9,59 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Serie: Caper Court
- Sprache: Englisch
At 5 Caper Court, the personal and professional interweave in ways as complex as the law; sharp minds and abrasive personalities lie behind deceptively polished facades. Leo Davies, silver-haired QC, captivates both his male and female co-workers. Untouched by his seemingly indiscriminate affairs, he takes his pleasure where he pleases without regard for the devastation he leaves behind. Yet, newly made a father, Leo begins to questions his ephemeral relationships, but when his lifestyle produces sinister results that threaten to extend to his son the question becomes whether it is too late for Leo to change - to stop his life from unravelling even further ...
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Seitenzahl: 520
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013
Ähnliche
A Perfect Obsession
CARO FRASER
For Rosie
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
January in London. Heavy overnight frost and a twenty-four-hour tube strike. Morning rush hour traffic standing bumper to bumper along the Hanger Lane gyratory system, the A40, the A2 and the M25. As leaden dawn lightens to pale-grey day, the trains, buses and offices stir into life, the computers hum, the money markets begin to chatter, and the wheels of commerce revolve.
At the centre of this bustling world, in an oasis of apparent antiquity, lies the Temple, a scant square mile of elderly buildings, of lanes and squares and alleyways and courtyards bearing dusty names – King’s Bench Walk, Pump Court, Serjeant’s Inn, Paper Buildings, Crown Office Row. This sequestered spot, with its fountains and gardens, its flagged courts and cobbled lanes, stands tranquil in the teeming heart of the City of London, and is home to the cream of the English legal system. Here toil the barristers and QCs, their keen minds and well-honed intellects hard at work, delivering views on a multitude of knotty legal questions: on matters of taxation, of banking, of planning, of litigation both civil and criminal, on obscure points of succession and inheritance, on dreary drifts of European directives, on ponderous affairs of international law, on questions which will shape the politics and economic policies of the day, and on smaller matters which will touch the lives of the petty criminal and the humble litigant. They are served and mastered by their clerks, whose job it is to arrange the affairs of chambers, to set dates, exact fees from solicitors, distribute briefs, and to knit seamlessly together the working days of the lawyers. The dignity of the clerks is supreme, their authority unquestioned, and their percentage very healthy.
In the Temple, somewhere between Inner Temple library and Middle Temple Lane, lies Caper Court, a flagged courtyard bounded by handsome buildings, with two trees in its centre and an antique sundial set high up in the wall of one of the buildings. Number 5 Caper Court houses a moderately sized, but elite and marvellously successful set of chambers, where the barristers specialise in commercial and civil litigation, with the odd spot of fraud and shipping thrown in.
Later that same January day, a Wednesday lunchtime, a well-dressed man with sharply handsome features emerged from 5 Caper Court. Hands thrust into the pockets of his navy cashmere overcoat, his prematurely silver hair glinting in the cold sunshine, he strode briskly down King’s Bench Walk to where his car was parked. While clerks and office workers thronged the sandwich shops and lawyers and brokers jostled in wine bars, Leo Davies made his way to Highbury to spend a nourishing hour with his therapist.
‘It’s about sexual orientation.’
‘It’s about equivocality. I haven’t got a sexual orientation.’
Julius Guest looked with bemusement at his patient. He and Leo were old friends – something which, Julius felt, did not perhaps create the best foundation for psychoanalysis – but how little he had known of Leo, he realised, despite those years of friendship. Here was Leo, a man in his mid-forties, looking younger than his years despite his oddly attractive, grey hair, fit, good-looking, established in reputation and practice as a QC, in search of solution to some personal problem. What intrigued Julius was to find the problem, rather than the solution.
‘Everyone has a sexual orientation.’
‘All right, I’ve got more than one.’ He looked at Julius doubtfully. ‘Is that too many?’
Julius, a small, intense man of Leo’s age, with a neat, pepper-and-salt beard and shoulder-length hair, laughed and spread his hands. ‘Have as many as you like. Look, you’ve told me that you sleep with men as well as women. OK. And I know all about your wife Rachel, about the divorce, and your affair, last year with this boy, Joshua. OK, both those relationships made you unhappy—’ Julius waved a vague hand ‘—but let’s put them aside for one moment. The question is—this equivocality, call it what you like, does it make you unhappy?’
‘Unhappy? Jesus, Julius, that relationship with Joshua … When it ended, I thought I was ending. I still—’
‘No, no. I’m not talking about that. I’m not talking about any specific relationship. That involves dynamics far more complex than mere sexuality. I’m talking here simply, purely—’ He leant forward in his chair, making a compartmentalising gesture with his hands, ‘—about you. And sex. Does the fact of your bisexuality upset you? In a general sense.’
There was a silence. ‘It troubles me.’ Leo spoke slowly. ‘That is, it troubles me to think that it’s at the root of my problems. But in terms of morality—’
‘No, please!’ Julius gave an anguished laugh. ‘No morals. Facts. Facts.’
Now Leo looked bemused. ‘Very well.’ He pondered Julius’s question again. ‘No. No, it doesn’t trouble me. My response to any man or woman, in terms of desire, is individual, perfectly genuine. I’m not unhappy with that.’
‘Well, then?’
Leo sighed. ‘I still have this notion that there should be – could be one special person; someone I can share my life with. But relationships – well, they just never go the distance.’
‘Maybe you don’t.’
Leo rubbed a hand across his face. ‘I think that’s what I meant. I remember saying it to someone once – my ex-wife. It was a kind of warning.’
‘Well?’
‘It was true then. The relationship with Rachel was never going anywhere. The whole episode was pretty discreditable, if I’m being honest. I shouldn’t have married her. Up till then, I’d been more or less happy with the life I led. I never wanted any stability, any commitment or permanence. But since the divorce …’
‘Since the divorce you’ve felt lonely. Is that it?’
Leo pondered this. ‘Not quite. I think maybe the whole thing has to do with Oliver, my son. He’s only eighteen months old. He’s my family. Having him has made me aware of how important it is to have someone in your life – someone to civilize you, keep you from being egotistical and selfish and living only for yourself. I thought Joshua might be the one, the person to share things with. I see now that I was being naive. He was too young, the balance between us was all wrong.’
‘So it had nothing to do with sex. Sex is immaterial. It’s about love.’
