James burst into Felix’s office.
‘I’m fucked,’ he said. The tic below his eye was working furiously. ‘Fucked, fucked, fucked.’
He paced around the room trying to find the words to explain. Felix had a fair idea what was coming but he waited for his friend to tell him.
‘There is no kitty. They have just bought some fandangled new osmosis filtration thing that Mark didn’t need last year but apparently had to have now.’
Felix slowly shook his head. James didn’t have to ask what that meant. He knew. In the pit of his acid-churning stomach, he knew. The sweat broke out on his forehead.
‘There is no money to pay out Lloyd’s. Felix, does that mean what I think it does? Tell me I’m wrong.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Tell me it’s not what I think.’
Felix started smoothing his hair. His voice became even quieter. James had to lean forward to hear what he was saying. He felt icy fingers of dread along his skin.
‘I’m sorry, James. Lloyd’s want their money. And in cash. They don’t want a third share in a winery, no matter how much promise it shows. Whatever your share is worth they want it in cash. If you don’t have it, they will force you to sell the business to get it. And they are legally able to do that.’
James heard Felix’s voice coming to him from what seemed to be a long distance. Confirmation of the ramifications hit him in the chest as a physical blow. He had trouble getting the breath into his lungs. There didn’t seem to be enough of it in the room. He leaned forward, his head between his knees, looking for relief. If he could just get some air. The blood rushed through his ears loudly and painfully. He could feel his heart straining in his chest. Panic threatened to overwhelm him.
James breathed slowly and deeply, concentrating on each breath. He wasn’t having a heart attack, he told himself. He almost felt disappointment. He accepted that he was in Felix’s office, facing a disaster and he just had to deal with it.
‘What are you saying?’ he asked finally, his voice hoarse. James hoped Felix wouldn’t say it, make it real.
‘James, your family is going to lose the vineyard.’
*
In the centre of Leo’s living room was a console. It was the nerve centre of his penthouse apartment and from here he could feast on a 360 degree view of Sydney, as well as dictate his world. He turned the living room lights up, the air-conditioning off and selected a CD, one of eight already loaded into the Bang & Olufsen player discreetly tucked into a wall unit. Carmina Burana rang out, triumphant and vivacious. Leo pottered around the huge apartment, absorbing the power and grandeur of the music.
He unzipped his sailing bag and pulled everything out, tossing dirty polo shirts and socks towards the laundry as he hummed, breaking into Latin for the sections he knew and translating them in his head into English. He set aside a round brass clock, shaped like a porthole, that he had removed from the boat. It had stopped working and he planned to pull it apart later on.
… via lata gradior more iuventutis (I travel the broad path as is the way of youth) …
The music built to a crescendo of powerful pagan sensuality which he allowed to rise within him.
… implicor et vitiis immemor virtutis (I give myself to vice, unmindful of virtue) …
He picked up his old sailing jumper. Like most sailors, Leo was superstitious and wouldn’t sail out of the marina without this necessary favourite. It was grey, stretched out of shape and had been hand-knitted in cable-stitch by his mother for his father over twenty years ago. Leo forced himself to put it out for the cleaning lady, Mrs Rossetti, to hand-wash every six months or so.
The smell of perfume wafted to his nostrils as he lifted it. It was her perfume. He had lent her his jumper briefly in the tree, when he feared she might be cold. He loved seeing her in it. Then she had taken it off and sprinted up the path, out of sight. Leo buried his nose in the wool.
… voluptatis avidus magis quam salutis (I am eager for the pleasures of the flesh more than for salvation) …
It gave such a faint, delicious hint of that woman. It was an intoxicating scent that had filled his head when he nuzzled between her breasts. It was tantalising to remember it, to try to recapture it. The memory, like the traces of her perfume, was potent but ethereal. The more he tried to grasp it, the further out of his reach it retreated.
He carefully set the jumper aside. Mrs Rossetti wouldn’t be getting it this week.
