by Caro Fraser
‘Only very slightly,’ murmured Leo. ‘Thanks for the drink, Edward. Would you excuse me?’ And he nodded, smiled and left them.
‘Great guy, isn’t he?’ said Edward to Sarah. ‘I had a pupillage in his chambers. He’s very brilliant. Actually, I did some rather good pleadings for him once.’ He took a sip of his drink. ‘Uncle Bas says he’ll be applying for silk any day now. Anyway, what d’you think of his girlfriend? Isn’t she gorgeous?’
‘A bit pure and simple for my tastes,’ replied Sarah, looking thoughtfully at Rachel. ‘But perhaps I’d better go and introduce myself, since we have so much in common. See you, Edward.’
Turning his head, Leo saw Sarah making her way across the room in Rachel’s direction. No, he thought, anything but that. But before he could even move, the High Steward of Cambridge University and an emeritus professor of international law had descended upon him, and he was helpless, could only glance from time to time, with beating heart, at Rachel and Sarah talking together.
Sarah had decided to favour the direct approach.
‘Hello,’ she said with a winning smile, going up to Rachel as she stood momentarily on her own, holding out her hand. ‘I’m Sarah Colman, a friend of Leo’s. I thought I’d come and introduce myself, because Leo’s told me so much about you.’
‘Oh, has he?’ said Rachel, returning the girl’s smile guardedly as she took her hand.
‘Oh, yes,’ replied Sarah, tucking her hair girlishly behind one ear and widening her eyes. ‘But then we talk rather a lot, Leo and I. He’s something of a hero of mine. I’m specialising in his field of law, so I hope he’ll be able to help me with finding a pupillage, and things.’
‘Oh, you’re studying law?’ asked Rachel with interest.
‘Yes.’ Sarah nodded, wondering whether, with that wonderfully clear skin, Rachel wore any make-up. ‘What do you do?’
‘I’m a solicitor.’ Rachel’s smile was warm and friendly now. It was good to find someone younger to talk to; the women here all looked either like dowager duchesses or terribly smart socialites.
‘Gosh, is that how you and Leo met?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Mmm.’ Sarah paused, eyes brightening. ‘Don’t you think Leo is wonderfully clever?’ she asked, watching Rachel’s face, amusing herself with the thought of how Rachel’s serene, happy expression was shortly to change.
‘Yes. Yes, I suppose I do.’ Rachel laughed with faint embarrassment and pleasure at talking about her lover.
Sarah’s glance fell to her drink, which she was nursing in one hand. ‘And marvellous in bed, too, don’t you think?’
‘I’m sorry?’ Rachel leant forward, startled, genuinely thinking she had misheard.
Sarah repeated herself, then added, ‘So inventive, sexually. We should compare notes some time. Has he told you how he spent last summer?’ She laughed, throwing back her head slightly, as though at some delicious shared pleasantry. Rachel simply gazed at her, dumbstruck. ‘This friend of mine, James – well, he isn’t really a friend, not part of my set, you know, more an acquaintance. Anyway, James and Leo and I set up a very jolly little ménage à trois at Leo’s place in the country. Have you been there? I always said it was just as well he had a big enough bed. But the fun we had! Didn’t you know Leo liked boys as well? They’re really his speciality, wicked man – we’re something of a sideline—’
Rachel, recovering something of her self-possession, set her glass down on a nearby table, murmured, ‘Excuse me,’ and, white-faced, walked away from Sarah in the direction of the doorway.
Leo, trapped by the emeritus professor, who was regaling him with an account of a conference in Copenhagen, saw her from the other side of the room, glimpsed her strained face and empty eyes. He ground his teeth silently, longing to get away, pursue her, find out what had been said. She and Sarah had hardly been talking for more than a moment or two. But that would be long enough for Sarah. He glanced at Sarah and saw her, an amused smile on her face, lifting her glass slightly in his direction in a mocking little toast.