‘I suppose so. I’d hardly say that sex was immaterial.’ Leo glanced at his watch. ‘Your metre’s running out. Come to that, mine probably is, too. I’ve got to get back to chambers. Got a con at two.’ He rose from the comfort of the padded leather chair and slipped on his jacket.
Julius got up. ‘Tell me, do you feel these sessions help at all? I’ve known you for fifteen years, you’ve been coming to me on and off for six of them, and I sometimes wonder whether you don’t need someone more detached, someone who can go more deeply into things. Friendship can throw up certain barriers to effective psychoanalysis, you know.’
Leo smiled. ‘I like seeing you. And yes, I think the sessions do me good. Besides, I like keeping you in business. Anyone with five children needs all the help he can get.’
‘Your beneficence is mightily appreciated, Leo. Especially when it comes to paying school fees. Not that you know anything about that. Not just yet.’ He walked with Leo to the door. ‘Still, you’re doing all right. Didn’t I see your name mentioned in that piece in The Guardian the other day about fat-cat lawyers? Fees topping the million-a-year mark, as I recall.’
‘I wish. Don’t believe everything you read, Julius.’ Leo shrugged on his overcoat as Julius opened the door. They walked out together through the receptionist’s office.
‘By the way,’ said Julius, ‘when’s the opening of this new museum in Shoreditch? I recall you mentioning it last time you were here.’
‘Chay had been hoping to have the opening at Christmas, but you can imagine what it’s like with renovations, contractors and so forth. It’s all fallen a bit behind. Probably some time in February. Why don’t you and May come along? I know she likes modern art, even if you don’t.’
‘A free drink and the chance to schmooze with the likes of Chay Cross is always acceptable.’
‘Good. I’ll put a couple of invitations in the post.’
Leo went downstairs and out into the cold January air. His car was parked a couple of blocks away. He drove back to chambers through the lunchtime traffic, reflecting on what he had told Julius. It wasn’t really true. These monthly sessions with Julius were of little value. Leo knew he used Julius as a sounding board, as much as anything else. He simply talked to him, much as one might to a friend. It went no deeper. In fact, during that dreadful time just after Joshua left him – which was as close to nervous depression as Leo had ever come – it hadn’t occurred to Leo to seek help from Julius. He had only told him after the event. Nor, significantly, had he ever told Julius about Anthony. Anthony was a fellow barrister in Leo’s chambers at 5 Caper Court, young, good-looking, and bound to Leo by an attachment which neither of them had ever fathomed. Anthony was too important, and the nature of Leo’s relationship with him too delicate to touch upon. While it cost him nothing to lay bare to Julius the wretched facts of his brief marriage to Rachel, or to examine the nature of his relationship with Oliver in the light of his own father’s departure from his life at an early age, Leo could not bring himself to explore with any other person the complexities of his feelings for Anthony.
He allowed himself to think about Anthony as he sat in the slow crawl of traffic on the Embankment. They were going through one of their periodic phases of discord, characterised by a general aloofness on Anthony’s part, and studied indifference on Leo’s. Leo thought back to the events of a couple of months ago which had precipitated it. If only Sarah, troublesome as ever, had not chosen that particular evening to call round for a drink. Leo had always found it hard to resist her. He had first met Sarah Colman a few years ago when she was just nineteen, the well-connected daughter of a senior member of the judiciary, blonde, blue-eyed, with a fresh and innocent manner which quite belied her sexual appetite and complete lack of morals. Leo had invited Sarah, plus a young male friend of hers, to his country house at Stanton to share a ménage à trois for a memorable summer. Like all good things, it had come to an end. He and Sarah saw one another infrequently thereafter. He had been too busy taking silk and shoring up his reputation by making a respectable marriage to have any truck with sweet, scheming Sarah. It didn’t escape his attention, however, that she was careful to hover on the edges of his life. She had even gone so far as to have a volatile affair with Anthony, from motives which Leo did not care to examine. And last summer, by a coincidence which Leo could only marvel at, she had started work as a pupil at 5 Caper Court. The propinquity was not one which Leo exactly relished. He liked to keep his private life set well apart from his public one. The kind of sexual intimacy he had shared with Sarah, and the things she knew about him, made her dangerous, particularly given her proclivity for mischief-making. But that evening he had been glad to see her, glad of her cheerful, idle company and the easy warmth of her body, as familiar and pleasurable as ever. He hadn’t expected Anthony to call round, just as he’d divested Sarah of her last piece of clothing.
The traffic up ahead suddenly stirred into life, and Leo’s thoughts returned to the present. It was already ten past two, and his client – an American cruise operator who had lost several million in an unhappy joint venture – was doubtless already waiting for him, together with the instructing solicitor from Stephenson Harwood. Leo parked his car and hurried into chambers. Henry, the senior clerk, a sad-faced young man in his late twenties, was standing in his braces by the photocopier. He glanced up as Leo came in, and nodded his head in the direction of the waiting room. Leo nodded in reply and shrugged off his overcoat, smoothing down his hair.
‘Ask one of the girls to nip out and fetch me some sandwiches for when this con is over, would you, Henry? I haven’t eaten a thing since breakfast.’ He headed for the stairs. ‘Give me half a minute and then show them up.’
Henry ran a few more documents off and then went to the waiting room to show the clients up to Leo’s room. When he came back down Felicity, a fellow clerk, had just returned from lunch. Henry smiled forlornly at her, in the way that he always did, a smile born out of devotion and hopeless longing. Bright, pretty, energetic, bad-tempered, occasionally foul-mouthed, and with a taste in clothing which ran to the plunging and thigh-revealing, Felicity didn’t quite match up to Henry’s cherished vision of the ideal woman, but he had been captivated by her ever since she had first come to 5 Caper Court two years before. She was a good clerk, too, quick-witted, practical and hard-working. Henry was proud of the fact that he had trained her to be as capable as she now was, but he nurtured his true feelings for her discreetly. Apart from the impossibility of any relationship between two clerks working side by side, Henry knew for a fact that he wasn’t Felicity’s type. Felicity went for the well-muscled, good-looking, glib kind, in the shape of a waster called Vince, with whom she had been living for two years. Last October Vince had got into a fight with a couple of youths, one of whom had hit his head on the pavement and subsequently died. At the same time, Felicity had lost the baby she was carrying. All in all, it had been a dreadful time. Vince had been charged with murder and was still waiting to hear the date for his trial. Henry had no real idea how this had affected Felicity’s feelings towards Vince, but, knowing Felicity, he assumed that it had only served to strengthen them. Felicity was loyal and loving, much to Henry’s despair.
