by Caro Fraser
She gazed thoughtfully down at the table as Leo asked the waiter to bring more coffee, then lifted her eyes to meet his. There was a brief silence.
‘You look thoughtful,’ said Leo, clasping his hands together and resting his chin on them. He gritted his teeth together to suppress a yawn. Not that she wasn’t good company, but he was weary after his day in court, and he still had to go over his notes before the cross-examination of that export manager continued tomorrow. She smiled a slow smile, and he thought that perhaps he didn’t want to hear what was on her mind. It might go on a bit. When women got that look in their eye, it meant that they wanted to dissect something in a lingering fashion.
‘You know—’ she began, and leant forward, still smiling, her dark, soft hair swinging against her face. I was right, thought Leo. Here we go. My mistake for ordering more coffee instead of the bill. ‘You know, I was wondering,’ she went on, ‘why you called today. Why we’re here now.’ Her pulse had quickened as she spoke, aware that she might not receive the answer she hoped for. ‘When you left on Friday morning—’
‘Don’t you know the golden rule?’ interrupted Leo with a smile. ‘Never ask a question in examination-in-chief unless you know what the answer’s going to be.’ There was a pause as the waiter poured more coffee. Then Leo glanced up at her. She’s still waiting for an answer, he thought. Well, now – what should it be?
‘I suppose,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘that Friday morning wasn’t the best time to make decisions.’ His eyes held hers. Tell her what she wants to hear, he thought. But just a little, not too much. ‘I found I was thinking about you over the weekend – more than I expected. And I – wanted to see you again. As simple as that.’ He gave her his best candid gaze, then lowered his eyes. ‘As a matter of fact,’ he lied, ‘I was afraid you might not want to see me.’
Oh, how could you think that? thought Rachel. How could you possibly imagine that for one moment? She wanted to tell him how much she was in love with him, that the interval between his phone calls today had been hell, and that the thought of this evening ending was misery itself. But she could say none of that. She simply smiled and said, ‘Well, you were wrong.’
Her smile, gentle as it was, was so pure and radiant that Leo decided she deserved a little more. He leant forward, too, and placed the tips of his fingers upon her hands.
‘I want us to forget about Thursday night,’ he said, his voice low. ‘It was the wrong way to start. I don’t know what I feel,’ he went on, feeling that what he actually wanted was to be home and asleep within the hour, ‘but I do know that I want us to begin here, now, as though none of that ever happened.’ He covered her hands with his and looked at her. ‘Can we do that?’
‘Yes,’ murmured Rachel. She nodded and looked away, her heart brimming with happiness.
Enough of that, thought Leo, and, gently drawing his hands away, leant back and called for the bill. Her hands still rested on the table and she sat mute, smiling faintly.
Leo drove her back to Fulham, feeling that he had set the thing tolerably well in motion. She sat beside him, not saying anything, lost in her own thoughts as she gazed at the passing traffic. He glanced at her profile, remembering the gratifying glances of admiration she had received in the restaurant. There was a certain self-reflecting satisfaction in being seen with a beautiful girl. Most men of his age would envy him. It had been an agreeable surprise, too, to find that she knew something about the things which interested him. No one, not a single one of his lovers, male or female, had ever shown the slightest interest in the little bronze spiral sculpture which stood on the bookcase in the corner of his living room, let alone known the artist. Perhaps the next few months would not prove excessively tedious. There was always sex, too, and the prospect of exploring her faculty for experiment, but he was keeping that well in reserve for the moment.
‘Right here,’ said Rachel, interrupting his train of thought. He indicated and turned the wheel obediently. ‘It’s the second road on the right down here. The corner house.’
He brought the car to a halt beside the church opposite her flat.
‘Would you like a coffee, or something?’ asked Rachel, uncertain whether she should ask or not, but longing, as she had longed all evening, to be alone with him, to hold him, feel him against her.
He turned to her, the light from the street lamp etching shadows beneath his brow and cheekbones. She suddenly wished, with a wistful tenderness, that he was twenty years younger, that she could have known him as a young man. It was almost as though something precious and irretrievable had been lost to her.
