A Calculating Heart (16 page)

Anthony went back to his room. Why had Leo given him that look when he’d asked about Rachel? He didn’t
own her. Not any more. Anthony sat down at his desk. The fact was, he’d been thinking about her, on and off, every day since seeing her last Sunday, wanting to call her. Why? What was the point? She was living with another man.
‘Charles and I are very happy.’
He could hear her voice as she’d said that, on the evening of the chambers party. He could picture her features now, that hesitant, watchful look, a glimpse of apprehension behind the eyes. She had a quality which touched him as surely now as it had when he’d first met her; not just a superficial loveliness, but something that went straight to his heart.

There could be no harm in calling and seeing if she’d like to meet up for a drink. He could use the demurrage case as a pretext. He got the impression that, whatever her life might be, however happy she might profess to be with Charles, she was rather lonely. This instinctive knowledge touched a similar chord within himself. Maybe it had to do with the Leo experience. Two damaged people recognising one another. Bloody Leo. He reached out a hand and picked up the phone, then rang Nichols & Co. and asked to be put through to Rachel. She agreed to meet him for a drink in an hour’s time.

They met in a wine bar in Liverpool Street, near Rachel’s office.

‘I can’t stay long, I’m afraid.’ Rachel brushed her dark hair behind one shoulder and picked up her glass of wine. ‘My nanny usually clocks off at half six, but I asked her to hang on for another hour. She’s pretty flexible.’

‘I just needed a quick word about that demurrage case. It won’t take long.’

For ten minutes or so they talked about the case, until there was no more to be said. After a short silence, Rachel asked, ‘You didn’t really ask me here to talk about that case, did you? We could have discussed it on the phone.’ She looked into his eyes, which were dark and thoughtful, thinking how much she had always liked the boyishness about him, at odds with his tall, muscular frame. She knew that the question was taking them on to dangerous ground, but in that moment she didn’t much care. She felt in need of some direct connection, some honest emotion. It had become like a craving over the past few weeks.

‘No. No, I didn’t.’ Anthony dropped his gaze. ‘I wanted to see you.’ He shrugged. ‘Simple as that.’ He looked up at her again. ‘If you knew this was a pretext, you must have wanted to see me, too. Or am I wrong?’

Rachel opened her mouth to reply, then hesitated. ‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘I wanted to see you. You’re a friend I thought I’d lost. So, you know … it’s nice to have a drink together.’

But Anthony had no intention of allowing these last lame words to defuse the situation. ‘It’s more than that. At least, I think it is.’ When she said nothing in reply to this, he went on, ‘You told me you were happy with Charles. Why do I get the feeling that’s not quite true?’

‘But it is true. That is …’ She leant her head back and closed her eyes briefly. ‘The situation – the way we are
together. That’s happy. Everything’s in place … It’s just that lately, when he comes back from the States, he’s only here for a few days, and everything seems disconnected somehow. And there isn’t time to put things together … And I find I don’t want to, necessarily. I don’t understand any of it. But externally, theoretically … what we have should be enough for anyone.’

‘Are you in love with him?’

She gave a laugh, and took another sip of her drink. ‘Oh, Anthony. That’s not what it’s all about.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘People aren’t happy in that way. That’s – well, being in love is quite different. What Charles and I have is some kind of … well, I suppose the right word would be – contentment. Only—’

‘Then why don’t you seem contented?’

She looked at him quickly, her eyes almost fearful. There it was again, he thought – that lost, lovely look that turned his insides to water.

‘Don’t I?’ She dropped her gaze, and sat thinking for some seconds. ‘You asked about being in love. I haven’t felt anything like that since Leo. I don’t think I possibly could, ever again. So I don’t ask for that much any more, you see.’

‘You mean, you tell yourself that what you’ve got with Charles should be enough?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you wanted to see me?’

‘Yes.’

The intentness of their conversation had brought them
close together over the table. Anthony said softly, ‘You know, I want very much to kiss you right now.’

‘I think that might be a mistake.’

He said nothing, then after a few seconds sat back. ‘You’re right. We’ve both been here before, and—’ He broke off, sighed, and glanced at his watch. ‘Anyway, you should be getting back to Oliver.’

