by Janet Neel
‘Matt,’ Annabelle had managed to get her voice under control, ‘I don’t want him – well, destroyed. In jail for years. How do you think I’m going to feel?’
‘How do you think the next girl he takes up with is going to feel? Or are you planning to go back to him?’ He stared at her furiously, and Francesca, watching, felt a swift cold pang of misery, succeeded, disconcertingly, by relief.
‘Irrespective of Annabelle’s future plans, this is an ethical problem,’ she pointed out to the combatants. ‘And the answer to it is well established. Fiat justitia, ruat caelum. Though the heavens fall, let justice be done. No other way of running society.’
‘I think that’s what I was trying to say, Wonderwoman,’ Matt said, straightening up and patting her shoulder as he returned to his seat on the balcony railings. ‘Sorry, guys,’ he said to the other two. ‘I’m sorry if I can’t persuade you, but I can do no other.’
‘I don’t want him in the nick either,’ Francis said. ‘He’s my brother. He’s always been decent to me. He needs treatment and support, like I’ve had. I mean, he was under strain.’
‘That he can plead in mitigation,’ Francesca pointed out, to stop Matt reminding the group that on that basis the strain would have had to have been endured for at least six years, given Antony’s history of beating up his women. Apart from her own need to be alone with Matt, the group should be prevented from continuing this discussion further today. ‘You’re looking worn out, Annabelle, I only came by for a minute. You need to get some rest if you’re going to see Great Ormond Street next week. Are you sure about that?’
‘Oh yes.’ Her face gained colour. ‘Not about much else, but that, yes, I must.’
Francesca bent to kiss her and looked to Matt.
‘I’ll see you to your car. Wait for me here, Francis, will you?’
They marched silently to the car-park and she thought for a moment they were not going to be able to speak in anything but commonplaces. She willed herself to silence and they stood and looked at each other.
‘You’ve got your hands full,’ she heard herself say suddenly. ‘What with Annabelle and Francis.’
He went on looking at her carefully. ‘You wishing we hadn’t done that?’
She felt herself blush scarlet. ‘No. Yes. I’m no good at all at the casual affair, and I should know that by now. I’m happily married too, dammit, most of the time, and I shouldn’t be risking that. But I don’t want to lose you.’
‘Don’t agonise, Wonderwoman. I’m not sorry we did, but I agree, we’d better stop. I don’t want to lose you either, not for ever.’
‘No,’ she said, in a flash of revelation. ‘We may have had it as lovers but I can see us now, me as a Senior Administrator and you as London’s toughest criminal solicitor, probably on a committee together.’
He put his arms round her and held her to him, and she patted his shoulder.
‘I must go.’
‘Drive carefully.’ He shut the car door for her and when she looked in the rear mirror she could see him waving, the black coat flying in the wind, and she wept.
Wednesday, 4 May
‘John?’
McLeish opened his eyes cautiously to see his wife, with William perched on her hip.
‘Don’t carry him,’ he said automatically. ‘He can walk. Can’t you, Will?’
‘No,’ his son said, firmly, and flung both arms round Francesca’s neck. She subsided on to the bed, holding him.
‘It’s eight thirty and I thought I’d better get you up. I’ve fended off Bruce, a chap called Roberts, and just now the Commander. I said you were in the loo. Here, as a treat, is the Mail. We went down the road in our pyjamas, didn’t we, Will?’
‘When did he wake?’ McLeish asked, struggling to sit.
‘Seven o’clock, the good boy. I feel like a new woman.’
Will crawled out of her arms, placing himself firmly on his father’s chest between him and the newspaper. McLeish rested his chin on Will’s head and spread the paper out at the full stretch of his arms. A picture of Luke Fleming greeted him and he read with interest an interview with the erstwhile Mrs Fleming. ‘Kicking the poor bloke when he’s down.’
‘He’s not a poor bloke, he’d been trying not to pay any more maintenance. Matt Sutherland told me; one of his chums acts for the wife.’
McLeish considered his wife; something – perhaps a decent night’s sleep – had cheered her, and he decided to tackle his worries directly. ‘Have you and Matthew finished that essay for the Refuge?’
‘I was never really doing it, just being Admiring Audience. He’s finished it.’
‘Good. Are you … do you feel you have to go on doing things for the Refuge? I know you miss your brothers very much and you’re fond of Matthew, but it tires you.’
She gazed out of the window, colour coming up in her cheeks. ‘I don’t need Matt as a substitute for the boys, no, if that’s what you’re saying. And he’s got Annabelle to look after. What we need, I decided yesterday, is a little treat.’
She was heavy in his arms, but not relaxed, and he felt her draw breath carefully. ‘The thing is, you see, I wondered about the weekend after next. We leave Will with Susannah and fly to Budapest.’
‘Budapest?’
‘Tristram’s lot are touring Tosca, you see, and…’
‘Let me guess. Perry is coming over too, since it’s Tristram’s first lead part. And Charlie? And Jeremy?’
‘No,’ she said, pink, but resolute. ‘Just Perry and Mum.’
He wrapped his arms round her to protests from William, who had been peacefully engaged in picking a hole in the duvet. ‘Of course we can. And I’ll try and cut down the hours a bit. I’m getting the job under control.’
She kissed him and they lay together against the pillows, watching their son until the telephone rang again.