‘I don’t think I should, you know,’ he replied. ‘This case goes on tomorrow, and I have to look at a few things …’ He studied her features in the half-light, then drew his finger gently from her brow down across her cheek, his mouth moving towards hers. He kissed her gently at first, and then more fiercely, and she clung to him, a little murmur coming from the back of her throat as he deftly unfastened the top button of her blouse and slid his hand across the warm flesh of her breast. He remembered that small whimper of longing from Thursday night, and was suddenly possessed with a lunatic urge to make love to her then and there in the car. It was the kind of dangerous, imbecile thing which turned him on, the illicit and uncontrollable. That was what Leo liked.
But he did not. He lowered his head and kissed her breast for a moment between the folds of her coat; she arched her head back, her throat white in the glow from the street light. Then he raised his head and pulled her mouth to his again.
‘You see,’ he muttered, as their kiss ended, ‘I don’t think coffee would be enough. And I want us to take things slowly … this time.’ He could feel her trembling slightly. He raised both hands to fasten her blouse, conscious of her dark gaze resting on his face. There was silence for a moment. ‘When can I see you again?’ he asked. ‘Later this week?’
She nodded, too weak with love and desire to reply.
‘I’ll call you at work,’ he said, and kissed her softly again as she reached for the door handle.
‘Thank you for a wonderful evening,’ she said, and smiled the slow, curving smile which Leo thought he really quite liked.
He said nothing, merely smiled in return and watched as she stepped from the car. Then, as she was about to close the door, he said, ‘By the way, I’ve just thought of something. Are you busy on the sixteenth?’
‘Of December?’ She leant down.
‘Mmm.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Good. Keep it free.’
She nodded, and he glanced at the car clock. Another minute or so, what was the difference? ‘And come here,’ he added softly, leaning across to her. She crouched down and let him kiss her again, then rose and went across the road and up to her flat.
He watched her go, waited for a light to appear in the upstairs window, then started the car. That, he thought, as he turned his Porsche round carefully in the narrow side street, had gone very well. Next time, however, the venue must be a little more public, somewhere he could guarantee to be seen with her. Public dalliance. He smiled to himself as he drove down Brompton Road. He couldn’t remember terribly much about making love to her last Thursday night, partly because it had been dark, but he recalled that it had been generally enjoyable. She had such a nice, slender, boyish body. He wondered what she would look like with all that dark hair cut short …
Mr Lamb waited until lunchtime the following day before summoning Felicity to his office. When she went in, he was sitting well back from his desk, his legs crossed, the light shining waxily on his bald spot as he cleaned his nails with the edge of a piece of index card.
‘Close the door, please, Felicity,’ he said, glancing up and giving her a smile. She closed it and then sat down opposite him. Less easy for him to make a pass at her, she reckoned, if she was seated. She waited.
Mr Lamb chucked the piece of card aside and wheeled his chair swiftly forward on its castors to the desk, on which he
rested his forearms.
‘Well, I think you know why you’re here,’ he said smugly. ‘I think you know that Miss Dean has asked to dispense with your services, such as they are. Even she has clearly had enough of your incompetence. It simply surprises me that it’s taken her so long to realise what the rest of us have known for a very long time.’
Felicity, in a state of acute self-pity, felt her eyes prickling as she listened to him. She mustn’t cry, she told herself. He would just love that. He’d probably have an orgasm just to see her in tears. This happy thought had the effect of banishing the incipient tears, and she tried to freeze the rest of his words from her mind as he went on. Just get it over with so’s I can get out of here, she thought.
Mr Lamb examined his now clean nails. ‘So I’ll be finding someone to take your place. For some reason which is quite beyond me, she’s asked me to try and find you some other work in the firm. Preferably somewhere where your general uselessness won’t be so much in evidence. So, just this once, I’ve decided to give you another chance. I’m transferring you to the computer department, where you’ll be doing general filing and typing up order sheets. You’ll move there after Christmas. It’ll take me till then to find Miss Dean a replacement.’
The computer department? God, thought Felicity, that was in the basement. No one went there. No one knew anyone who worked in there. The Land That Time Forgot. When the computer department fielded a team for the firm’s darts tournament, no one knew their names. Still, it was a job. Her friend Maureen was only two floors up. She supposed this was an appropriate juncture at which to thank this bald-headed bastard.