Rachel found her way to a bathroom and locked the door. She leant against the washbasin, drawing in her breath. Her forehead touched the cool glass of the mirror above the basin. She felt shock still tingling in her limbs. Of course she had supposed that there had been women in Leo’s life before, many of them – but what this girl had said took things to another dimension. She had said that Leo slept with boys as well – as soon as she had said it, thoughts of Leo had flooded Rachel’s mind and she had known it to be true. And he had slept with that girl and her friend, together … It seemed that the Leo of the past few weeks had been transformed into someone completely unknown, an alien character. It was as though her trust and love had been torn down like the flimsiest of curtains, and this new strangeness revealed.
Leo lived in another world which she, Rachel, knew nothing about – and that girl was part of it. Clearly Leo could inspire hatred as well as love in people, something she had not thought possible, for Sarah had been intent on inflicting damage. It did not occur to Rachel that Sarah’s remarks had been intended largely in a spirit of mischief, for Rachel could not comprehend mischief of that kind.
After thinking for a few moments, she looked at herself in the mirror, rubbing at her cheeks to give them more colour, and opened the door. What came next, she had no idea, but she knew that she would have to talk to Leo about this. Why? Maybe it didn’t matter. But, of course, it did.
She saw him waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, his face expressionless but tense. She came down slowly, and even managed a faint smile as she reached him. Whatever new things she was learning about him, he was still Leo, her lover, and she still felt her heart fill at the sight of him.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked. She put out a hand and leant on the dark, polished wood of the balustrade. The hallway was empty, except for the occasional drift of people from one room to another.
‘Fine. I wasn’t quite prepared for your friend Sarah, though.’
Leo looked directly at her. ‘What did she say?’
‘I don’t think we should talk about it here, do you?’ she said. For the first time in their relationship, Rachel felt the control was hers, that she would decide how events were to proceed. He stood there with that dependent sense about him, the balance altered, as though what she said and did was now of the utmost consequence.
‘Do you want to go?’ he asked quietly.
‘Leo, we’ve only been here for an hour. I don’t think your head of chambers would be too pleased if we went so abruptly. Anyway,’ she added with a chilly little smile, one he had never seen before, ‘I think it’ll keep.’ And she left his side and took a few steps to the doorway. ‘Come on,’ she said, for he was still standing next to the Christmas tree, his eyes wary and uncertain as a boy’s, ‘you still have a few more people to impress.’
He was watchful of her for the rest of the evening, certain from her manner that she had been told something which could wreck it all. He managed to talk and laugh and eat and drink, but he was counting the minutes until he could get Rachel on her own, and find out how badly things might have been disturbed. Leo detested not knowing where he stood, in court or out of it.
At last they stood together in the hallway, Rachel with her coat about her shoulders, the chilly draught of the previous guests’ departure enveloping them as they murmured their thanks and farewell to Sir Basil and his sister.
Leo hurried her out into the freezing night, questions and anxieties racing in his mind. They walked in silence down the long driveway, past banks of deep laurels and dark shrubs. Suddenly he stopped, and Rachel halted, too, turning to look enquiringly at him. He was not sure what he was thinking, but he trusted his impulse. He drew her quickly into the shadow of some trees and bushes and kissed her for a long time with as much feeling as he could muster, stifling any resistance and soothing her restless body until she gave herself up to him. Then there was silence, and he leant back against a
tree as she drew her arms from around his neck.
‘What are you afraid of?’ she asked, with real curiosity.
Her perspicacity touched him. ‘Of losing you,’ he replied, reflecting wryly on the truth which would be misunderstood in this.
‘I think we have to do some talking,’ she said, slowly and softly. They made their way back out onto the driveway and walked to Leo’s car. There they sat in silence for a moment. Leo switched on the engine, and then the heater on full.
‘Jesus, it’s freezing,’ he muttered, as he swung the car out into the deserted road. They drove for some time, neither speaking, until they stopped at some traffic lights. Leo turned to look at her.
‘So – what did Sarah say to you?’ He shifted gear, looking back at the lights, waiting for them to change, waiting for her reply.
‘Well,’ said Rachel, a trace of irony in her voice, ‘she talked about how you spent your summer.’
