A Calculating Heart (19 page)

Suddenly number 2 Gratton Crescent seemed to Leo to be a very modest proposition compared to Adriana’s list of luxurious dwellings. He felt a little flicker of envy, imagining for a moment the sweet possibilities which so much money could buy. That was what being in close proximity to a truly wealthy woman did to you. He put his
empty glass on the table. ‘You’re tired. And I have to be in court tomorrow.’ He was about to rise, when Adriana leant forward and put a hand on his arm.

‘Don’t go yet. I’m enjoying playing this game.’ She took her hand away and sat back. ‘I like the way you are with me. Very businesslike, but with a little dash of friendly charm thrown in. Very English. Very cool.’

‘I’m Welsh, as it happens,’ said Leo, bemused. He stayed where he was on the sofa, wondering how the next few moments would go. He thought he knew.

‘But I want to know what lies beneath, what you are really like when you stop being so proper, so charming. That newspaper story must have had a little bit of truth. What are you really like, Leo?’ She lay against the cushions, head on one hand, smiling at him.

‘Like most men, I suppose.’

‘Most men find me attractive, Leo. Most men would have made more of their opportunities, being here in my hotel suite with me, alone.’

‘Most men don’t have a barrister-client relationship with you.’

‘Does that matter so much?’

‘It wouldn’t be entirely professional for me to do what I’d like to do, no.’

‘And what is that? What is it that you’d like to do, Leo?’

How familiar it all was – this sudden heightening of sexual awareness, the familiar, delectable moment of possibility, obscuring all other considerations, total, sensual connection with another person. He had been here many
times before, but rarely had the situation seemed so potent, so inviting.

Oh, what the hell. It was going to be difficult to get out of this gracefully, as he had always known it would be. He moved towards her, noting the little flicker of satisfaction in her smile. ‘Would you rather I showed you, or told you first?’

Her breathing quickened a little, her body tensing slightly as he slid his hands over her shoulders, down her arms, then traced a line with his finger over the soft flesh at the neckline of her dress. He kissed her mouth, and then her neck. ‘Lawyers are meant to be good with words,’ she murmured. ‘Tell me. Tell me what you want to do to me. Then do it.’

And so he spoke, and she lay back, closing her eyes with erotic pleasure at his words, arching towards him as he unfastened her dress and eased it from her shoulders and down her body. She listened, uttering a small cry of pleasure from time to time as his words mingled with his touch, until at last there were no words, only sensations, and bliss, sheer sensual bliss. Oh, he was everything she had thought he would be, and much, much more. She opened her eyes, watching from among the cushions as he undressed and then lay next to her on the sofa.

‘I see you came prepared,’ she observed softly, noticing the condom he had produced.

‘I had an idea there might be more to this evening than a discussion of the case.’

Adriana smiled and closed her eyes, surrendering herself
happily to the prospect of even greater pleasure.

And Leo, though he knew perfectly well that this was the most appalling betrayal of dearest Camilla’s trust, couldn’t help thinking that what she didn’t know couldn’t harm her. One had to keep one’s client happy, after all.

‘No, really, I like scrambled eggs.’

‘Good.’ Roger opened the fridge and took out a box of eggs and a bottle of wine. He opened the wine and poured out two glasses. ‘You take this, and I’ll bring the food through in a minute.’

Sarah took her glass and the bottle into the living room. She cleared a space on the sofa, chucking the newspapers on to the floor, and sat down. After a while, Roger appeared with two plates of scrambled egg on toast.

He sat down and handed her a plate. ‘Cheers.’ He took a sip of his wine.

Sarah tried to suppress a smile. ‘Do you do much entertaining?’

He glanced at her. ‘Sorry. It’s not overly sophisticated.’

‘It’s perfect.’

They ate in silence for a few moments, then Roger said, ‘Look, when I apologised for last night, I wasn’t actually being as gauche as you imagine.’

‘Perhaps these things are best not talked about.’

‘What things?’

Sarah put down her plate. ‘Roger, I really like you, and we’ve had some great times. But I have the idea that you kissed me last night because you felt it was expected. I’d
actually much rather things went on as before.’

Roger finished his scrambled eggs. ‘Okay. I see.’ He glanced across. ‘Finished?’

She nodded, and he picked up their plates and took them through to the kitchen. Sarah sat back, relieved that the situation had been sorted out with such apparent simplicity. Roger came back through and sat down next to her.

‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘I don’t believe you. I don’t believe anyone kisses anyone the way you did, without meaning it.’

Sarah was mildly taken aback. ‘Actually, you kissed me.’

