by Caro Fraser
‘For God’s sake, Toby! Will you just tell us?’ exclaimed Sarah.
‘I’m going to be a teacher.’
There was a stunned silence.
‘A teacher?’
Rather than let Sarah’s appalled note sound for the rest of them, Caroline said, ‘I think that’s a wonderful idea, darling. An excellent stopgap. Better than sitting around idly, waiting for the economy to improve.’
Toby looked momentarily discomfited. ‘It’s not a stopgap. It’s a complete career change. I’m never going back to banking. It’s a soul-destroying business, and I never much liked it. Since I met Sarah …’ Sarah felt Toby twining her fingers into his. ‘I’ve realised there’s more to life than making money. Massive bonuses, expensive stuff we don’t need – it’s all meaningless. I want to make a difference to people’s lives. I want to wake up in the morning and feel good about myself. I want to think about what I’m going to put into the world, not what I’m going to take out of it.’
Toby’s father nodded slowly. ‘What kind of teaching had you in mind?’
‘My degree’s in economics, so that’s the obvious choice. Usually you have to do a one-year postgraduate teaching qualification, but there’s a chance I’ll get fast-tracked.’ He smiled at Sarah. ‘In six months’ time I could be facing my first class.’ This time the smile was straight into her eyes, warm and trusting, and she had to return it. ‘And with Sarah’s support, I know I can do it.’
‘But …’ Sarah paused, trying to blend enthusiasm and caution in her tone. ‘Darling, are you sure it’s the right career change? I mean, if you were some middle-aged banker who’d been chucked on the scrap heap with no hope of ever finding another job, it would be one thing. But you’re young! Surely it’s just a matter of time before you get another banking job.’
‘But I don’t want another banking job.’ Toby was calm and earnest. ‘Getting canned by Graffman’s has let me see there are other possibilities in life. Possibilities that may not involve making a shedload of money, but which I think—which I know will make us both much happier.’
In which life, wondered Sarah, did Toby think that not having a shedload of money would make her happy? She said nothing, scanning his face, realising this was serious. Whatever else he might be, Toby, when he made up his mind about something, could be doggedly implacable. She would have a job of work to do, talking him out of this disastrous idea, but she would do it, come what may. A teacher? She couldn’t go through life married to a teacher! Still, now wasn’t the time to say anything. She smiled and squeezed his hand, while Jonathan Kittering made encouraging noises and said stuff about momentous decisions, full backing of your mother and myself, crossroads in life, and so forth, and Caroline twittered anxiously about probably taking more time to think it over, one read such awful things about schools these days, and what if Toby finished up in a comprehensive on some sink estate, had he really thought it through properly? Sarah felt she could almost begin to like the woman.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sarah arrived at work just minutes before the Monday morning team meeting was due to start. Hugo emerged from his office just as Sarah reached her desk, coffee in hand. He shot her a grim look.
‘Good of you to turn up at last. Bring that Lindos file into the meeting – we need to sort out the claim.’ He stalked off in the direction of the meeting room.
Sarah dumped her bag on the desk. ‘Claim? What claim’s he talking about?’ she asked Colin, who sat at the next desk.
Colin looked at her in disbelief. ‘The Lindos? The supramax that ran aground off New Zealand over the weekend?’
Sarah’s heart tightened momentarily. It was the tanker she’d been asked to get reinsurance cover for on Friday evening. Thank God it was covered, and that Gerald was good for that last thirty per cent. Still, it would have been better if she’d got it in writing. She wasn’t looking forward to telling Hugo that Gerald had yet to sign the slip. She found the file and headed for the meeting.
‘OK, first things first,’ said Hugo, as Sarah closed the door and slid into her seat. ‘The Lindos. As you’ve all no doubt heard, she seems to be a casualty. Sarah, I left the matter of the reinsurance cover with you on Friday – I assume you dealt with it?’
Sarah nodded. ‘Yes. I’ve got it covered.’ Her mouth felt dry. ‘Sort of.’
Hugo’s gaze was steely. ‘Sort of? What the fuck are you telling me? Either it’s covered or it’s not.’
