by Caro Fraser
‘Where are you?’ asked Leo. He almost added that it was past one in the morning, but in Joshua’s world, that probably didn’t mean very much.
‘I’m in Brixton.’ He sounded embarrassed and a little forlorn.
‘Right. Brixton.’ Leo rubbed a hand across his tired face.
‘We came to a club and I got split up from my friends. They must have gone off earlier. Anyway, I’ve missed the last train and there aren’t any cabs around. I’ve been waiting ages. Plus I’ve run out of money.’
‘I’ll come and get you,’ said Leo. ‘Where are you?’
A few minutes later he was crossing the cobbled mews to the garage, thinking that he knew now how the fathers of teenage children felt.
Joshua was waiting on the corner of the main road when Leo pulled up. He got in, shivering a little, grateful for the warmth of the car, the sight of Leo. He was just about to embark upon an apology when Leo’s voice cut across his.
‘How come you’ve run out of money? What happened to the two hundred I gave you at the weekend?’ Leo’s irritation at being dragged out late at night had eclipsed his earlier relief at hearing Joshua’s voice.
‘I’ve spent it,’ said Joshua.
There then followed a sullen argument over the amount of money which Joshua spent and the question of whom Joshua had been with at the club after he had got split up from his friends, and this then escalated into a blazing row, Joshua accusing Leo of possessiveness and paranoia, and Leo reproaching Joshua with selfishness and indolence. The whole thing degenerated into an exchange of violent abuse. By the time he screeched the car into the mews and brought it to a halt, Leo was shaking with emotion. He had never argued with anyone so violently in his life. Joshua got out of the car, slamming the door and storming off. Leo rested his forehead on the steering wheel, waiting for his emotions to calm. After a few moments he put the car in the garage and went up to the flat. The front door was open. Joshua was in the living room, the stereo turned up loud, slumped in an armchair.
Leo crossed the room and turned the music off, then poured himself a large Scotch. It was half past two, but this had to be resolved. He sat down opposite Joshua and tried to talk reasonably, to coax him out of his sullenness. But the argument blew up again, and Joshua went to his room and began to hurl belongings about. Leo sat in the drawing room, listening, numb. Without thinking, he poured himself another drink, then went to Joshua’s room. Joshua seemed determined to maintain the emotional temperature, but Leo managed to talk him down to a calmer level. They talked for a long while, Leo trying to sort out Joshua’s resentments, to find ways round the problems. There had to be a modus Vivendi. The only alternative was for Joshua to go, and Leo could not bear that.
‘I understand what you say about dependence. I see all that. Look, I promised to get you a car. That’s the first thing to sort out. I will. We’ll do that at the weekend.’ Joshua was lying back on his bed, one arm behind his head, his temper worn out, frayed into exhaustion. Leo, sitting on the edge of the bed and nursing his whisky glass, put out a hand to stroke the soft skin at the base of Joshua’s throat. ‘I don’t want you to get the idea that you’re not free to do as you please. But you must understand … It’s very difficult, when you love someone, to accept that there are things they want to do without you.’
Joshua moved restlessly. ‘Don’t start that again. You know how it is. I can’t just stop seeing my friends because I live here with you. I do—’ The hesitation in Joshua’s voice was like a trickle of ice in Leo’s heart. ‘I do love you, sort of … but it’s not as though we can do everything together. I mean, I’m only twenty …’ He rubbed his eyes like a tired small boy, and Leo was infinitely touched, infinitely hurt by the gesture and by all that his words implied.
‘All right,’ said Leo. ‘I wish you could get all your socialising done in the day, when I’m at work, but I suppose I have to accept that you need evenings when you can see your friends. Just don’t invite whole gangs of them back here without asking me first.’ There was a brief silence, then Leo added, ‘The other thing we should sort out is to find you some work.’ Joshua seemed about to say something, possibly in protest, but Leo went on, ‘There’s this museum in Shoreditch. I know that Chay Cross could find you plenty to do. I’d like you to get involved in something that we can share.’
For a while there was silence. Leo looked down at the remains of the whisky in his glass. He shouldn’t be drinking so much. But the tensions of the last two hours had been extraordinary. He had never known so volatile a relationship in his life, nor one where he felt so utterly powerless, so much in need. He put the glass on the floor and stood up, weary.