Thursday, 7 February 1991
Leo was early for the scheduled lunch with his accountant. He had found a taxi easily, the traffic had been unusually light, even the traffic lights had continually turned green as they approached. Leo laughed out loud. The whole universe was conspiring in his favour it seemed. So the old saying was true, all the world loved a lover.
He sat patiently at the table, bantering with the waiter Bepi as he juggled dishes and diners around the room. Leo’s mood was infectious and Bepi’s own bad humour, brought on by too little sleep and too many customers, dissipated. Leo found himself grinning.
‘You’re sure in a good mood today,’ Bepi said. ‘Did you win lotto or something?’
Leo laughed. ‘Something like that.’
Leo thought of those large brown eyes that could be so sad and vulnerable one minute and full of mischief the next. He remembered her teeth biting into his shoulder and the sensations that had shuddered through his body. He wondered what she was doing right at that moment. He hoped she was thinking of him. For the past few days, since they had come down out of the tree and gone off in their different directions, she had been constantly in his mind, hovering there whether she was the subject of his thoughts or not.
He had never before felt this way about a woman. Usually they fell for him while he kept his heart safely tucked away. Married women, he had found, were a lot less complicated. They knew the rules of the game even better. They didn’t demand all his time and energy and the endings were less messy. But that was before he met her, she of the lilting voice and laughing eyes. Leo wanted to give her all his time and energy. He wanted to climb back up that tree and stay there.
He explored his emotions. Joy. Euphoria. He planned to feel this way forever. He looked around him and was overcome with pity for everyone else in the room because they couldn’t share this bliss.
He sat back in the chair and allowed Bepi to light his cigarette and pour him a glass of chianti. He didn’t mind being kept waiting. He would be happy to daydream the rest of the afternoon away. And if he hadn’t had classes he would have.
Leo was so absorbed with his thoughts he didn’t even notice the pretty blonde woman at the neighbouring table as she played suggestively with the stem of her wine glass, casting him flirty looks from under long thick eyelashes. Bepi noticed and hoped his favourite customer was all right. He really didn’t seem to be himself today.
Finally Felix arrived, flustered and frowning.
‘Sorry I’m late.’
Leo, not the least bit fussed, tried to put him at ease. ‘Relax, I’ve only just arrived myself.’
Felix was a long way from being relaxed. As he took off his suit jacket Leo noticed large saddlebags of sweat spreading from each underarm across his back. When he was seated he kept running his fingers through his short hair.
Leo poured him a glass of wine. ‘This will make you feel better.’
It didn’t. Felix felt sick to the core. Seeing Leo so jovial didn’t help. Felix was fairly certain he could wipe that smile off his face without too much effort. He had become used to doing that in the past few weeks. Some clients needed more explanation than others. Some had been angry with Felix, others bewildered, one couple wanted to fight Lloyd’s all the way. Felix felt personally responsible for them all. The toll of such a burden was beginning to tell.
Leo prattled on about sailing, excited about some race he had won. Felix had trouble concentrating on what he was saying. He didn’t care much for sailing himself. Too much water. Leo enquired after business and
Felix at last saw his opening. He brought a file out from his briefcase and placed it on the table.
‘How long have I been managing your affairs?’ he began.
‘Eight years. Since I was twenty. Two years after my parents died.’
Felix nodded.
‘You’ve been a great client, Leo. You’ve always taken my advice and I hope that over the years I’ve given you good advice.’
‘Hey, Felix, I’m happy. Always have been. You sound so serious. What’s this all about?’
Felix opened the file and took out some papers. Leo noticed they carried the letterhead Lloyd’s of London. Leo remembered leaving a meeting about Lloyd’s just … when was it … three weeks ago? That’s right. And what a good thing he had, he thought with a smile. That was when he had met her. Quite simply the sexiest woman alive.
Lost in his private reverie Leo missed some of what Felix was saying. He pulled his mind back. ‘… I don’t know what the individual exposure will be. But I have to be honest with you, Leo, it doesn’t look good.’