‘Bloody brass monkeys out there,’ remarked Felicity, unwinding her scarf and setting her sandwiches and coffee down on the desk. From outside came the clang of scaffolding pipes and the whistling of workmen. Felicity went over to the window and glanced out. ‘I wish they’d get a move on and finish the annexe. I can’t stand that racket all day long. And the looks you get from those workmen when you cross the court!’
‘Can’t say I’ve experienced that problem,’ replied Henry. ‘Have you seen some papers that came in from Middleton Potts for Simon?’
‘Yeah, they’re over here,’ said Felicity through a mouthful of sandwich.
They both glanced up as Anthony Cross came into the clerks’ room. He was a tall, dark haired young man of twenty-four, with boyish good looks which were losing their softness. Three years of a highly successful practice had polished his manner, which, when he had first arrived at Caper Court, had been somewhat tentative. Unlike most of those at number 5, Anthony had not had the advantages of a public school and Oxbridge background. He had had to exert his exceptional academic capabilities to win scholarships and funding throughout his early legal career. His mother was a primary school teacher and his father, Chay, at the time that Anthony was growing up, had been a superannuated hippy with artistic pretensions and no money, who had abandoned his family for life in an Islington squat. Just at the time when Anthony gained his much-prized tenancy at 5 Caper Court, Chay Cross’s fortunes, too, had taken a sudden and dramatic upturn. His paintings began to sell, and within a year he had become one of the leading lights of the postmodern art movement. Now he was wealthy, with houses in Milan, New York and London, and the kind of celebrity lifestyle which perfectly suited his vanity and pretensions. Success hadn’t changed Chay Cross’s personality in the least, but Anthony marvelled at the way in which wealth had lent acceptability to its more unattractive aspects. People who would once have run a mile from his boring, rambling dissertations on art and related subjects now listened breathlessly to his utterances, and regurgitated his profundities in the pages of Modern Painters. Happy though he was that his father could now hang out with the likes of Damien Hirst and Simon Schama, it bemused Anthony that anyone should achieve such staggering success on the back of what he still considered to be ghastly, derivative pieces of work of no aesthetic quality and questionable integrity.
Anthony dropped some papers on the counter. ‘Can you ask Robert to take these documents over to Mr Justice Latham’s chambers? They’ve been revised and they need to be substituted in the judge’s bundle. The judge’s clerk probably has them. They need to get there this afternoon, as the hearing’s tomorrow.’
‘Will do,’ said Henry. ‘By the way, your father rang when you were out at lunch. Sorry I didn’t mention it earlier. Asked if you could call him back.’
‘Did he say where he was?’
‘At his gallery place.’
‘Right, thanks.’
Anthony went back upstairs to his room, which was snug and narrow, lined with bookshelves along one side. On the opposite wall stood a low set of shelves stacked with briefs and bundles of papers, and in the fireplace a small gas fire burnt against the chill of the January day. Anthony’s desk stood by the curtained window, facing into the room, in the centre of which was a polished oval table surrounded by chairs, for conferences. The table, like Anthony’s desk, was piled with papers and files, and stacks of cardboard containers full of documents lined the floor beneath the window. On the wall hung pictures, charcoal sketches of the law courts and the Strand. It was not unlike being in a small, comfortable, but faintly austere drawing room, in which someone had dumped a large quantity of paper and boxes. The only concessions to modernity were Anthony’s leather office chair and a state-of-the-art computer, fax and scanner on a side table by his desk. It was an extraordinary contrast to the open-planned and air-conditioned existences of his friends and acquaintances working in banks and solicitors’ firms throughout the City, but to Anthony it was all thoroughly normal, and part of the curious blend of past and present which characterised the Temple.
Anthony picked up the phone and rang Chay’s mobile.
Chay was totally engrossed these days in a scheme to renovate an enormous derelict brewery in Shoreditch and turn it into a museum of modern art, a task which was near completion. Leo was one of the museum’s trustees, and Anthony helped his father with legal aspects of the project.
‘It’s me,’ said Anthony, when Chay answered. ‘Henry said you rang earlier.’
‘Right, I did. Things are coming together faster than I anticipated and it looks like we could have the opening at the beginning of March if we can get the invitations out. The PR people reckon it would be excellent timing. David Bowie’s going to be in London around the seventh, and it would really boost publicity to have him there. I’m hoping Simon Callow and Maggi Hambling will be able to come, possibly Tracey and Damien. Hockney’s a long shot, but you never know. Anyway, I’m trying to arrange a meeting of the trustees for tomorrow night.’
‘That’s rather short notice, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, I know, but most of the others should be able to get here. I tried to get hold of Leo at lunchtime, but couldn’t track him down. Do you think you could have a word and see if he can manage to be there?’
‘All right,’ said Anthony.
‘And obviously, if you can make it, that would be useful.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Catch you later.’
Anthony put the phone down. He sometimes wondered, beyond the setting up of the original trust, what use he was to his father in this project. He seemed to like his presence at these meetings. Maybe it was, as Leo had once suggested, a way of validating himself in his son’s eyes, reminding him that he was no longer a failure. Chay was such a child in many ways. Anthony turned to the window and stared out at the building works going on at number 7, diagonally opposite. The top floor was being turned into an annexe to relieve the pressure on the already overcrowded chambers at number 5, and all day the sound of hammering and drilling filled the normally tranquil air.
