his way into his seat, that Basher was there, and Mrs Hunter, and Cochrane, and a handful of other Names whom he vaguely recognised. They had come today, of course, though they couldn’t be bothered to show much interest in the rest of the proceedings. Freddie felt a faint pride at the thought that he, and he alone, had been up to the task of coming every day, seeing the thing through properly.
Anthony sat listening to the buzz and murmur of voices as everyone in court sat waiting for the proceedings to commence. Was he imagining it, or could he detect a heightened tension, an air of excitement that was not usually there? He glanced round, and saw that there were many more people in the public benches than usual. Everyone regarded Leo’s cross-examination of Capstall as the key to their case, wanted to see and hear for themselves what the man had to say in defence or explanation of his actions. Above all, they wanted Leo to get him to admit that he had acted recklessly and arrogantly in the manner of his underwriting, which had ruined so many. If Leo could do that, thought Anthony, then they would be well on their way to winning. But, of course, in the end it all depended on the view that Sir Basil took. It was hard to tell, so far, whether he was sympathetic to the Names or not. At that moment Sir Basil himself entered the court to take his place on the Bench, and Anthony and everyone else rose mechanically. Sir Basil’s own sister and brother-in-law, reflected Anthony, had been badly hit by Lloyd’s, so it was fair to assume he would tend to take the Names’ part. But one could never be sure. It would be nice, thought Anthony as he resumed his seat, to have a bit of an indication of what Sir Basil’s real feelings were.
After a few seconds Alan Capstall mounted the steps to the witness stand. He was a tall, well-built man in his mid fifties, expensively dressed, but not remarkable in any way. He looked out at the court with a bland expression, endeavouring to appear matter-of-fact, but there was no mistaking the swift, wary look in his eyes as he glanced from Sir Basil to Leo, who had risen to his feet to resume his cross-examination of the previous day. So far Leo had been the soul of smiling courtesy, but it was this very fact that made Capstall uneasy. If anything, he felt he would have fared better in an aggressive atmosphere, could have risen to a scathing challenge or outright offensive. But Leo’s polite, dry manner made him feel foxed and defensive.
‘Yes, Mr Davies?’ said Sir Basil, when everybody appeared settled.
Leo smiled at Capstall, who did not smile in reply. ‘Good morning, Mr Capstall,’ said Leo easily. ‘Mr Capstall, I would just like to ask you one or two more questions on the topic of the responsibility of the writing of the run-off contracts and your involvement in it …’
Here we go, thought Anthony, preparing to take notes. Here was the long, slow run-in. He wondered whether Leo would try to nail him before lunch, or leave it until later. All in all, it was going to be an interesting day.
For the next two hours Leo worked diligently, taking Capstall through documents and letters, harping on the topic of reasonable exposure and unquantifiable risks, pushing further and further towards the question of Capstall’s own imprudent behaviour. It was all done with politeness and patience and masterly skill and, by the time the lunchtime adjournment came, Leo felt that he had his end in sight, that the pressure which he had begun to apply would show results in the afternoon. As Capstall stepped down from the stand and the lawyers began to gather up their papers, he glanced at his watch. Today wasn’t the best of days for Rachel to pick, but he had said he would see her at the main entrance to the Law Courts. He thought he had a good idea what she wanted to say.
As he glanced round, he noted with a sudden flash of pleasure that Charles was there, chatting to Freddie and Basher at the courtroom door. He hadn’t been there at the beginning of the day, so he must have slipped in during the morning. The rush of excitement which he felt was quite exhilarating, and he hoped that Charles would be there for the afternoon. Charles glanced across, saw Leo and smiled.
‘Good stuff,’ he said, as Leo approached. ‘You’ve got the bastard looking very jittery.’
‘Well, we’ll see what the afternoon brings,’ said Leo, trying not to let his gaze rest for too long on the features which he had come to love.
‘I don’t see why you have to be quite so polite to the damned scoundrel,’ muttered Freddie, who had hoped to see blood by now.
‘Oh, I have my methods. Courtesy and patience, you know.’
‘Not what I’d give him, if I had my way,’ said Freddie. ‘Come on, Snodgrass, let’s find some lunch. Good luck this afternoon,’ he added to Leo.
Charles gave a chuckle as Freddie and Basher made off, and at the sound and sight of him Leo felt that he could do anything that day, just so long as Charles was there. Then he remembered Rachel. The pleasure of Charles’s company would have to wait until later.
‘I’m sorry we can’t have a bite of lunch together. I’m meeting someone in a few moments,’ said Leo.
Charles shrugged. ‘I hadn’t actually meant to be here till this afternoon. I came up to see my agent, but things got messed up. Come on, let’s walk out together.’