‘It’s covered. Gerald Last agreed to write the last thirty per cent. But there wasn’t time to get his signature. It was Friday, it was late—’
‘Jesus Christ, Sarah. Go and get it sorted. Straight away! You know we can’t post this claim without his mark on the slip. We’ve got a vessel insured for a hundred million. We’ve only secured lines for seventy per cent, which leaves us a cool thirty three million to find. And if Gerald isn’t going to sign, and your trust fund isn’t good for it, we’re in shit. So get his signature. Now!’
Sarah picked up the file and left the room, crimson-faced. Swearing beneath her breath, she stalked back to her desk and called Gerald on his mobile.
Gerald Last was driving along Chelsea Embankment when his hands-free rang. He glanced at the display, and saw Sarah’s name come up. He reached out, pressed a button, and cut the call off. He’d heard about the Lindos over the weekend. He knew exactly why she was ringing.
Unable to reach Gerald, Sarah began to feel panicky. She tried to reassure herself that it would all be fine, that she was worrying needlessly. But things wouldn’t be fine, she knew, until she got Gerald’s signature. She flung on her coat and headed out of the office. At Lloyd’s, the usual line was forming at the box. Sarah had a quick look round for Gerald, though she knew that as a senior underwriter, he was unlikely to be there. She went up to his office, but was told by Gerald’s sour-faced PA that Gerald wasn’t in yet.
‘When do you expect him?’
‘I couldn’t say. All I know is that he’s on his way. I can’t tell you any more than that.’ Gerald’s PA wasn’t a fan of Sarah’s.
‘Look, can you tell him to ring me when he gets in? He’s got my number.’
‘I may ask him,’ replied the PA frigidly. ‘I certainly won’t tell him.’
‘Whatever, bitch,’ muttered Sarah beneath her breath as she turned to go.
She retreated to Starbucks and sat with a large latte and a copy of The Times, her mobile on the table next to her, ignoring a series of increasingly urgent messages from Hugo. She didn’t dare go back to the office until she’d got Gerald’s signature. Please, please let him ring soon. Her head had begun to ache.
Half an hour later, when no call had come, she rang Gerald’s office again.
‘I’m afraid Mr Last is still in his meeting,’ the PA was happy to tell her.
Sarah didn’t have a clue what to do next. She rang the office to check where everyone was, and got Colin.
‘How’s Hugo?’ she asked.
‘Spitting teeth and blood. He’s gone off to a management meeting. The last thing he said was for you to ring him as soon as you can.’ Sarah closed her eyes briefly. She could guess what the management meeting was about. Hugo was busy doing some damage limitation, waiting for her to assure him she’d got the signature on the last thirty per cent. ‘Where are you, in case he asks?’
‘Tell him I’ve gone to the market – no, wait – tell him I’ve fixed up a meeting with Gerald later this morning.’ Maybe that would keep him off her back for an hour or so.
She drained the cold dregs of her latte, and because she could think of nothing better to do, headed off aimlessly to the shops in Liverpool Street station and hung around there for a fearful half-hour, before going back to Lloyd’s, and to Gerald’s office.
‘I’m afraid Mr Last has gone into another meeting until twelve,’ the PA told her. ‘Then he’s out to lunch.’
‘But I really need to talk to him!’
‘As do a lot of people.’ She gave Sarah
a meaningful look. ‘He does know you’re trying to reach him.’
Sarah didn’t want to face the truth which she read in the PA’s cold eyes – that Gerald was deliberately blocking her. She felt close to tears. How could he do this? She returned to Starbucks, and sat hunched over another coffee. When she tried to drink some, she felt sick. Several times she tried Gerald’s mobile, and each time it went straight to voicemail.
At twelve-thirty she knew she had no choice but to go back to the office, and tell Hugo. Just as she was crossing Leadenhall Street, she saw Gerald on the other side, heading towards Caravaggio’s. Dodging taxis and cars, she raced across the road, and accosted him just as he was about to go into the restaurant. She was dimly aware that the person he was with looked very like the Chairman of Lloyd’s.