‘Thank you, Mr Lamb,’ she murmured, her eyes fastened on the carpet tiles.
‘Oh, don’t thank me,’ replied Mr Lamb in his Ken Livingstone twang, leaning back. ‘If I’d had my way, you’d have been out on your ear in Mr O’Connell’s day. What a pair you were. An old drunk and someone who couldn’t do more than smoke and do her nails half the day.’
He was a bleeding sight nicer than you, pissed or sober, thought Felicity fiercely.
‘As it is, you have Miss Dean to thank. Of course,’ he added, ‘it is true that I merely have to mention the matter to a few of the other partners – Mr Rothwell, for instance, and John Parr – and you might find yourself without a job. But I won’t do that – not for the moment.’ He swivelled from side to side in his chair, eyeing her. ‘I think you’ll find you’ll have to improve your standard of dress somewhat for the computer department. Miss Luce isn’t very keen on skirts that length, nor quite such revealing blouses.’ His eyes were fixed on Felicity’s low-cut blouse, one of her favourites. Vince liked it. ‘Are you wearing a bra, Felicity?’ asked Mr Lamb suddenly, softly.
She stared at him. ‘Of course I am!’ she replied.
‘Hmm.’ He continued to swivel in his chair, staring at her cleavage. ‘Well, I suggest that one day next week – I’ll let you know when – you could leave it off. Then maybe you can – pop up here in your lunch hour. Let me have a little look. There’ll be no one about. Just as a little thank-you for being kept on at Nichols and Co.’ He got up and came round the desk. ‘I’m sure they’re well worth looking at, Felicity, aren’t they?’ He moved in front of her, seating himself on the edge of his desk, folding his arms and looking down at her.
If he comes any nearer, I’m going to knee him in the balls, thought Felicity, amazed by what he was saying. But just then a light knock sounded at the door, and Mr Lamb leapt to his feet. His mousey-haired secretary put her head round the door.
‘I thought you were on your lunch hour, Sandra,’ he snapped irritably, putting his hands in his pockets and moving away from Felicity’s chair.
‘Well, I was,’ said Sandra, coming tentatively into the room, a sheaf of papers in her hand, giving Felicity a quick glance. ‘But you said yesterday that you wanted me to get out the pay sheets for last month, so I thought I’d get it done now. Here they are.’
Felicity took this opportunity to slide nervously out of her seat. Mr Lamb stepped forward to take the documents and saw Felicity from the corner of his eye.
‘I’ll just be off, then, Mr Lamb,’ murmured Felicity.
As Mr Lamb replied, ‘I don’t think we’d quite finished yet, Felicity,’ Sandra began to say, ‘There’s just this one that seems a bit funny …’ and Mr Lamb was forced to attend to what she was saying and look at the sheet she was sorting out from the rest.
He glanced up quickly in annoyance as Felicity made her escape. He’d just been starting to enjoy himself, getting nicely worked up at the thought of getting his hands on those amazing breasts of hers, just a feel, then maybe a look next week. Still, he told himself, sighing with impatience as Sandra droned on at him about these printouts, it would wait. He liked the idea of telling her to go and take her bra off, then come to his office, start unbuttoning her blouse slowly …
Felicity took the stairs instead of the lift, pounding down the echoing stairway to relieve her anger. He was beyond belief, that one! Had she heard him properly? Did he seriously believe she was going to start taking her clothes off for him, in return for him not telling the partners that she should be given the elbow? She stopped on the second-floor landing. He could stick his ruddy job, in that case, she told herself, leaning on the windowsill and looking out across the back streets and goods entrances of neighbouring offices. She didn’t care any more about getting a rotten reference, not finding another job. There was a limit. But it seemed so unfair. OK, she wasn’t that great a secretary, but why should she lose her job just because she wouldn’t flash her tits at the office manager?
At that moment Dee, one of the filing girls, came out of the Ladies.
‘Hello, Fliss,’ she said, swinging her bag over her shoulder. ‘You coming down the Pindar? Melanie’s having a birthday drink. She said to tell you if I saw you.’
‘Yeah,’ replied Felicity, turning round from the window. ‘Yeah, you go on and I’ll see you in reception. I’ll just get my bag.’