A figure appeared in the courtyard below, hurrying from number 5 towards Middle Temple Lane, a young woman with chestnut hair, the blue bag containing her wig and gown slung over her shoulder, papers tucked beneath one arm. A pang touched Anthony’s heart as he watched her disappear through the archway. It was almost three months since his affair with Camilla Lawrence had ended. He hadn’t been out with any other girl regularly since. No doubt there were those, including many members of chambers, who would say that it was just as well, that it wasn’t healthy to conduct an intimate relationship with another barrister in the same chambers, but there had been a time when Anthony had thought he was truly in love. He wondered now. Since the relationship had been abruptly terminated by Camilla’s discovery that Anthony had had a brief fling with Sarah Colman while Camilla was away in Bermuda on a case, it was reasonable to assume that his feelings couldn’t have been as deep as he had supposed. Not that he would have had anything to do with Sarah if she hadn’t come on to him in the way she had … it was very hard at twenty-four to resist that kind of temptation. She had probably just been making mischief, as usual. Still, she had been the cause of their break up.
And the cause of his present rift with Leo. He turned away from the window and sat down, moodily winding a length of red tape round his fingers. If she hadn’t been there that evening, when he’d gone to see Leo, then there would be none of this wretched animosity. In truth, though, the animosity was on his part, not Leo’s. He had gone to Leo that night to tell him—to tell him what, exactly? That he regretted not becoming his lover three years earlier, that he couldn’t go on feeling about him as he did … That had been the idea. The whisky which Leo had poured for him might have been enough to bring it all out. But it hadn’t happened – and no doubt just as well. Sarah had suddenly appeared, wearing nothing but one of Leo’s shirts, hair mussed, looking delectable. He had been aware that she and Leo had known one another before she ever came to chambers, but he hadn’t realised quite how intimate that friendship was. Embarrassing and humiliating as it had been, it could have been worse. At least she’d come into the room before he’d had the chance to make a fool of himself.
Pointless to think about it now. He could do without all that emotional confusion. He was straight, always had been, and if it hadn’t been for Leo and his warped ethical view of the world, his belief that sexuality knew no moral boundaries, Anthony would never have had to worry about all this. Perhaps that wasn’t quite fair … He remembered those long days, sitting as a pupil in Michael Gibbon’s room, listening for the sound of Leo’s voice on the stair, his whistle, his rapid footstep. How he had held his breath at that last sound, hoping that Leo, as he sometimes did, would look in to have a word with Michael. He had a way of lighting up any room he came into. Anthony had loved him, loved his company, his charm, his looks, the brilliance of his mind and his easy erudition. He loved the fact that Leo, like him, had come up the hard way, from humble beginnings in a dreary Welsh town, to achieve a position as one of the most respected commercial silks in London. He regarded Leo as a kindred spirit. He had worshipped him back then, taken every chance to sit with him in court, watching and learning. He felt he owed much of his own present success to Leo.
Anthony flung the tape aside and sighed. Maybe he shouldn’t get so hung up about all this. Sarah could sleep with Leo if she wanted. She’d slept with just about everyone else. The truth was that it was Leo he blamed. He took his pleasure where he pleased and did untold damage. It had been that way with Rachel. No sooner had Anthony set his sights on her than Leo had moved in, seduced her, married her for God knows what selfish reason, all without regard for Anthony’s feelings. Not that Rachel had ever cared about Anthony, but still … The fact was, he had been angry with Leo ever since finding Sarah at Leo’s flat that night, and he couldn’t seem to get rid of the feeling. Not that it seemed to bother Leo much. He scarcely acknowledged that there was anything wrong. At the bottom of it all, Anthony knew, lay his own jealousy. He was jealous of anyone who took Leo’s time and affection. He hated Leo’s promiscuity as much as he hated the deep emotional attachments Leo occasionally formed, as he had done with Joshua. In fact, he was thoroughly confused and fed up with caring about Leo. Well, it was finished. He didn’t want to become part of Leo’s weird world. He’d just have to try and get rid of this feeling of resentment and make something civilized of their relationship. He hadn’t spoken properly to Leo for ages. He’d make a start later this afternoon by going to tell Leo about the meeting of the museum trustees tomorrow night.
Leo was gathering up his belongings at six when Anthony knocked on his door and looked in. Leo paused in bemused surprise, then carried on putting papers into his briefcase. That Anthony should come to see him meant nothing. It might simply be about chambers business. Leo closed his briefcase, waiting for Anthony to speak. Anthony glanced round the room, which was quite different from his own, light and modern, the desk of polished ash, clear of clutter, the pictures on the walls expensive abstracts. Its appearance, like Leo’s, was of expensive minimalism, giving nothing away.
Anthony came into the room and closed the door, then said diffidently, ‘I just came to tell you that Chay rang me earlier.’
‘Oh?’
‘He couldn’t get hold of you. Asked me to tell you that he’s holding a meeting of the trustees tomorrow evening. It’s short notice, but he’s decided to try and bring the opening forward to early March and he wants to discuss arrangements.’
Leo flicked open his diary. ‘That’s all right. Did he mention a time?’
‘No–no, I forgot to ask. I’ll speak to him again tomorrow and let you know.’
Leo nodded. He lifted his briefcase off the desk and crossed the room to take his coat from the hanger on the back of the door. Anthony still stood uncertainly in the middle of the room. He was looking for a way to use this opportunity to make peace, Leo realised. Well, let Anthony take the initiative – it had been he, after all, who had created the antagonistic atmosphere of the past few months. He turned to look at him, and was suddenly moved by the uncertain, vulnerable expression on the younger man’s face. Anthony might have toughened up a lot over the past few years, but he still found it hard to deal with certain things.
Leo took pity on him. ‘Are you going to the meeting tomorrow evening?’ he asked.
‘Yes–yes, I am. At least, Chay asked me along.’
There was a pause, then Leo relented completely. ‘I’ll give you a lift, if you like. Assuming the thing’s around half-seven, as it usually is, we could go for a drink beforehand.’
Anthony grasped this olive branch gratefully, knowing that by rights he was the one who should have made the first move. He just hadn’t known the appropriate thing to say. ‘Great. Yes, let’s do that.’
Leo was touched by the way Anthony’s expression suddenly lightened with relief. He opened the door of his room and they went out together.
‘By the way,’ remarked Leo as they went downstairs, ‘did you see that practice direction about assigning two-judge management teams to longer cases?’
‘Yes,’ replied Anthony, ‘quite a good idea, in some ways.’ They carried on chatting for a few minutes on the landing outside Anthony’s room.
Anthony felt happier in his heart than he had for some time. He was glad they’d broken the ice. But he was still resolved that he was finished for good with the intense, emotional side of their friendship. He wanted no more than a platonic, amicable relationship.