Joshua stretched out a hand to touch Leo’s. ‘All right. I don’t mind doing something at the museum.’ He paused. ‘About the car—’
Leo looked down at the boy. He looked tired, pale, his reddish-gold hair a mess, hollows beneath his eyes. A greedy, beautiful child who threatened to suck the life out of Leo.
‘Come to bed,’ said Leo, deciding he didn’t care what time it was, ‘and we’ll talk about it.’
CHAPTER TEN
As Leo’s brain began to break clear of the fog of sleep and hangover, he realised that the phone by the side of the bed had been trilling for some minutes, the sound etching itself into part of a dream. Joshua lay next to him, still fast asleep. Leo stretched out a groggy hand for the phone and his half-open eyes caught sight of the bedside clock. He registered the time in disbelief. Half past ten. The shock brought him fully awake as he fumbled for the receiver, almost dropping it. He had come to bed without setting his alarm and at that very moment he was supposed to be halfway through a case conference with Fred Fenton, the owner of a Greek shipping company, the head of their legal department and a representative from the UK P&I Club. He cursed himself inwardly, appalled at what had happened, trying to straighten his mind as he hauled himself out of bed.
‘Mr Davies?’ It was Felicity’s voice. ‘I’ve been trying your mobile, but it’s switched off. I didn’t think you’d still be at home—’
‘That’s all right. Listen, are Fred and the clients still there?’
‘Yes, they’ve been here half an hour. I said you’d probably been held up, but I think they’re getting a bit impatient.’
‘Okay, listen, I want you to give them my abject apologies - abject, understand? Say I’ve had a bit of a domestic crisis, that I’m on my way. Twenty-five minutes at the outside.’ Twenty, thought Leo, if I skip the shower and shave in the car. He flung down the phone and went to the wardrobe to pull out the first clean shirt he could find.
As he sat at the traffic lights, shaving inexpertly with a cordless shaver which he hated and rarely used except in emergencies, Leo glanced in the mirror at his own gaunt face and slightly bloodshot eyes, and thought how awful he looked. The lights changed to green and the traffic began to move forward. Leo chucked the shaver to one side and passed a hand over his chin. Not good, but passable. Not having had a chance to shower was the worst thing. Everything about him, including his mental processes, felt grubby and sloppy. At least he’d remembered to scoop the case notes from the table before he left. Thank God he’d had the long hours of the previous evening to go through them.
Leo reached chambers just before eleven, made his apologies, and the conference got under way, tinged throughout with the heavy disapproval of the Greek shipping magnate and his legal minions. Leo did not enjoy it. He felt entirely at a disadvantage, bereft of his usual full control and easy charm. At the end of it he was completely washed out.
‘Felicity, have we got any paracetamol?’ he asked, turning in relief from seeing Fred and the clients out.
‘Yeah, here you go, Mr Davies.’ Felicity fished a packet out from her drawer and handed two to Leo.
‘Thanks,’ said Leo as he took them. ‘And thanks, too, for holding the fort earlier.’
Felicity watched Leo as he wandered off in search of a glass of water.
‘I’ve n
ever in my life known Mr Davies to get in late for a con,’ remarked Henry. ‘He’s always bang on the dot. Did he say what held him up?’
‘The line I gave them was that he’d had some domestic problem to sort out. Deepest apologies, all that stuff. But when I rang him at home, I could tell he’d just woken up. He must really have shifted himself, to get here as fast as he did.’
‘Yeah, he looks a bit rough. That’s really not like him, you know.’ Henry shook his head. ‘Not like him at all.’
‘Listen, Henry—’ Felicity began, then paused.
‘What?’
‘You know what we talked about the other day at lunch?’
‘Mmm.’ Henry put down the files he was going through and gave her his full attention.
‘I think I’ve come to a decision. Can you come for a drink after work tonight?’
‘Yes. Of course I can.’
‘Good. Thanks.’ Felicity gave him a grateful smile and Henry turned back to his files with a full heart, happy that she should confide in him.
Anthony met Leo coming out of the kitchen with a glass of water. ‘Heavy night?’ he asked with a grin. Leo did look rough, worse than he’d ever seen him.