So one of his investments had gone belly up. Is that what was upsetting Felix? Leo was a wealthy man but he paid scant attention to the details, leaving that in Felix’s capable hands. And Leo had no reason to doubt he was doing a good job.
Leo lived a conservative life, spending most of his time attending lectures, studying in the university library or pottering about on his boat. In the two years following his parents’ death when he was eighteen he had been overwhelmed by financial matters that needed to be attended to, so he had turned to that financial whiz from his school days, Felix Butterworth. In their fifth year of secondary school Leo had paid Felix to do a couple of economics assignments and had been delighted to score high distinctions. When he needed real life financial advice, Felix was the obvious choice. He had told Felix how much he needed to live on and received a generous income to cover it. A few years later when he wanted to buy an apartment, he had bought the nicest one he could find that was within walking distance of the Cruising Yacht Club and Felix had arranged payment. Leo was confident that everything else was being invested and reinvested, which suited him just fine. He was free to get on with what really interested him.
Leo didn’t know how much he was worth and it never occurred to him to ask. He had been a Lloyd’s name for six years, as his father had been before him. His complacency about his wealth was the result of being born into it. Leo’s parents, who were in their forties when he was born, hadn’t been flashy people and money was seldom discussed in the family home. They were academics, interested in the pursuit of knowledge and the world of ideas.
Leo, as he had been taught, accepted wealth as his due and then never gave it another thought. He knew his money was spread across many different businesses from shopping centres to hotels to ultra-conservative stocks and bonds.
Now it seemed one of the investments had gone bad. He wasn’t about to lose sleep over it. But he would humour Felix, who really did take such things far too seriously. To be fair, thought Leo, that was what he paid him for.
‘How much do I have invested with Lloyd’s?’ asked Leo.
‘It’s not that simple,’ replied Felix. ‘There’s just no way of telling at this stage.’
‘Bottom line, Felix. What’s the worst-case scenario?’
‘I don’t know. I just don’t know. I think you may have to sell off some other investments. And it’s not the best time to sell, with what is happening in Asia. But your investments are so varied I think you can weather it. It just depends how much they want from you and at what price I can get them to settle. I won’t know that for another few weeks, maybe months.’
Nothing Felix said had caused Leo any alarm. But his fierce expression and obvious agitation did. His skin colour wasn’t good and his eyes were bloodshot. Leo thought that Felix needed to lighten up. Find a girl. Fall in love. Leo thought he owed it to his friend to tell him, to try and share his own new-found joy.
‘Felix, there is more to life than money. I know it’s not exactly an original line but I can’t think how else to put it. Money is just money. It’s the other things, the things that are harder to define, that make the difference between being truly happy and just existing.’ Leo warmed to his theme. He was aware of a profound change occurring in his own life and he struggled to express it in words. ‘Perhaps you can only really appreciate that when life shows it to you individually. Happiness is like a precious gift. You know it when you are given it. You can’t chase it. You just look up one day and realise you have it. It’s when you stand outside yourself, when you lose yourself.’
Felix was looking at him with complete bewilderment and some impatience. Leo sighed at the expression on his face. He realised that to his business-minded accountant who was trying to give him some bad news, he was sounding half mad. Leo chuckled to himself. He didn’t mind how he sounded.
‘Do whatever you have to do. Just leave me my boat and a roof over my head. Can you promise me that?’
Leo was joking, and laughed as he called for the bill. He was too distracted to notice that Felix didn’t respond.
Saturday, 9 February 1991
Nina settled herself by the tree, the newspaper spread across her lap. She didn’t bother with any pretence of reading it. The count was all she could think about. She kept rolling his name, Count Mauro de March, around on her tongue. It sounded so voluptuous. She knew he would be expecting her and it was highly likely that whatever he was doing right at that moment, he would be thinking about her. Nina kept flexing her feet, pointing the toe then her heel, then the other foot. She tapped her fingers on the newspaper, enjoying the sound it made. She collated what she knew about him. He did a terrible Italian accent, he liked coffee and he possibly was the greatest storyteller that ever lived. He also had the most appealing smile, a quirky sense of humour, and the nicest neck she had ever nuzzled into.