‘Right,’ said Leo, glancing at his watch. ‘I’d better go. I’m meeting someone in ten minutes. See you tomorrow.’
Anthony went back into his room and closed the door, wondering exactly who it was Leo was going to meet, trying to persuade himself he didn’t really care.
CHAPTER TWO
‘… which brings us, my Lord, to the Brussels Convention, which has the force of law in the United Kingdom by virtue of Section 2 (1) of the Civil Jurisdiction and Judgments Act, 1982. Articles 7 to 11 in Section 3 deal with jurisdiction in matters relating to insurance, but article 12 sets out an exception which I must quote in full …’ David Liphook had been on his feet for the past forty-five minutes, earnestly addressing the court in the vexed matter of a contractual dispute between three Lloyd’s syndicates and a Dutch offshore company, regarding property hired out to a Yugoslav enterprise for purposes connected with the construction of a breakwater in Algeria. Sarah Colman, his pupil, sat next to him, taking notes now and again when she could be bothered – which wasn’t often – and discreetly trying to suppress her frequent yawns. She and her flatmate, Lou, had been out clubbing the night before and they hadn’t got in until half-three, and Sarah was feeling distinctly ragged. She’d been in such a rush to get into chambers on time that she’d only had time for a cup of coffee, and now, at eleven-thirty, she was famished.
She sat back and glanced up at David; he was a stocky man in his early thirties, moderately attractive, Sarah supposed, but far too much the public-school type for her liking. He was an OE, and in a barrister the Old Etonian blend of ability, arrogance and perfect good manners was a distinct success. High Court judges, like upper-middle-class mothers, loved him. They could say what they liked, thought Sarah, but the class system was alive and thriving at the Bar, and always would be so long as most of the high fliers and judges came from public schools and Oxbridge colleges. Like all tribal animals, they felt most comfortable with their own kind. Sarah reckoned she could spot the products of different public schools a mile off. OEs acted like they owned the place (which more often than not they did), Wykehamists were too brainy for their own good, with a tendency to twitch, Salopians were failed rebels with leftist leanings who held down establishment jobs despite themselves, and Carthusians were snobs, academics, poets or queers, depending on which house they’d been in.
She glanced up at the judge, Mr Justice Stobie, and tried to assess him. He had a sort of pale, Catholic look about him. Ampleforth? Then again, his name sounded Scottish, so possibly Fettes or Glenalmond. She liked assessing the people around her, weighing up their lives. It gave her a heightened sense of detachment. She was with them, but not of them. For instance, Sarah reckoned she knew exactly the kind of wife David Liphook would eventually marry, the kind of children he would have, where they would be schooled, the sort of holidays he would take, the age at which he would take silk, then eventually seek elevation to the High Court … The predictability of it all was stunning.
‘I must interrupt you there, Mr Liphook.’ Mr Justice Stobie’s mellow tones disturbed Sarah’s idle thoughts. ‘You appear to be suggesting that the word “interest” is used here in the technical sense to refer to the nature of the tide to property held by the person insured. Might there not be an argument for saying that the word is intended in a broader sense, perhaps simply to describe property in connection with which a risk can give rise to loss?’
It’s no use, thought Sarah, as she digested this observation and listened in fascination to the speed and enthusiasm with which David replied. Not in a million years could she be a commercial barrister. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand the law, or couldn’t make sense of David’s various cases – since her shaky beginnings six months ago she now took a vague pleasure in being able to strip an apparently complex set of instructions down to the essentials. It was simply that she could never care enough. David cared. He was entirely engrossed. Sarah sighed. So what was she doing here? She’d originally taken up law because it was a family thing, and she couldn’t think of anything else to do, though her studies at Oxford had been largely peripheral to her social life. After that she’d gone to Bar school because the thought of becoming a solicitor was too awful to contemplate, and when she’d done that she’d sought a pupillage in Leo’s chambers because it seemed like an amusing thing to do. Too much ability and absolutely no ambition, that’s my problem, thought Sarah, as she half-listened to David droning on about risks and interests. And it was true. She was very bright but had no real interest in the arduous business of carving out a career at the Bar, or anywhere else, for that matter! On days like these – days when she hadn’t had enough sleep, or was hungover, or just bored or dispirited – she sincerely wished that women weren’t expected to pursue careers. Not enough to have it all, you had to do it all as well. The curse of Cherie Blair. She and the likes of Nicola Horlick had a lot to answer for. Sarah had recently begun to think that she could quite happily jack it all in, marry someone rich and do nothing at all besides lead a comfortable life, spending someone else’s money. She glanced across at Vivienne Lamb, the barrister on the other side. She was formidably bright and had a terrific reputation, which was all very well … but it was the prospect of having to work so hard that Sarah couldn’t bear. Where was the attraction in slogging away throughout your twenties, trying to get a foothold on a ladder which could be pulled away from under you as soon as you had your first baby, trying to find a marriageable man along with all the other thirty-somethings, biological clocks ticking merrily away? She could see increasing attractions in marrying someone now and never having to work again. Play your cards right, and your social life needn’t suffer. Lovers could be had discreetly, and there were plenty of ways of keeping a lively intellect stimulated.
She yawned and shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench, glancing round the courtroom. Not that she could ever imagine herself becoming a Mrs Liphook, or a Lady Stobie. But what other prospective pool did she have to fish in? Apart from barristers, her male social circle consisted mainly of merchant bankers, chaps in PR and advertising, City types and the odd journalist. Merchant bankers were too boring, PR people were fine to go out with but you’d hardly want to marry one, City types led lives which were financially too precarious, whatever the highs, and journalists – fell …
Her mind floated back to the reason she was sitting here now. Leo. She had wangled her way into a pupillage at 5 Caper Court because she liked to be part of his life. It had to be admitted that, however casual she pretended her attachment to him was, he had always exercised a fascination for her. One strong enough to make her want to work in the same chambers as he did. Now, didn’t that tell her something? She smiled as she doodled in her notebook, amazed that she’d never really given proper thought to the marriageability of Leo. He was perfect – wealthy, and likely to carry on being so, good-looking, excellent company, witty, stimulating … and wonderful in bed. There was the minor problem of his proclivity for young men, but since the kind of marriage she had in mind was one of mutual freedom, and as Sarah’s own nature was strictly amoral, that was hardly a problem. From a social point of view he was ideal – well-connected, and more than likely to make it right to the top of his profession. He’d make a beautiful law lord when he hit sixty or so. Sir Leo and Lady Davies … she could see it now. And life with Leo would never be boring. He was different from other barristers she knew. His path to his present, eminent position at the Bar had been far from conventional, his modest beginnings had made life an uphill struggle, one he had won by dint of sheer intellectual ability and brilliance. She liked that. His tastes and interests were eclectic, and his behaviour often unpredictable. She knew enough of that from the summer she and James had spent with him … Yes, marrying Leo could be a stroke of genius.