‘Gerald!’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you all morning. I need you to sign the slip – you know, for the thirty per cent of that Lindos risk you agreed to take on Friday?’
Gerald looked bemused. ‘I said I’d look at it. I didn’t say I’d sign it.’ He opened the restaurant door for his companion. ‘In future, you should get these things properly sorted out, before dashing off for the weekend.’ The Chairman of Lloyd’s passed through the doorway, and Gerald lingered for a second. ‘I spoke to Hugo half an hour ago. We agreed that these things will happen if you employ incompetent staff. He blames himself entirely.’ He gave Sarah a smile. ‘Nice try, sweetie.’ He disappeared into the restaurant.
Sarah stood rooted to the pavement, her heart thudding. He’d given her his word, the bastard! Did he realise what it meant if he didn’t sign the slip? Of course he did. He knew only too well, and he didn’t care. He was hanging her out to dry. She was momentarily tempted to follow Gerald inside and tell him exactly what she thought of him. But she didn’t. Even in her present state of hopelessness, she knew it wouldn’t be a wise move to make a scene in front of the Chairman of Lloyds. There was the future to think of, even if right now it didn’t look as though she had one.
She went back to the office. Hugo had recently returned from the management meeting. His face looked grim, grey. His job, too, was on the line when this kind of thing happened.
‘I didn’t get his signature,’ she said simply to Hugo. ‘But then, you know that.’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Hugo. ‘Clear your desk.’
He turned without another word and went into his office, closing the door behind him.
Henry was on his way out of the clerks’ room. He paused by Felicity’s desk.
‘Just going round the corner for a sandwich. Want me to get you anything?’
Felicity shook her head. ‘No, thanks. I brought something from home.’ She nodded at her computer screen. ‘Doing a bit of online shopping. I need a new electric toothbrush and some hair straighteners.’
Henry’s eyes shifted to Felicity’s unruly dark curls. ‘Right. OK.’
When he had gone, Felicity sighed to the empty room. The hair straighteners were meant to help in achieving the new image she had dreamt up for herself the night before, as a sleek, poised career woman. Who was she kidding? The phone rang, and Felicity answered it. ‘Five Caper Court. How can I help?’
‘Fliss?’ Vince’s voice sounded rough, unused, and slightly surprised. ‘Wasn’t expecting you to answer. It’s me. Vince.’
Felicity wasn’t sure what she felt. After she’d walked out of the coming-home party, she had half-hoped he might just leave her well alone, that she could put his part in her life behind her. Like the sleek, poised career woman she was going to be from now on. But she’d always known that wasn’t going to happen. She didn’t say anything immediately.
‘Fliss?’
‘Yeah. Hi.’
‘I’ve been meaning to ring you all week. To say sorry, and that. For being like I was on Friday. Mum said how much you’d been looking forward to seeing me, waiting all afternoon.’
‘Did she?’
‘And I fucked it up.’ A pause. ‘You forgive me?’
Felicity swallowed a sigh. ‘It doesn’t matter. Honestly.’
Never one to take things at face value, Vince latched on to what he thought she meant. ‘No, listen, it does. You mustn’t let me get away with that kind of stuff. That’s not gonna happen. OK?’
‘Whatever.’
‘I’ve been feeling so bad about it. I kind of hoped you’d call, though.’
‘Me? Why would—?’
‘Look, can I come round tonight? Maybe take you out, make it up to you? I want it all to be different. You and me. Starting again.’
‘Do you?’ Felicity could hear her own voice sounding weak and flat. She glanced up as Leo came into the clerks’ room. Vince was still talking, making his useless noises, his promises and plans, reassuring himself. She remembered Rachel’s advice: tell it to him straight, make it clear he can’t just expect things to be the way they were. Well, she would. She definitely would. It had to be done. Only not here, not now on the phone, with Leo five feet away.
When Vince was eager to please, he was hard to shut up. She had to interrupt him. ‘Vince – stop talking. It’s all right. You can come round. But I’ve got to go now. I’ll see you later.’ As she hung up, she looked at the box Leo was holding. ‘What’s that?’