She nodded, finishing her drink. They rose and left. Anthony walked her to the station. She turned on the escalator and gave him a quick wave, and he hurried off.

On the train she leant against the window, staring out unseeingly. When he’d said he wanted to kiss her, she had hoped he would. In that moment, she had wanted it. Given the way things had been between them two years ago – the way she had been before Leo had unlocked the sexuality which had lain frozen within her – that was amazing. But Anthony had probably assumed she meant that nothing had changed. Yet it had. Oh, how it had. She closed her eyes. But did it have to be Anthony? The way she felt these days, the sudden spasms of longing for excitement and passion, maybe it could be anyone. In which case, she was being a fool. What was she doing, thinking this way, when she had her happy, stable life with Charles? If she was honest, life with Charles wasn’t so happy, and it wasn’t so stable. She had known that for some time. When had it begun? When she had refused to go to live in the States with him, while he worked on his documentary series? Possibly. The compromise was for
Charles to be away for long stretches of time, then home for short ones. And when they were together, they were cheerful and affectionate and apparently all was well. But her refusal had undermined relations between them. Every single pretext – her job, the difficulty of getting a work permit, not wanting to take Oliver so far from his father – had only underscored the truth: that she was not prepared to make sacrifices to be with him. It could have cost them their relationship, but Charles hadn’t let it.

She opened her eyes and stared out at the landscape speeding past. Strange how the conventional picture of a relationship falling apart – rows, petty squabbles, acrimony and ultimate estrangement – was often far from the truth. Things happened more subtly, more sadly. People could still smile, talk, even make jokes, while underneath the whole substance of their world together was undergoing seismic shifts.

As for her feelings for Anthony, they went further than mere physical desire. There was a sense of closeness with someone more of her own age, and that was something she missed with Charles. She’d missed it with Leo, too, whose control had been simply overwhelming. The way Anthony had looked at her this evening, the urgency and intensity of his gaze, seeing only her and wanting only her, had been truly liberating. She had felt singular once more, acutely herself, not anyone’s mother or ex-wife or … Her thoughts tailed off as reality reasserted itself. She was mad even to think about Anthony in that way. She’d had enough emotional turmoil in her life without inviting more. Things were
naturally not perfect with Charles at the moment, because he was away so much. When that situation changed, then probably everything else would. It would get better. She would just have to wait it out.

On her way home from work, Felicity stopped at the mini-mart on the corner to pick up an evening paper and had a chat with Neelam, the wife of the Indian who ran the shop. ‘How’s life?’ asked Felicity.

‘Not so great,’ sighed Neelam. She shifted her baby son from one hip to another. ‘Sanjay and I are meant to be going to Mumbai next week for a couple of months. We’ve got the tickets, everything’s planned, and now Sanjay’s brother, who was meant to be looking after the shop for us, is in hospital. He came off his motorbike at the weekend. He’s got a broken arm, pelvis, everything … Ankit, his other brother, says he’ll come in early and do the morning papers, but he’s got to work the rest of the day. The only person who’s going to be around is Sanjay’s mother, and she can only do so much. She’s too old. I mean, she serves in the shop and keeps the stock lists, but there’s no way she could take the deliveries and stack the shelves and sort out the freezers.’

‘Is there no one else in the family who can help out?’

Neelam shook her head. ‘They’re all too busy. They would only be able to come in now and again. I really don’t want to close up for a couple of months. We’d lose so much business. But I don’t see what else we can do.’

Felicity hesitated. Could she see Sandy going in and
helping old Mrs Deepak every day? It was worth a shot. Anything, provided he was working. ‘My brother’s staying with me at the moment. I could ask him to help out, if you like.’

Neelam’s eyes brightened. ‘Do you think he would?’

‘I’m afraid I couldn’t guarantee him first thing in the morning. He’s not exactly an early riser. But he could help out later on, say from eleven onwards.’

‘I wouldn’t need him first thing – Ankit’ll be here then. But a couple of hours every day to help Sanjay’s mum with the heavy stuff – that would be really good.’

Felicity left the shop, charged with resolve. This was Sandy’s chance. It might only be a temporary job down the corner shop, but she would lay it on the line to him. Either he took it, made sure he got his lazy arse out of bed each day – ten-thirty surely wasn’t too much to ask – and showed he was serious about doing something to help himself and not just sponge off her forever, or she would kick him out. She really would. She meant it. She really meant it.