Sarah sighed and glanced at the clock. Almost lunchtime, thank God. The trouble was, Leo wasn’t the marrying kind. All right, there had been Rachel, but as Leo himself had once admitted, when his guard was down, he’d only married her to deflect gossip at a time when his private life was under scrutiny and threatening his prospects of becoming a QC. How ruthless and selfish could you get? Yet for Sarah those aspects of Leo’s character held a peculiar attraction. She understood him. They were both cynics, used to using people. Rachel had been beautiful, insipid, an obvious victim. Still, the fact that he hadn’t married Rachel for love didn’t take things much further. It just made it more likely that Leo would never marry anyone unless there was something to be gained by it. He would be a tough nut to crack. The toughest. It had to be admitted that there was no real reason why Leo, if Sarah really decided to make a serious play for him, should ever consider taking her on. She might be young and attractive, but pretty young things, of whatever gender, weren’t hard to come by if you were Leo. Sarah was nothing if not a pragmatist. Still, she had certain advantages, cards which were uniquely hers to play. First of all, he liked her. Secondly, she knew him well, better than most people, and that counted for a good deal. Thirdly, everyone got lonely. Even Leo. And she didn’t doubt that forty-six was a vulnerable age for most men, no matter how successful …
Sarah suddenly realised that David had finished, and was sitting down. The judge glanced up at the clock. ‘Thank you, Mr Liphook. Ladies and gentlemen, this seems like a convenient place to stop. We shall reconvene at two, and hear from Miss Lamb.’
There was a general murmuring and rustling of papers. Sarah closed her counsel’s notebook, smiling to herself, amused by her cogitation of the last twenty minutes. She had to spend the next six months at 5 Caper Court, and she relished a challenge. It would be interesting to find out just how much headway one could make in the marital stakes with someone as impossibly eligible and marvellously unattainable as Leo. Regarded in the light of a game, it was as good a way of passing the time as any. She had nothing to lose by trying, and everything to gain.
Later that afternoon, when the court had risen, Sarah and David made their way back across the Strand to the Temple, bearing bundles of paper and books. Coming in through the archway to Caper Court, they met Camilla Lawrence, who smiled and said hello to David, but gave Sarah only a brief, mistrustful glance. Not that Sarah cared in the least. She had always regarded Camilla as something of a wet date. She’d been wet when they’d been at Oxford together, and she’d stayed wet ever since. What Anthony had ever seen in her was beyond Sarah.
Not that that had lasted long. Clearly, Camilla still blamed Sarah for seducing poor Anthony away from her. Well, Sarah could live with that. She certainly had no particular interest in Anthony any more. Not at present. He was merely the kind of thing you put by for a rainy day.
The three of them went up the short flight of stone steps and through the portals of Number 5.
‘Here,’ said David, piling his papers on top of the bundle Sarah was already carrying, ‘you go on up with these. I’m just going to have a word with Henry.’ He slipped into the clerks’ room.
Leo and Anthony were coming downstairs just as Sarah, trying to negotiate the unwieldy bundle of papers and books, dropped the lot at the foot of the stairs. The sight of Leo, so close on the heels of her musings of the day, had startled her.
Leo stopped to help, but Anthony merely stepped over the mess and went into the clerks’ room with some papers. Leo glanced after him in surprise. Anthony was normally scrupulously well-mannered. Clearly, Sarah, as she so often could, had done something to push Anthony beyond the bounds of polite behaviour.
‘Now, what could you have done to make Anthony behave like that?’ asked Leo, as he and Sarah gathered up the scattered papers.
‘Trespassed on his territory,’ replied Sarah with a smile. ‘First Camilla, then you.’
‘Hmm. I hardly think Anthony assumes proprietorial rights over me.’
‘Don’t you?’
‘Come on, you can’t carry this lot up on your own. You take those, and I can manage these.’
They took the papers and books up to David’s room.
‘So what’s all this about Camilla?’ asked Leo, who loved gossip. He leant against the bookcase and folded his arms.
Sarah perched on the edge of her desk. ‘Oh, it’s old news. Happened last October. Camilla and Anthony were seeing one another – you know, heavy stuff.’
‘I do recall something of the kind.’
‘Well, she went off to Bermuda on a case for a couple of weeks, I was bored, Anthony was available, and—’ She paused, shrugged. ‘—It was just a casual fling, but Camilla didn’t really take it in good part.’ Sarah gave a little smile. ‘She is so principled. Anyway, I can’t believe you didn’t know. You’re usually well abreast of what’s going on in chambers.’
‘Anthony and I haven’t spoken much lately. Besides, it’s not a thing one normally gets to hear about. So tell me, how did Camilla find out? Don’t tell me Anthony’s conscience overwhelmed him.’ Leo had learnt a while ago from others in chambers that Anthony and Camilla were no longer seeing one another, and for reasons of his own, had not been exactly displeased. The explanation for the break up, however, was news to him.
‘She must have picked it up from someone,’ replied Sarah airily. ‘Can’t imagine who.’
‘I think I can.’ Leo shook his head, his eyes drawn to Sarah’s dark-stockinged legs as she swung them idly. God, this girl was bad news, yet he couldn’t help liking her, somehow. Her lack of scruples, her ability to take her pleasure as and when she liked, and damn the rest of them, these were things he could readily relate to.
He looked up, and Sarah’s eyes met his. She could almost read his thoughts. She loved the way she could produce this sexual current between them. It was one of the things she was most ready to exploit in her newly hatched campaign. No time like the present.