Oh, thank you, Sarah, thought Leo with quiet fury. He said nothing, moved off from the lights.
‘Is it true?’ asked Rachel. Now her voice sounded small and unhappy.
‘Is what true?’ asked Leo grimly, not looking at her. Christ, maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe this relationship had served its purpose, could end here and now. But then he remembered what Frank had said earlier that evening, and he knew that the thing still had to go the distance. Without Rachel, he became defenceless. She was his armour against all rumour and conjecture. The mere fact of the Lord Chancellor’s enthusiastic conversation with her that night had shown him this. He waited to hear what she would say next.
‘That you sleep with boys,’ she replied evenly, watching his profile.
He ground the gears and swore softly under his breath. ‘Did she say that?’
Rachel hesitated. ‘She said—she—yes, that was what she said.’ Now it was Rachel’s turn to wait. He drove for a little way without speaking.
‘I’ve finished with all that,’ he said at last, finality in his tone.
‘So you did – once?’
He said nothing, merely nodded, gazing straight ahead of him.
‘And you slept with Sarah and this boy, James?’
He drew up to the traffic lights at Great Portland Street and stared at the Christmas lights in the shops. ‘Yes,’ he replied tonelessly. ‘Yes, that’s what we did. All summer.’ The lights changed; they moved off again.
Rachel sat and thought about this. She could not imagine Leo making love to another man. The thing was beyond her.
They did not speak again until they reached Leo’s house. She had expected him to take her home, but was glad that he wanted to be with her for a while longer. She had already begun to make decisions about all of this. He gave her the keys and she let herself in while he put the car away. She went upstairs and into the living room, switching on lights. She looked around the room which, over the past weeks, had now become familiar, and felt, oddly, as though parts of the room, certain pictures and objects, now made fresh sense in the light of what she knew.
She heard him close the door and come upstairs behind her. He crossed the room and fetched the brandy from a cupboard.
‘Would you like some?’ he asked, pouring himself a glass. She shook her head.
He sat down on the sofa with his glass and looked up at her. He stretched out a hand to hers and pulled her gently down next to him. Her coat slid from her shoulders. He shifted slightly, turning to look directly into her eyes, taking a sip of his brandy.
‘Are you very shocked by all of this?’ he asked quietly.
She looked down, running her fingers over the back of his hand, pulling it gently onto her thigh. ‘A bit,’ she said. Then she added, almost apologetically, ‘I know I shouldn’t be, I suppose – I mean, nowadays …’
‘Nowadays has nothing to do with it,’ replied Leo. ‘This is you and me we’re talking about.’ She said nothing, merely wound her fingers absently round his, not looking at him. ‘I told you it’s all in the past, that kind of thing. I don’t want it to make any difference between us.’
‘But, Leo, it’s more than just the past,’ she murmured. ‘There’s now, and the future. I mean, that kind of thing involves risks. Everyone knows that. What if—’
‘What if I had Aids, or something?’ He smiled grimly. ‘Don’t worry. I’m a most conscientious citizen. I don’t take risks. And I have myself tested regularly. Not HIV positive so far.’ She said nothing, but continued to stroke his hand. ‘I want to know if it changes anything, Rachel.’ Still she was silent. ‘Believe me, all that’s finished with,’ he added, driving her to a response.
At this, she looked up. ‘How can it be? How can that kind of thing ever be? You can’t just switch yourself off like that, can you?’ There was a note of wonder in her voice.
He did not know what to say to this. He drank some more of his brandy. Lying was becoming more and more difficult; the part he had played at the outset of this affair no longer seemed to fit. He felt awkward and weary. But he had to go on. He set his glass down on the table, and picked up both her hands in his, bringing his face nearer to hers.
‘I want it to be finished with,’ he said. ‘Right now, there is nothing in the world I want apart from you. Do you understand that?’ It seemed imperative that she should believe him.
‘Yes,’ she answered, believing him, wanting to.
He clenched her hands tight in his and kissed them, then looked back at her intently. ‘I suppose,’ she said after a moment, lifting her eyes to his and smiling faintly, ‘that we’re both damaged goods, in a sense. Aren’t we?’