He frowned. ‘That’s not the point. You called me blasé. You,’ he paused for emphasis, ‘called
me
blasé. When, in fact, it’s the other way round.’

‘Sorry?’

‘You have these strange preconceptions about yourself. You completely dismiss the idea that there could ever be anything between us.’

Sarah laughed lightly. ‘Roger, I’m sorry—’

‘The reason I went off last night was because I was annoyed at myself for kissing you. I had meant to take things more slowly. I mean, you’re obviously someone who’s used to getting what you want as soon as you want it. Which is not always a good thing.’

Sarah gave a gasp of outrage. ‘I’m
what
? That is so incredibly …! I can’t believe you said that! Whatever I want, it’s certainly not
you
!’

‘No?’

‘No!’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Look, Roger, don’t make this any—’

He moved towards her and, unable to stop herself, she allowed him to kiss her again, inexplicably overwhelmed with intense longing.

After a while he drew away. He stroked her face with one hand, then traced a slow line with his fingers to her mouth, over her throat, and to the top button of her blouse. He kissed her again on her mouth, her face, her neck, unbuttoning her shirt to caress her shoulders. She closed her eyes.

‘Don’t worry. Don’t think about a thing,’ he whispered. ‘It’s going to be fantastic. I promise you. It really is.’

She allowed herself to be undressed, entirely believing him.

On the day that Sandy was due to start work at the Deepaks’, Felicity had to fight the urge, halfway through the morning, to ring the flat and make sure he got up in time. He’d been out till two the night before, and there was no guarantee that he’d wake up by ten-thirty. Old Mrs Deepak was expecting him at eleven, when the morning deliveries were in. But in the end Felicity decided this was his life, his job, and if he couldn’t get himself up in time, then it would be his problem.

She came home in mild trepidation that evening, and found Sandy watching television. ‘Did it go all right?’ she asked, taking off her jacket.

‘Did what go all right?’

Felicity’s heart sank. ‘Sandy, you never forgot Mrs Deepak!’

‘Course I didn’t. I was there.’ He yawned and stretched. ‘It was a doddle, really. Just carting stuff around and doing the shelves.’

‘Good.’ Felicity felt immense relief, thinking that that was one day, at any rate.

That had been four weeks ago, and every day so far, without, fail, Sandy had gone to his job at the corner shop.

Whatever illusions Felicity might have had about the improving effects upon her brother of regular employment, the truth was that the few hours he spent at the shop made very little difference to his lifestyle. Not that he minded the job. It was a piece of piss, really, humping a few boxes of stock around while old Mrs Deepak stood nodding madly at him, calling him ‘a big, strong boy’. Then it was just a question of sitting out the back for an hour or so with a couple of cans of beer sneaked from the stock, reading the paper while old Mrs D rearranged the confectionery out front and watched Indian telly on her little portable behind the counter. Once the late edition of the
Standard
was in and sorted out, he could cop off down the skateboard park, or go to the pub. He’d told Fliss he’d try to stay off the skunk, the really heavy dope, but that Jamaican guy, Mazz, always had something, and time hung heavy without the odd spliff. Mind you, he was definitely off the K. That had been good at first, amazing, but he reckoned he’d gone a bit cracked, getting voices and all that stuff. He wanted them to go away, but they were still bothering him. He could be standing in the Deepaks’ back shop and he’d definitely hear someone say something. He’d even turned round once, it sounded so clear. But it was in his head. People whispering to frighten him. And they did frighten him. They were watching him,
after all. They could see, and tell. And they would. So he had to be careful. He had to do this job, and show Fliss he was okay. And them. He had to show them.

As far as Felicity was concerned, the fact that Sandy was able to hold down any job at all, even a temporary one at the corner shop, was a breakthrough. She had not the vaguest idea what would happen with Sandy once the Deepaks came back from India, but she’d worry about that when the time came. Right now, she had other preoccupations.

It was Carol on reception who told her. ‘His wife’s left him. Took the kids, and moved out.’

‘How d’you know all this?’ Felicity stared at Carol wide-eyed over the polished expanse of the reception desk. ‘They live round the corner from my sister.’ Carol paused briefly to take a call and put it through, then carried on. ‘Her kids go to school with their kids.’

‘So why did she leave?’

Carol shrugged. ‘No idea. Maybe he’s been having an affair. Mind you, if that was it, you’d think she’d have kicked
him
out.’ Carol flicked a switch and took another call, and Felicity wandered thoughtfully back to the clerks’ room. Peter hadn’t said anything to her about his wife leaving. But then, they hadn’t said much to each other at all recently, which was hardly surprising, after the way she’d been with him. They maintained a civilised working relationship, which was all that was needed. The trouble was, she still got those little lustful pangs every time she saw him, and that didn’t help.