‘Why don’t you let me buy you a drink, as a thank you for helping me with those papers?’ Her expression as she said this was one Leo knew of old, suggestive and distinctly inviting. There would be more to the evening than just a few drinks.
‘Love to, but I’m afraid Anthony and I have already made plans. We were just on our way out.’
Although her smile didn’t slip, this news was not welcome to Sarah. She had always been aware of some special relationship between Leo and Anthony, and its existence galled her. She had taken considerable satisfaction from the events of that evening last autumn, when Anthony had found her there at Leo’s flat, particularly since it came close on the heels of the demise of his affair with Camilla. Everyone wanted a little piece of Leo, Sarah knew, but Anthony should learn that he couldn’t have everything. It irked her now to learn that whatever rift she had managed to create between Leo and Anthony had apparently healed.
‘Why don’t I join you?’ she suggested, scenting the possibility of mischief.
Leo smiled and eased himself away from the bookcase.
‘I don’t think so. After what you’ve just told me, I don’t think Anthony would welcome your company, do you?’
‘Possibly not.’ Sarah sighed and slipped off the desk. ‘Have a nice evening, then.’
‘Thanks,’ said Leo, smiling as he left the room and went back downstairs.
Anthony was waiting for him. ‘I wondered where you’d got to.’
‘I helped Sarah take those papers up to David’s room.’ They went out together into the chilly early-evening air. ‘Rather churlish of you not to help her as well, if I may say so,’ added Leo, as they passed through the cloisters and headed for the foot of King’s Bench Walk, where Leo’s car was parked.
Anthony flushed slightly. ‘The less I have to do with Sarah the better.’
‘Yes, I gather she’s made something of a nuisance of herself. Still, try not to let your animosity get the better of your good manners.’
Anthony said nothing. Leo gave him a quick sideways glance, wondering whether Sarah, in spite of what Anthony said, still exercised some fascination for him. Clearly, Anthony had been prepared to risk his relationship with Camilla just to be able to bed her. Once acquired, Sarah could be a difficult habit to shake off. Maybe Leo had had it all wrong. Maybe when he’d found Sarah at his flat that evening, his jealousy had been directed at Leo. He pondered this as they crossed the cobblestones. He unlocked the car and they got in. Leo put the key in the ignition but didn’t start the engine. He turned to Anthony.
‘You know, we haven’t spoken about that evening, when you came round and Sarah was there.’
Anthony said nothing for a few seconds as he clicked his seat belt into place. Then he glanced up. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Why did you come round? I don’t think I ever found out.’
Anthony gazed at Leo, at the familiar features etched in the half-darkness. Feelings of love and confusion cut deep into him. It was too long ago now, the moment had passed, and he had already decided that he wasn’t going to go down that path. Not again. That was over and done with. It was a friendship, no more. ‘I told you – it doesn’t matter. I just came to see you. The fact that Sarah was there—’ He paused. ‘She said something once about how well she knew you, but I didn’t realise quite how well.’
Leo sighed and turned the key in the ignition. He reversed out of the space and set off towards Middle Temple Lane. ‘Look, Sarah and I—’ He hesitated, wondering what he had intended to say. He certainly couldn’t tell Anthony about Sarah and James and the summer of a couple of years ago. So, what was there to say about himself and Sarah? He scarcely knew. He had never given it much thought. She was there, tantalizing, devious, not always when he wanted her, but occasionally when he did. ‘Sarah and I have known one another for quite a while. We see one another – well, intermittently.’
‘You mean you fuck her now and again?’ Anthony’s voice was angry and abrupt.
Leo glanced at him in puzzlement. ‘Anthony—’
‘Sorry. I’m sorry. But it’s another way of putting it, isn’t it?’ He turned to gaze at the lights of the river as they sped along the Embankment. He hadn’t meant to get angry. It was just that he could do without being reminded of how easily and indiscriminately Leo took lovers.
Leo decided to let it go. He didn’t want any more antagonism between them. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he replied. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’
When they reached Shoreditch they parked the car and went for a drink in a pub close to the museum. It was only six o’clock and the meeting wouldn’t start for another hour.
‘I’ll get these,’ said Leo. ‘What’ll you have?’ ‘Just a pint of bitter, thanks.’
Leo went to the bar, glancing round. The last time he had been in this place was with Melissa Angelicos, a co-trustee of the museum, appointed by Chay by virtue of the fact that she hosted a moderately influential arts programme on Channel 4. God, what a mistake that evening had been. He’d been having problems with Joshua at the time, and had tried to forget about them by passing a drunken few hours with Melissa, after which they’d gone back to her place for coffee. Only it hadn’t been coffee that Melissa had in mind. Leo winced as he recalled the subsequent events.
He took the drinks back to the table where Anthony was sitting, took off his overcoat and sat down. There was silence for a few seconds, indicative of unease on Anthony’s part. Leo was aware that the coolness of the last few months could not simply be brushed aside. He’d tried to address it earlier in the car. Perhaps now he should try again.
He drew his chair closer to the table. ‘Look, what I said earlier about Sarah—’ Anthony glanced at him sharply, but Leo continued, ‘—I was wondering whether that’s the reason you’ve been so distant of late.’ Anthony said nothing. ‘I know you had a relationship with Sarah in the past. I thought it was over. I certainly had no wish to hurt you. If you still have feelings for her—’
Anthony interrupted him with a laugh. ‘The only feelings I have for Sarah are – well, I don’t really think I can decently express them. She is a complete bitch.’
Leo sipped his whisky, and nodded. ‘True.’
‘What I can’t understand, Leo, is why you would waste your time with someone as – as sly and manipulative as she is.’ The warmth with which Anthony spoke took Leo a little closer to what he suspected was the truth. But it wasn’t something he would touch upon yet.
Leo took a small, silver cigar case from his breast pocket, lit a cigar, then blew out a little cloud of smoke. ‘She amuses me.’
‘She amuses you? Christ, Leo, don’t you look for anything a bit deeper, something with more meaning, in your relationships with people?’
Leo shrugged. ‘That invariably produces disappointment. Sarah is intelligent, attractive and stimulating in a rather bizarre way. But above all, she makes no demands.’
‘You mean she simply makes herself available.’