Sandy wasn’t there when she got home. She had arranged to meet her friend Maureen and a couple of other girls for a drink and a spot of clubbing, so she had a shower, followed by a quick sandwich, and went out. She did her best to enjoy herself, but it was an effort. In the end, she gave up. Recent events had become too much for her.

‘What’s up with you?’ asked Maureen. She sat down at the table next to Felicity, who was staring moodily into her drink. ‘You’ve got a face on you like a smacked arse.’

‘I dunno, Mo. I’m sorry if I’m not much fun.’

‘Come on, what’s up? You can tell me.’

Felicity sighed. ‘Oh, I feel like life’s just stuck on hold at the moment, like everything around me is stopping me moving on. There’s Vince in prison, making me feel all guilty and hung up, like I owe him something. I’ve got my bloody brother sponging off me, and then there’s Peter. You don’t know what it’s like, Mo, having to work eight hours a day with someone who did what he did to me, someone I thought I really loved.’

Maureen knew all about Felicity’s romance with Peter Weir, how it had come crashing to earth when she had found out about Peter’s wife and children. ‘Oh, Fliss, I know – I couldn’t believe it when you said he was coming to work where you do. You must really hate having to see that bastard all the time.’

Felicity shook her head miserably. ‘That’s the stupid part. I like it, him being there. I mean, everyone in chambers likes Peter. He’s a really good laugh, plus he’s good at his job. I wish he was a really horrible person, so I could hate him properly, but I can’t! I mean, just because I hate what he did to me, it doesn’t mean I don’t still have feelings about him. That’s the problem, you see. By rights, when you break up with someone, that should be the end of it, you don’t have to see them any more. You’ve got some space to get over it. But he’s there every sodding day! And if I’m going to work with him, I have to get on with him. And that makes it worse.’

‘Yeah, I see your problem.’ Mo’s troubled vacancy offered
no solutions. Then she brightened. ‘Tell you what, let me get you another Malibu and Coke. That’ll cheer you up.’

By the time she got home later, Felicity’s mood hadn’t improved. The flat was in darkness. She switched on the lights and slumped in an armchair, relieved that Sandy wasn’t there, for once. She just wanted her life back, to be able to live in her own flat without her brother hanging round day and night, to be able to do her job and enjoy her work without the ache of having to see Peter every day.

She made herself some hot chocolate and went to bed. In the early hours, just as dawn was breaking, she heard Sandy come in. Fat chance of him ever getting up to do his job at the Deepaks’ shop. Fat chance of anything getting better, ever. She heard voices. Christ, he hadn’t brought someone back with him, had he? There was a brief banging of furniture, and Felicity was about to get up, when she stopped, one foot on the floor. From behind the closed door of the living room, she could hear sobbing. Then voices again. There must be someone with him. She listened intently for a few seconds, and realised that she could hear only Sandy’s voice. He was talking to himself. But he was talking like he was having a proper conversation. There would be a question, a pause, then his own voice answering, then wavering horribly into cracked sobbing. More questions, and his voice rising, raving. She could hear him moving about, shoving furniture, cursing.

Felicity knew she should go through and find out what was wrong. But she remained there, cold with fear and
incomprehension, listening to Sandy’s voice as he talked to the voices in his head. That must be who he was talking to. And she was afraid of what he might do if she went through. He didn’t sound like anyone she knew. She lay down again in the darkness, pulling the duvet around her, up against her ears, so that the voice became muffled and she didn’t have to listen to the senseless words. After a while all sound ceased. She wondered what had happened. Had he fallen asleep in a chair? Gone to bed? Killed himself? She didn’t want to know. Whatever was going on, even in her own flat, she couldn’t face it right now. She would deal with it in the morning. She closed her eyes and lay there, waiting for sleep, praying for the silence to continue, whatever its cause.

In the morning, she found the living room empty. Despite the noise Sandy had made, the room wasn’t in particular disorder. She made two cups of tea and took one into his bedroom. He was lying on his bed, fully clothed, asleep. She set the tea down beside his bed and shook him. He groaned and rolled on to his back. After a moment he opened his eyes.