Perhaps Carol was right. An affair on Peter’s part was the most likely explanation. But hadn’t Peter told her that he and his wife had a sort of ‘open’ marriage, that each did as they liked? In which case, why would she walk out? Curiosity, mingled with a certain misplaced solicitude, caused her to bring the subject up with him at lunchtime. The clerks’ room was quiet. Robert and Henry had both gone out. Felicity and Peter sat at opposite ends of the room, Peter on the phone, Felicity going through figures on her computer screen.

Peter put the phone down. The silence, marked only by the click of Felicity’s keyboard, grew around them both. Felicity could stand it no longer. Ostensibly fetching a drink from the water cooler, she stopped by his desk.

‘I hear you’ve been having some problems at home. I’m sorry.’

Peter looked up. He shrugged, but laid down the papers he was going through, ready to talk. ‘I suppose Carol told you?’ Felicity nodded. Peter leant back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head. ‘I didn’t see it coming, that’s for sure.’

‘I thought,’ said Felicity awkwardly, ‘that you and Debbie – well, that is, you told me you had your relationship all sorted out. That you both did what you wanted. That the idea was you wouldn’t ever split up.’

‘Yeah, that was the theory.’ Peter sighed. ‘But it seems Debbie couldn’t just keep it to having a bit of fun on the side, which I thought was all she was doing. Apparently she’s been seeing the same bloke for nearly a year now, and
bang – suddenly decides she’s going off to live with him. Says they’re in love. I should have realised in the first place that the open relationship thing was all crap. Women can’t live like that.’

‘And men can?’

‘I don’t know. I thought I could.’

‘Only you have to find the right kind of woman to have your little flings with, I suppose. Sorry I couldn’t be one of them.’

‘Don’t give me a hard time, Fliss. I’m missing the kids like hell.’

‘I wasn’t giving you a hard time. I just don’t see how you two ever thought it would work, a relationship where neither person needs to trust the other.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe you know more than I do. The truth is that the marriage got a bit dodgy about three years ago, and we decided to give each other a bit of space because we wanted to try to keep things together for the kids. Maybe we thought it would get better. I don’t know.’ A silence fell between them. At last Peter said, ‘Look, the last thing I want is for you to think I’m coming on to you. But you and I were pretty close not so long ago, weren’t we?’ A pang of sentiment touched Felicity. She nodded. ‘And if I’d had my way, we still would be, in which case I wouldn’t be sitting at home most nights with a takeaway, drinking too many cans of lager in front of the telly.’

‘What about all the women you’ve been seeing while Debbie’s been getting it together with her bloke? Can’t one of them keep you company?’

‘I haven’t been seeing anyone since you and I split up, Fliss. In some ways, it would have been better if Debbie had walked out a few months ago, while you and I still had something.’

‘Before I found out you were married with a family, you mean? I don’t think so,’ replied Felicity. Her voice was sad.

‘Well, it looks like I’ll be neither of those things very soon. Anyway, what I was trying to say, without you reading it the wrong way, is that it would be nice to be able to talk to you about it. We could have lunch, or maybe dinner. I could do with the company, to be honest. Someone who knows me, that I don’t have to put on an act with.’

Felicity gazed at him. Know him? That was a laugh. She thought she had, once. And she’d been completely taken in. There he sat, giving her that nice crinkly smile, a bit wet round the edges from being dumped by his wife, trying to play the sympathy card, to get her to go out with him and probably into bed. Yeah, that would ease his pain.

‘So, what d’you say?’ asked Peter.

Felicity took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Just to talk.’

‘What about tomorrow night?’

‘… the difference between your theory, Dr Wadsworth, and that of Mr Bullen, is that your theory involves fuel spray coming from an already detached injector pipe, which was subsequently ignited by a spark or engine heat, whereas Mr Bullen’s theory involves the ignition of diesel spraying from a loose, but not disconnected injector pipe as it came into contact with the alternator …’

Never, ever again would she instruct Leo in a case. Rachel made this resolve as she sat in court, watching him on his feet, listening to the light Welsh cadence of his voice as he conducted his cross-examination of the other side’s fire expert. She realised that she could no longer bear the stress of being involved with him in any way. She had no idea what had occurred last night between him and Adriana Papaposilakis, and neither should she care. But there sat Adriana, only a few feet away, scented and serene in her tight little Versace jacket and daytime diamonds, giving off an aura of contented physical repletion which was practically disgusting. Rachel had seen women dart those soft, significant glances at Leo before, and knew what they meant. Of course he had slept with her. Where was the attractive woman, or man, whom Leo could resist?