He caught the tone in her voice with relief; it was one of surrender, acceptance. The thing was safe for the moment. But her words reminded him that she was, sexually and emotionally, a fragile being. The damage could run deeper than he had supposed. Well, he would find out.
‘Shall I take you home?’ he asked. There was a pause. ‘Or would you rather stay here?’
‘Here,’ she said. She put her lips softly against his, tasting the brandy, his body warm beneath her hands through the thinness of his shirt. ‘I want to be here with you.’
He felt tired. Forty-four, tired and longing just to sleep. But there were needs to be filled and beliefs to be sustained.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Come to bed.’ He kissed her gently and she nodded, then rested her head upon his shoulder, feeling as though the past few hours had aged her by years.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Now was the season of the office Christmas party. All over the City of London the event was breaking out in its many and varied forms like a horrible rash. Restaurants rang at midday and in the early evening to the screeching laughter of secretaries in silly hats, and to the banter of white-socked clerks pulling crackers and drinking too much in a haze of cigarette smoke, surrounded by the remnants of overpriced turkey dinners and cheap wine. In works canteens, in office dining rooms, in boardrooms and in rented-out wine bars, sound systems belted out disco music, company bosses looked on with lofty indulgence and left after half an hour, typists got tight and had their virtue compromised by office boys and lowly computer operators, and the trains and buses were not pleasant to travel on after eight o’clock in the evening.
On the day before the Nichols & Co office party was due to take place, Felicity stumbled into the lift on the eighth floor with armfuls of documents. Balancing the pile with her chin, she jabbed at the buttons and then dumped the papers on the floor as the doors closed. A second later they opened again, and Mr Lamb got in. The doors slid shut and Felicity stood apprehensively against one wall. Mr Lamb turned to gaze at her as the lift began its slow descent. Conscious of his stare, Felicity folded her arms and feigned interest in the lift buttons.
‘I notice you seem to have been keeping out of my way recently, Felicity,’ he remarked smoothly.
‘Not bleeding surprising, is it?’ she replied, not taking her eyes off the buttons. God, this lift was slow. He’d better not try anything.
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br /> ‘Maybe I’ll give you a ring later this morning,’ he said, unperturbed by her tone of voice, ‘and we can do that little thing I suggested the other week, eh?’ And he reached out a swift hand and squeezed at her breast. Almost as soon as he did so she lifted her hand and whacked him as hard as she could across the cheek, and he lurched sideways a little.
‘You do that one more time, you dirty old git,’ she snarled at him, her chest heaving with anger, ‘and I’ll have you! You can’t go around harassing people, you know!’
Mr Lamb had instinctively put his hand up to his cheek, which bore the flaming imprint of Felicity’s fingers.
‘You little bitch!’ he hissed. ‘I’m going to have you out of here so fast your feet won’t touch the ground!’
‘Good!’ she retorted. ‘I’ll be glad to be out of this stinking place! But before I go, I’ll tell them all about the little games you’ve been playing, you sexist pig!’
The lift had reached the basement and stopped. Mr Lamb leant out and pressed the ‘doors closed’ button, and kept his finger on it. ‘And I’ll just tell them that you’re a little troublemaker, cooking up stories out of spite at being fired. No one’s going to listen to you, Felicity. Remember, you don’t stand particularly high in anyone’s estimation.’ He took his finger off the button and the lift doors slid open. ‘I’m afraid your Christmas isn’t going to be a very happy one,’ he added. He stepped out and the lift doors closed behind him.
Felicity leant back against the wall, shaking slightly, and closed her eyes. Tears pricked her eyelids. She stabbed at a button, any button, and rode up a few floors, then mopped her eyes as she searched for the button for the basement again. She took her bundles of paper down and left them by the shredder, then went back up to her own floor, where she fetched some work from her desk and took it through to Rachel’s room. She was just setting it down on the desk when Rachel came in behind her.
Rachel glanced at Felicity, whose face still looked tearful.