Dee clicked off downstairs in her high-heeled boots, and Felicity pushed open the fire doors into the deserted second floor. Everyone was out except Doris and Louise, who sat hunched over their sandwiches and copies of Woman’s Realm and Prima.
‘Everything all right with Mr Lamb, dear?’ enquired Doris through a mouthful of Nimble and Philadelphia Cream Cheese, her small eyes scanning Felicity’s face.
They all knew something was up. Well, thought Felicity savagely, zipping up her bag and putting on her lilac fake-fur jacket, they can have their little gossip about me. I don’t care. I’ll be glad to see the back of this lot.
‘Yes, Doris,’ replied Felicity brightly. ‘Only you won’t have me working with you much longer. I’m moving to the computer department after Christmas. Won’t that be nice?’
‘Oh, Felicity,’ murmured Doris sadly, ‘that is a pity. We’ll really miss you – won’t we, Louise?’
‘Oh, yeah – yeah, we will.’ Louise, not looking up from her magazine, poked a finger in her mouth to loosen a tomato pip from between her back teeth.
‘We’ll all have to go out for a little Christmas drink together, dear, before you go,’ said Doris cosily, and took another bite of her sandwich. ‘Just girls together.’
‘Mmm. Something like that,’ muttered Felicity.
I’d sooner have a cervical smear than sit in the pub with you, Doris, she thought, as she left them. As she went down to where Dee was waiting, she felt a bit calmer. That stuff Mr Lamb had come out with was just fantasy land. He was just getting his rocks off, talking dirty to her. It would be all right. She still had a job, hadn’t she? Anyway, if he tried anything with her again, she might just have a word with Vince. Then he’d see.
Leo continued his campaign the following day. He spotted David Liphook, the most junior tenant in chambers next to Anthony, coming out of Middle Temple Hall after lunch, and fell in step with him on the way to Caper Court.
‘You don’t still lunch there every day
, do you?’ Leo asked David.
‘Course I do,’ replied David. ‘It’s quick and it’s cheap. We’re not all fabulously rich.’ He grinned at Leo.
‘Just the smell of the place depresses me – reminds me of all those endless dinners one had to eat before being called.’
‘Oh, I still dine there occasionally,’ said David. ‘Just to keep my hand in. The Benchers like to see one’s face there from time to time.’
‘That’s true,’ murmured Leo thoughtfully, making a mental note to dine there a couple of times before Easter. ‘Anyway, how’s that girlfriend of yours? Catherine, isn’t it?’
They had stopped at the foot of the stairs to 5 Caper Court. David, small, blonde and stocky, lifted his head and squinted against the pale December sunshine.
‘Yes, that’s right. Oh, she’s fine. Great as ever. She’ll be in raptures just to think that you remember her – she didn’t stop talking about you for two weeks after she met you.’
‘Lovely girl,’ said Leo easily, hands in pockets. ‘Give her my regards.’
They turned and went into chambers.
‘Look,’ said David, pausing on the stairs as Leo was about to go into the clerks’ room, ‘why don’t you come over for dinner some evening? I know Catherine would love to see you. In fact, why not make it next Wednesday? William’s coming, and a couple of other people. Nothing special, of course …’
‘Thanks,’ said Leo, and flashed him a smile. ‘Love to. I’ll bring someone, if I may.’
‘Yes, do that. Good. Make it about eight.’
Leo went into the clerks’ room, sighing inwardly. An evening in the company of the plump, boisterous Catherine, with her irrepressible laugh and pink cheeks. Still, all in a good cause.
Later that evening, after supper at Buck’s, Leo sat in his mews house, with a large brandy before him and Brahm’s Fourth Symphony in the background, and began to flick through the little sheaf of cards in his hand. They were invitations, some gilt-edged, some embossed, some square and plain – all bearing his name in various hands, some long and flowing, some square and upright, some confidently scrawling, and all requesting the pleasure of his company, whenever and wherever. Every week or so he would go through his most recent pile of invitations, notepaper and fountain pen on the table before him, rejecting some, accepting others. Now the task had a novel aspect to it. It was no longer merely a question of which functions he could bear to attend, but also of which ones would be most useful in advertising his new liaison to the chattering, fashionable circle of his superficial acquaintance.