Leo sighed and popped the first of his pills. At least he could be honest with Anthony. ‘You could say. My domestic life is rather fraught at the moment.’ He swallowed the second of the tablets. ‘So much so that I nearly missed a con this morning. Mr Theodoracopoulis of Navitas Shipping Lines, no less.’
Anthony was surprised. He had never known Leo to be less than entirely punctilious when it came to work. Nothing got in its way. Certainly not anything which might be described as ‘domestic’, which Anthony took to be a euphemism for Leo’s private life.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ added Leo, catching Anthony’s expression. ‘Not the best person in the world to stand up.’
‘No. Bad luck.’ Anthony felt slightly at a loss.
‘Still, I’ve only got some paper to shuffle around this afternoon, then I can get off home for an early night.’
Anthony shook his head. ‘You’ve forgotten about this evening, haven’t you?’
‘What? I haven’t even looked at my diary. Don’t tell me—’ Leo suddenly remembered. ‘Oh, Lord. Friday. Our drinks evening. We’re entertaining half the City, aren’t we?’
‘It just looks that way from the guest list. A variety of senior partners of commercial and shipping firms, and other serious movers and shakers.’ Anthony looked at Leo’s face with a certain amount of pity.
‘Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God …’ Leo leant against the wall and drank the remains of his water. ‘Roderick’s away, so I’ve got to be there, haven’t I?’ He sighed. ‘Bloody Jeremy and his PR drives. Still, it can’t be helped.’
‘No, I suppose not. Anyway, I have to get going,’ said Anthony, glancing at his watch. ‘See you this evening, then?’
‘Yes,’ replied Leo wearily. ‘This evening.’
The rest of the day seemed unpleasantly out of kilter to Leo. He was in no state to concentrate properly on his work and recollections of the ghastly scenes with Joshua of the night before kept resurfacing. He hadn’t known anything like it since his long-ago student days and the turbulence of his relationship with Christopher, when the potent mixture of late night drinking and emotional upset sometimes gave the waking day an air of unreality. That was the way he felt now. It was absurd, he told himself. Life should not be this way at forty-five. If there was to be no serenity in his relationship with Joshua, how was he going to cope? This emotional rollercoaster was going to wear him out. Yet to lose Joshua was unthinkable. He gave colour and shape to Leo’s entire existence. Everything else, except Oliver, seemed an irrelevance. To love so desperately could be, he knew, ultimately dangerous and destructive. But what could he do?
He stared down at the papers in front of him, his fingers idly winding the faded length of red tape. It was a case involving the purchase of 20,000 tonnes of commercial propane of Saudi Arabian origin f.o.b. one safe port Yanbu. So what? What the hell had propane, commercial or otherwise, got to do with his life? Never had his work seemed so mundane, of so little importance.
The phone rang and Leo picked it up. ‘Alison Draper for you,’ said Henry’s voice. His solicitor. There must have been some developments concerning Oliver.
‘Put her through, please, Henry.’ He waited. ‘Alison? Hello. What news?’
‘We had the directions hearing a couple of days ago and now we’ve got a timetable. The court welfare officers will be interviewing Rachel in the next couple of weeks, then you. They’ll want to look at the flat and speak to you generally about Oliver.’
‘Fine.’ Leo drew his diary towards him. ‘Any dates?’
‘The date they’ve suggested is October the twenty-sixth. That’s a Friday, three weeks from now.’
Leo flicked through the pages of his diary. ‘I’m in court that morning, but the afternoon looks all right. I can tell my clerk to keep it free.’
‘Fine. Let’s pencil that in for the moment. I can confirm it later. How’s everything else going?’
‘It’s going,’ said Leo. He hesitated, wondering whether he shouldn’t take the opportunity now to mention Joshua. Then he remembered what Alison had said about Rachel and the interview with the welfare officers. Could Rachel really be so vindictive as to bring up his past, try to make it work against him? Forget vindictive, he thought. Knowing Rachel, she might just do it anyway and justify it from the very purest of motives. The well-being of Oliver. Just supposing she did say something - it could make Joshua’s presence in the flat potentially fatal. He decided to say nothing. ‘To be honest, I just want to get this whole business sorted out as quickly as possible.’