‘I was lunching in Soho with a long-lost love, and on my way back I passed Patisserie Valerie, and I thought – when did I last see Felicity with cake? Cake and Felicity belong together. So here you are.’
She smiled at him. ‘Thank you. I needed cheering up. But not fattening up.’
She opened the box. ‘Wow! I can’t eat all those.’
‘I suspect others will help you out. See you later.’
Felicity gazed at the cakes. Gingerly she lifted one from the box, transferring it to her other hand and licking the cream from her fingers. When Leo was in a good mood, he was a darling. She wondered who his long-lost love was, whether it was a woman or some bloke. You never knew with him.
Lunching his daughter at Arbutus had been one of the most delightful things Leo had done in a long time. In a habit developed in boyhood, when memorably pleasurable experiences had been few and far between, he deliberately tucked the recollection to the back of his mind and did not take it out and examine it until the early evening, when he had finished his work. Abandoning his shipbuilding case, he leant back in his chair and spent fifteen minutes recalling everything about Gabrielle at lunchtime; her bright, wary glance, the way she had of tucking her hair behind her ears when she was feeling unsure of herself and less sophisticated than she wanted to appear, the slight lift of her shoulders when she laughed, the rough little catch in her voice when she talked about things that meant a lot to her. He recalled the glances she’d drawn from every man in the restaurant, and his own startled pleasure in realising she wasn’t even aware of them, that she had eyes and ears for no one but him, her new-found father. It reminded him of the way Anthony had been in the early days – attentive, fascinated, and so heartbreakingly young. He felt his heart swerve, and he passed his hands over his face as if to obliterate some unworthy recollection. God, he must not let her down. He must not do anything to devalue this.
Disturbed by his train of thought, he switched off his laptop and tidied his papers, deciding to go in search of company, of familiar faces.
He headed to Middle Temple Bar, and found Anthony there with another member of chambers, David Liphook. David, whose wife had given birth a few days earlier, was dwelling in doting detail on the marvels of his new daughter, oblivious to Anthony’s polite concealment of the fact that he wasn’t much interested in babies. Leo, however, once he had settled himself a large Scotch, was in exactly the right mood to indulge in a little transference and listen to everything David had to say.
This left Anthony free to pursue his own thoughts. He had felt irritable and restless all week, and never more so than today. Just a week ago he had dropped almost three thousand pounds at the poker table at Blunt’s. At the ti
me, caught up in the mood of the table, the rising stakes drawing him in, it hadn’t seemed such a big deal. But the next morning he had seen it in a different light, and had decided maybe he should give the gambling thing a rest – partly to show himself that he could take it or leave it, and partly because he was aware it was affecting his work. He hated the fact that Rachel, with all the grace and tact in the world, had had to nag him about work left undone. He had always prided himself on being thorough, meticulous and punctual. Leo had taught him the importance of those qualities, without which one could not hope to be counted among the elite. Her phone call had left him feeling humiliated and second-rate.
Tonight, however, those feelings had slipped away. The loss of that three thousand had returned to haunt him, like an unrecovered debt that he had to call in. And today Henry, bursting with cheerfulness, had given him the news that the one hundred and twenty thousand pounds he was owed by solicitors for his work on a four-week trial last November had finally been paid. One hundred and twenty K! The most he’d ever earned on a case. It gave him every reason to celebrate. He’d agreed to go to see Barry in his first gig at the Comedy Store this evening, but after that he decided he would head to Blunt’s and see if he couldn’t make good the losses of the week before. Where was the harm? He wouldn’t go wild. Just recoup the three thousand, put himself back in the black, and never gamble such ridiculous sums again. He could almost laugh at himself now, thinking of the way he’d got roped into staking such high sums. It wouldn’t happen again.
He was aware Leo was talking to him. ‘Sorry – what? I was miles away.’
‘Just asking if you’d like another.’
Anthony glanced at his empty glass. ‘No thanks. I’m meant to be in the West End in half an hour. My brother’s doing stand-up, would you believe. Have to show support.’ He rose, anxious to get away from Leo’s relaxed scrutiny, which always made him feel as though Leo could see into his very heart and soul.