Until now, working with Leo had seemed worthwhile; it had given her a kind of agonising satisfaction to be involved with him, seeing and hearing him on a daily basis. But it was becoming unhealthy, and it was making her unhappy. From now on, anyone who wanted to instruct Leo Davies in a case would have to find another solicitor.

‘No one doubts that your view is honestly held, Dr Wadsworth, but it must be the case – must it not? – that the most likely concatenation of events is that the nut connecting the fuel injector pipe to cylinder number three of the number one generator worked loose as a result of vibrations which occurred during the grounding of the yacht two weeks prior to this event …’

Whatever pleasure she derived from working with him,
seeing him on a daily basis, was eclipsed by having to endure her own irrepressible sense of jealousy and anguish at thoughts of his private life. It shouldn’t matter to her, but it did. This couldn’t go on. When this case was over, she would cut him out of her life, seeing him only when she strictly had to, when he picked up Oliver or dropped him off. In the meantime, she badly needed some emotional distraction, something on which to fix the longings which seemed to flow in her so fiercely these days.

‘My Lord, I have no further questions for Dr Wadsworth.’

‘Thank you, Mr Davies,’ murmured Mr Justice Sagewell.

As Leo resumed his seat, Adriana leant forward to whisper something to him; Leo, without turning his head, gave the faintest of smiles. Immediately Rachel’s feminine instincts picked up on the subtle physicality which bound them, an invisible and intimate connection. She dropped her head, and carried on making her notes in her meticulously neat handwriting, savagely regretting the day she had ever accepted instructions from Miss Papaposilakis.

When court rose at the end of the day, Adriana’s legal team and two of their expert witnesses met in Leo’s chambers for a brief conference. Afterwards, on her way downstairs, Rachel met Anthony coming out of his room.

‘Hi!’ He seemed genuinely surprised and pleased to see her. ‘What brings you here?’

‘The
Persephone
, what else? We’re still struggling our way through the expert evidence.’

‘Got time for a quick coffee?’

‘Why not?’

She went into Anthony’s room and stood at the window, gazing out, while Anthony fetched the coffee. He came in, kicking the door shut with his foot, and handed her a cup, setting his own down on his desk.

‘Thanks.’

‘So, how’s it going?’

‘The case?’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t see how we can fail. I keep expecting the other side to cave in any day. Leo was on top form today-amazingly enough.’

‘Why amazingly?’

Rachel moved away from the window and sat down. ‘Because I get the distinct impression that he and our diminutive Greek client were engaged in protracted and intimate discussions last night at her hotel.’ She stared down at her coffee, her face stony.

‘Right …’ said Anthony. He observed her for a few seconds, then added gently, ‘Don’t let it get to you.’

‘I spent most of today telling myself that. And it doesn’t, really. I mean, it doesn’t matter. Only, being around Leo, it’s all so—’ She broke off, lost.

‘I know. He has that effect. You begin to think it would be best if you never had anything to do with him ever again.’

Rachel raised her head quickly. ‘You’ve had that?’

‘Yeah, sure. A couple of months ago it got to the point where I was ready to leave chambers. In fact, I even told Roderick and the clerks I was thinking of going.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘I’m not sure I ever really meant to. Extreme provocation
of the Leo Davies variety drove me to make the gesture.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘I will, sometime. Not now.’ Anthony sighed, then laughed. ‘And, paradoxically, guess who talked me out of leaving?’

‘It’s weird, isn’t it? I don’t know how any one human being can have that effect. I really hate him sometimes. I vowed today never to instruct him again.’

‘You probably will.’ They brooded oh this for a moment, then Anthony said, ‘I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to see you.’

‘You could have rung.’

‘I did think about it. I just had the feeling it might make things …’

‘What?’

‘Difficult. With Charles, and so on.’

‘Charles …’ She stared at her coffee. ‘Charles is never there. But I am.’ She sighed. ‘I’m there. And I don’t know what’s going on half the time.’

‘Meaning?’

She gazed at Anthony for a long, silent moment. ‘Come over this Saturday. Come and spend the day, have lunch, see Oliver. I need the company.’

Anthony said nothing for a few seconds, then nodded. ‘I’d like to.’

‘Good. Come around half eleven.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve got a few things to catch up on. I’d better go. Thanks for the coffee.’

When she had gone, Anthony went over each detail of the conversation. She’d made the move. It was what he’d
wanted. He didn’t care about Charles, frankly. Well, that wasn’t strictly true, but he wasn’t the major consideration. What was important was that this time she needed him. After all that had happened two years ago, he couldn’t afford to let the balance slip.