‘I know. Just remember, the welfare people are still in the business of mediating. They’ll be trying to find some compromise between you and Rachel, without the matter going to a final hearing.’
Leo gave a sigh. ‘I’m afraid the word compromise does not feature in my ex-wife’s vocabulary these days. Anyway, thanks for keeping me up to date, Alison. I’ll wait to hear from you.’
He put down the phone and swivelled round in his chair, gazing out across Caper Court, watching figures moving to and fro behind the windows of the chambers opposite, the watery autumn sun casting shadows on the old sundial set in the wall. Was that true? Was there really no possibility of shifting Rachel from her position? He thought back to their last encounter, when he had brought Oliver home late from his day out. She obviously hated Oliver being away from her for even a few hours. No wonder she considered a whole weekend - every other weekend, in fact - to be out of the question.
Leo got up and strolled to the window, brooding on this. What about Charles? He was clearly fond of Oliver, but he’d already served his time with small children some years ago. The idea of having every other weekend to himself and Rachel probably appealed to him. Besides, he was in a position to see things in a more detached fashion than Rachel. Ever since he and Charles had first met, Leo had been able to read Charles quite easily and he had detected, at their last meeting, that he had some sympathy with Leo’s position. Perhaps the best strategy would be to speak to Charles and see if he couldn’t persuade Rachel to give in. It was worth a try. And he’d be able to get some idea of Rachel’s present frame of mind, gauge the likelihood of her saying adverse things about him to the welfare officers. Letting his gaze wander around the upper floors of the buildings surrounding the courtyard, Leo made a mental note to call Charles.
He found himself staring at the windows of Desmond Broadhurst’s flat on the top floor of the chambers adjoining 5 Caper Court. He hadn’t seen the old boy out and about for a few weeks. Broadhurst was an old friend, a former High Court judge from the days when High Court judges were allowed to stagger on for as long as they liked, or until their mental processes entirely decayed. Desmond and his wife had lived in that flat for as long as Leo could remember. Lettice Broadhurst had been a familiar sight of a
n evening in the Temple, walking their two Cairn terriers in their little tartan coats. She had died last winter, well into her eighties, and now Desmond lived in the flat alone. In the old days, Leo had quite often visited him there for the odd glass of whisky, keeping him up to date on the goings-on in the Temple, listening to his endless fund of hoary legal anecdotes. The Broadhursts had even given him a bed now and again when, for whatever reason, he had found himself still in the Temple late at night. Desmond was one of the reasons why he had no wish to leave the Temple. Leo realised with a little pang of guilt that he had called on him only once since Lettice had died. He should visit him soon.
In fact, thought Leo suddenly, glancing at his watch, there was no time like the present. Hardly an ulterior motive, but it would be useful if he could take a quick shower at Desmond’s flat, before the drinks evening. It was something he had done occasionally in the past.
Leo went back to his desk and tied up the papers, then slipped on his jacket, went downstairs and crossed Caper Court to Number 7. The little painted legend on the board beneath the lists of names of barristers still read: Fourth floor, Lord and Lady Broadhurst. He went up the narrow wooden stairs to Desmond’s flat and rang the bell. After what seemed an age, Desmond opened the door, a very small, wrinkled old man of gnome-like appearance, wearing carpet slippers and neatly dressed in a rather old pinstripe suit, minus the jacket. He seemed immensely pleased to see Leo and ushered him in. When Leo explained his predicament and asked if he could have a shower, Desmond readily agreed.
‘Help yourself to towels from the linen cupboard. You know where they are. I’ll fix us both a drink in the meantime.’
When Leo emerged, feeling distinctly fresher and better prepared for the next few hours, Desmond handed him a tumbler filled with a large amount of Scotch. After last night, the last thing that Leo felt like was whisky. He took only a small sip and nursed the rest. For an hour or so he and Desmond talked, mainly about matters relating to the Inn, Desmond with one of the little terriers on his lap. Gradually Leo felt a familiar peace descending on him. To listen to old Desmond, almost a figure of antiquity, talking in his quiet, wavering voice of this and that, while the autumn dusk gathered in the courtyard outside and the shades of the Inn drew about them, was a perfect kind of happiness.