Charles was so involved in conversation with Leo that he didn’t notice Rachel at first, standing at the foot of the steps leading down from the Law Courts, wrapped against the cold in a long camel coat, the wind whipping strands of dark hair about her face. When he did notice her, he was pleased but not particularly surprised. This was her stamping ground, so to speak. He left Leo’s side, and went forward and kissed her.
‘You just can’t let me out of your sight for more than a few hours, can you?’ he said, smiling and giving her a sideways hug. Then he glanced at Leo. He and Rachel were staring at one another in a sort of frozen way. ‘I don’t think you know Leo Davies, do you—?’ he began, but before he could complete the introduction Rachel broke in, her face stony. She had seen too late who Leo’s companion was. The situation was one which she would just have to face. But this was not the way she had wanted Leo to find out about Charles, or Charles about Leo.
‘Yes, I do,’ she said simply. ‘He’s my husband.’ She turned to Charles. ‘I thought you said you were seeing your agent this morning?’
‘I was,’ said Charles very slowly, his mind trying to absorb what she had just said. ‘He had some sort of domestic crisis, so I came over to court to see how things …’ He let his words tail away, then looked from Leo to Rachel. Good God. So it was Leo. He was the chap who slept with blokes and shagged the nanny. Good God. He looked from Rachel’s white, mortified face to Leo’s grim one, and for a moment all three stood in an astonished and uncomfortable tableau.
Leo, recovering from his shock and disbelief, put it all together in an instant, marvelling at how simply the pieces fitted. The kiss, the way Rachel had spoken to Charles, mentioning his agent – that casual domesticity betrayed everything. Charles was her lover. She must be living with him, she and Oliver. It was where she had automatically gone the day that she had left him. How long had the t
hing been going on? he wondered. Months? How long had he been pathetically deluding himself with his infatuation, lusting after Charles, hoping? The sense of shock, of humiliation, was appalling, cavernous.
He turned to look at Charles. Charles was smiling. Charles was positively grinning. And after a few seconds in which Charles tried to contain his feelings, he positively exploded with laughter. He laughed with his whole body, throwing back his head and hooting with mirth. He laughed so uproariously and helplessly at the ludicrous situation in which he found himself that passers-by turned and looked at his tall figure, grinning slightly at the infectiousness of his laughter. Then he managed to control himself long enough to clap Leo lightly on the back and say, ‘I imagine you two have a few things to talk about.’ And, still laughing, he walked off, leaving Leo and Rachel looking at one another.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
When he came back into court after lunch, Anthony had a distinctly unsettled feeling. At lunchtime Camilla had said she wanted to speak to him at the end of the day, making it sound as though it was something serious and difficult. He only hoped she wasn’t pregnant. And then Leo. He had passed Leo just after this morning’s session, standing on the pavement outside the Law Courts with Rachel and Charles Beecham. He had almost stopped to say hello, but there was something about the atmosphere, the way all three were looking at one another, that had told Anthony it wasn’t the time or the place. What could that have been about? he wondered. Then as Anthony had carried on across the Strand he’d heard Charles burst out laughing behind him, so he’d assumed it was all right, whatever it was they were discussing. Now, as he looked at Leo’s face, he knew there was something distinctly wrong.
Leo, as he sat trying to focus his concentration on the business ahead of him, could feel Anthony eyeing him with concern. It must show, he knew. But in the light of what had just happened, it was hard to keep one’s expression light and untroubled. The very worst thing – worse than the farcicality of the whole business, or the stark humiliation he felt – was the catastrophic timing. Were the fates in some sort of conspiracy against him? First those rumours about himself and Anthony which had been maliciously designed to unsettle the start of the case, then that chilling scare from Francis, and now this. He tried to rationalise it, put it in proportion. What was it, after all? Merely that his wife had found another man – which, Rachel being the woman she was, and in the light of events, was hardly surprising. So the man had turned out to be Charles, the object of his own hopes and affections. What did that signify, beyond disappointment, and an evaporation of cherished hopes? Nothing. Had it not been for the pure surprise of the thing, he might, under other circumstances, have been able to find the whole thing as ridiculous as Charles obviously had. But the thought of the love which he had genuinely borne for Charles these past few months gave him a wrench of pain. No, he must not allow it to touch him in that way, must treat the matter lightly. He shook his head as if to clear it, and was conscious of Anthony, sitting only inches away, glancing guardedly at him again. He turned to him, and saw in his eyes an expression of such candid concern that he suddenly found himself able to lean close to him and murmur in a low, conversational tone, ‘Do you know what?’