Leo shook his head. ‘Actually, one of her most compelling qualities is her elusiveness. Anyway—’ He glanced at Anthony, ‘—why should you concern yourself with Sarah, if she’s not the reason for your offhand manner for the past couple of months?’
‘It’s you, Leo – it’s you! Finding Sarah at your place that night – well, it just shows how trivial relationships are to you. I thought you were meant to be heartbroken about Joshua, and yet there you were, not two weeks later, carrying on with her!’
The small pang of pain which touched Leo at the mention of Joshua’s name was not betrayed in his expression. ‘You know me, Anthony, and yet you don’t know me. Don’t concern yourself with what goes on between Sarah and myself. It doesn’t touch the relationship between you and me, after all.’ He paused, glancing up at Anthony. ‘Does it?’
Anthony’s temper, still simmering, cooled a little at the quiet tone in which Leo spoke. He hesitated before answering. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You made it clear a long time ago that you didn’t want our relationship to be anything more than a friendship. I’ve always understood that to be the case, though there have been times when I’ve had my doubts.’ He paused for a long, reflective moment and looked up at Anthony. ‘Or did you come to my flat that night to tell me something different?’
The question hung in the air between them.
Anthony looked away, unable to bear the intensity of Leo’s gaze, which threatened to undermine his resolve. ‘No,’ he replied at last. ‘I came round to see how you were. I was still worried about you.’
Leo drew on his cigar, his eyes still fastened on the younger man’s face. He felt the force of the moment melt away. He would have to accept the denial at face value. ‘I see. In that case, there’s no need for any anger.’
Anthony raked his fingers through his hair. ‘I just want you to – to care more about the way you behave.’
Leo smiled. ‘I love your principles. No – no, truly. I mean it. I wish I could be more the kind of person you want me to be. Still—’ He sipped his whisky. ‘You’ll have to make do with me as I am. Now – can we forget the wretched Miss Colman and try to behave like friends again?’
Anthony relented. When Leo smiled in that way, he couldn’t help it. So what if he hadn’t been entirely honest in answering Leo? There were lots of different truths, and a person couldn’t tell them all. This was the best way. ‘Yes. All right. I’m sorry about the way I’ve been.’
‘I should have said something sooner.’ Leo glanced at his watch. We’re due at the brewery in half an hour. Just time for another.’
‘Let me get them,’ said Anthony, and drained his glass.
So they sat companionably over another drink, immersed in talk of their world, of cases and arbitrations, and Sarah was not mentioned again.
The ex-brewery which housed Chay Cross’s museum of modern art was a cavernous building in the heart of Shoreditch, in a state of some dilapidation when Chay had taken it over, but now the product of startling changes. The heart of the building was a vast central area, around which ran a gallery at first-floor level, and from which radiated a network of smaller, satellite rooms. When Leo and Anthony arrived, Chay was busy working out which exhibits would be housed in which rooms. Paintings in protective packaging lay stacked against walls in uneven rows, and in the central area a half-finished circular wooden plinth was being erected. Workmen’s tools and welding gear littered the floor. Voices echoed, bouncing off the high walls and windows.
Chay came to greet them, a tall, spindly man in his late forties, with grizzled grey hair and designer stubble, dressed in the fashion of an ageing rock star. His manner, which was one of faux-naif self-deprecation and modesty, masked an ego of considerable proportions and a talent for shameless self-publicity. Having initially managed to seduce the capricious mandarins of the modern art world into accepting his work as brilliant and innovative, Chay was well aware that to keep his stock high depended as much on his personal visibility and the maintenance of a fashionable profile as it did on producing work of any intrinsic merit. To this end he cultivated the great and good from the diverse worlds of art, music and fashion, and was as likely to be found in the front row at Vivienne Westwood’s latest collection as to be seen slumming it in a trendy coffee bar in Whitechapel.
‘Hi.’ Chay transferred his Gauloise to his mouth and shook Leo’s hand. ‘Good to see you. Come and have a look round before the others get here. Most of the stuff’s still in storage, but some of the exhibits arrived today. This—’ He pointed to the half-finished plinth, ‘—is for the Beckman installation. It’s going to be enormous. A spiral of metal steps winding round a central bronze column, with video screens at intervals. They’ll be showing continuous film of Beckman washing his dog, interspersed with clips of ants gathering grains of rice. And I thought this room at the end here would be ideal for the dematerialists …’
Leo, who had an interest in modern art and a modest collection of his own, wandered off with Chay. Anthony, who couldn’t stand the stuff, his father’s work in particular, went through to the office to make himself some coffee.
Two of the other trustees had just arrived – Derek Harvey, the art critic, looking crumpled and weary, sporting his perennial raincoat over a polo-necked sweater and baggy jeans, and Graham Amery, a prominent banker whose elegant, pinstripe suit and shining, black shoes contrasted sharply with Derek Harvey’s appearance. Amery and Anthony chatted while Derek wandered round the main gallery morosely examining unwrapped exhibits.
Tony Gear, Labour MP for Parson’s Green, arrived five minutes later. He cultivated a deliberately scruffy look, that of a man too busy to be concerned with his appearance, content with an M&S suit and a tie that had seen better days, and battered suede shoes which he fondly imagined were becoming something of a trademark. Gear was a man who believed in the profile and the soundbite, and although his interest in modern art was negligible, he had jumped at the chance to become a trustee of Chay’s museum. The word in Westminster was that the Prime Minister, keen to deflect recent attacks on the government’s arts-funding policy, intended to establish a new Ministry for Artistic and Cultural Development. In the true socialist spirit, Tony Gear was keen for advancement. He longed to hold that ministerial post, yearned to enjoy all the trappings of high office. To be associated with the Shoreditch venture did his reputation no harm in this regard. He raised a swift hand in greeting to Anthony and Amery, and went straight to the office to fetch himself some coffee, his pager already bleeping. Derek pulled a chair up to the makeshift meeting table and sat down, unfolding his copy of the Evening Standard.
Just as Chay and Leo returned to the main gallery, Melissa Angelicos arrived, clad in a voluminous coat and a swirl of silken scarves, her capacious bag bulging with papers, her blonde hair loose. From three feet away Anthony could catch the heady drift of her perfume. She dumped her bag on a chair and began to divest herself of coat and