When James had gone off to work that Saturday morning she had felt nothing but relief. Nina insisted he take the car.
‘I won’t be needing it,’ she had called to him from the shower.
And now she was waiting for her lover. Wicked, lustful woman that she was. Nina felt light-headed with excitement. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the path from the Cruising Yacht Club, knowing he would be walking towards her some time soon.
Leo seemed distracted all morning, which surprised his crewmate Nick. He kept picking up his binoculars, scanning the park, then putting them down and returning to the job at hand.
‘Are you in a hurry?’ said Nick.
‘Who me?’ asked Leo innocently. ‘In a hurry to leave you? What could be more important than working on my boat with my best buddy? My favourite part of the week.’
Nick frowned. Leo had been behaving quite oddly all morning. Grinning and unable to sit still, he had leapt around the tiny boat as if charged with energy. Nick decided to stay on and help with the sails, an awkward job for one person. Then, just as Nick settled in to help him retie the spinnaker, suddenly Leo was bounding off, leaving him on his own to sort out the pile of sail and ropes.
‘Have a good week, mate,’ called Leo as he took off at a fast trot up the ramp, sailing bag slung over his shoulder.
Nick watched him go. ‘Well, well, well. That has to be about a woman’, he thought to himself. Nick wasn’t put out. Leo usually looked after all the boat maintenance and Nick knew how much work that entailed. He appreciated his regular Friday night crew position on this beautiful boat.
‘Have fun, mate,’ he said to Leo’s retreating back.
Leo didn’t hear him. His eyes, his ears, his mind were all focussed ahead of him. It was as if he was already with her and yet he ached that he was not. It was such a delightful paradox. He walked quickly.
Nina saw him almost before he appeared. Or that was how it felt. She knew he was coming, sensed it somewhere deep inside, felt a tremor of anticipation, and then he was there, moving rapidly up the path. A short, stocky figure in baggy shorts, baseb
all cap turned backwards on his head and sailing bag slung over his shoulder.
Nina felt her excitement rise with every step he took towards her. By the time he was standing in front of her she was flexing her toes so hard it was starting to strain the muscles. She barely noticed. He stood in front of her, grinning his lopsided grin. She grinned back.
Leo felt suddenly shy and unsure how to proceed. He wanted her so badly it hurt. He had thought of little else all week. But he didn’t want to offend her by being too direct. He had no doubt they would end up in bed, he just wasn’t sure of the steps preceding it.
Nina just wanted him to touch her. She ached to feel him.
‘You live in one of these apartments, don’t you?’ she asked. She said it sweetly, with a small coy smile, but her gaze was direct and there was a knowingness in her eyes.
Leo put his hand out to help her to her feet. At his touch Nina felt muscles inside her contract. His hand was firm, dry and warm. Hers was cool and the skin soft. Nina held onto him while she brushed the dirt and leaves from her skirt, moving her hips languidly as she tidied herself.
She let go of his hand and they walked across the edge of the park, a determinedly casual pair of people. Nothing to suggest they were a couple, or intimate in any way.
Every step was delicious agony. They wanted to run, to be alone to savour each other. They walked side by side, occasionally brushing bare arms. The air seemed to buzz with expectation. Anticipation. She wanted him. He wanted her. Their desire vibrated through them and between them as they walked. Nina smiled as they passed the woman and her pet rabbit soaking up the sun. The woman recognised Nina and gave a little wave.
They strolled in a leisurely way down the path beside the tennis courts, past the two golden retrievers tied to the council sign warning patrons not to bring alcohol or dogs into the park, and across the road to an ultra-modern high-rise.
Leo led her into the foyer of his apartment block and into the lift. He pressed the button for the top floor then stepped back, beside her. They stared at their reflections in the highly polished steel lift doors.
The Affair Page 13
