A Calculating Heart (24 page)

‘Anfony gave me.’ Oliver took the toy back from his father and held it aloft.

‘That was nice of him.’ Leo smoothed the little boy’s dark hair. ‘You like Anthony?’ Oliver nodded. Leo glanced up at Rachel. ‘Anthony’s here quite a lot, it seems.’

‘Hardly.’ Rachel set Leo’s coffee down on the table. ‘He’s been to lunch a couple of times, that’s all.’

‘While Charles is away.’

‘As it happens, yes. But then, Charles is away most of the time.’ Rachel dried her hands.

‘You’re sure it’s not going to get in the way?’

‘What is? Get in the way of what?’

‘Your relationship with Anthony. Get in the way of life with Charles.’

Rachel leant against the sink and regarded Leo. He couldn’t tell if her expression was troubled or angry. ‘I don’t see how it could. I don’t exactly have a life with Charles.’

‘That’s not what you were saying a month or two ago. Everything was sorted out between the two of you. Or so you said.’

‘I merely said we were staying together, for the time being.’

‘I see,’ murmured Leo, and sipped his coffee. He bet poor old Charles didn’t quite appreciate the impermanence of the situation. Rachel and Anthony must have got something going, for her to be so defensive and snippy.

‘Anyway,’ said Rachel, ‘you don’t have to concern yourself with that. Tell me how you’re getting on with your house buying.’

‘Not badly. I think I told you the other day that I was waiting to hear whether the vendors would pay to have the subsidence investigated. My chap rang this morning to say that they were prepared to do that, up to a maximum cost of two thousand. So now we just wait and see. I’m hoping it won’t be too much of a problem.’ He added, ‘You’ll have to come and see the house sometime. See where Oliver’s going to be living when he’s with me.’

Rachel nodded. She sipped her coffee in silence for a moment, then said, ‘I’ll go and get his bag.’

Ten minutes later, she stood on the driveway and waved to Oliver as Leo set off. She remained there for some moments before going back into the empty house. Somehow Leo had divined that there was more to her relationship with Anthony than mere friendship. Had Anthony let something slip in conversation? She could hardly believe that. Maybe she could just put it down to Leo’s unnerving forensic skills. Or perhaps she herself had given something away in her look, her manner. As she passed through the hall, she stopped and regarded
herself in the mirror. She thought about Anthony, about making love to him, and felt a surge of longing that made her pulse beat faster, watching her reflection to see if any of what she felt was externally evident. A slight flush about her cheeks, nothing more. But then, Leo knew her so well, was adept at reading everything about her.

In the kitchen she picked up Leo’s empty coffee mug and took it to the sink. How odd. For the first time, in the wake of Leo’s leaving, she didn’t feel the usual empty ache. Anthony, it seemed, was capable of doing something which Charles, for all his loving kindness and good humour, never could. He was eclipsing Leo. When she thought of him, it was with a warm, happy desire which made her feelings for Leo – feelings which she had carried around for so long – seem sterile and useless.

Slowly she turned on the tap and rinsed out the mug. She smiled. She had no idea how she was going to resolve the awful complexities of her existence, but at least she had this new knowledge, this new love to sustain her.

The following morning, Sarah was standing on a table in Roger’s attic room, resting her arms on the sill of the open casement window, and gazing out across the city skyline. Roger came through from the kitchen with a tray of tea and toast.

Sarah glanced down at him. ‘This is amazing. Almost as good as the Millennium Wheel.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far.’ Roger set the tray down by the bed. ‘Come and have some breakfast.’

Sarah hopped down from the table and joined Roger in bed. ‘Do you do this a lot? Make breakfast for the women in your life?’

‘You’re doing it again.’

‘What?’

‘Trying to get me to tell you about all my past girlfriends.’

‘I’m not. It’s just you’re the only man I’ve ever known who isn’t prepared to talk about them. Maybe you haven’t ever had any. Maybe I’m the first one.’

‘Right.’ Roger smiled and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. ‘So tell me – why is it that women always want to know about ex-lovers?’ He paused. ‘Now, the fact that I can ask that question should indicate you’re not the first girl I’ve been in love with.’

Sarah paused, her mug of tea halfway to her lips, and stared at him for several seconds. ‘Is that true?’ she asked. ‘Are you really?’

Roger took a casual bite from a slice of toast. ‘Of course. You must know I am.’

She studied his face, allowing herself a small smile of pleasure. Many men had been in love with her, but another conquest was always satisfying. And this one more touching and pleasurable than most. ‘Not necessarily. You’re so matter-of-fact about everything.’

‘I’m not much good at declarations of undying love.’

‘Don’t you want to know how I feel about you?’ asked Sarah, surprising herself by saying this, since she wasn’t exactly sure what she felt.

Roger gave her a speculative glance. ‘I have a pretty
good idea.’ He carried on eating his toast.

Sarah’s cheerful mood suddenly evaporated. Something in his words and attitude had irritated her profoundly. ‘Really? And how’s that?’

‘Much the same way.’

She felt a little flare of anger. ‘Sorry. Not quite.’ Her tone was abrupt.

Roger put his plate on the floor and lay back. ‘Your problem is, you let all kinds of irrelevancies get in the way. You’re too busy weighing up what other people think, making bogus judgments about yourself. About me.’

She gazed at him with real hostility. ‘What on earth gives you the right to analyse me like this? I happen to know what my own feelings are.’

‘No, you don’t. All the standards you use to measure feelings are perfectly trite.’

‘
What
?’

‘They’re artificial. How can real feelings stand a chance?’

‘Did you just wake up this morning and
decide
to be a complete bastard?’

‘I’m not being a bastard. I’m being honest. I love you, so I’m entitled to tell you things you should know.’

‘It’s a bloody funny way of showing someone you love them.’ Sarah untangled herself from the sheets and got out of bed. She began to get dressed, finding her fingers shaking with fury. At least, she assumed that was what it was.

Roger watched her from the bed. ‘Where are you going?’

She zipped up her jeans. ‘That doesn’t concern you. Away from here. I can’t believe I’ve let things go this far.
I’m fed up with being patronised.’ She glared at him. ‘You shamble around in your half-baked world, like bloody Jarvis Cocker … D’you think that just because you say you love someone it gives you the right to pull them to pieces and tell them they’re emotionally stunted? You are so smug, Roger! Talk about my artificial standards? I sometimes wonder if you’ve got any at all. You certainly don’t dress or act as though you do!’ She flung on her jacket and crossed the room, half-expecting him to apologise, or say something to try to stop her leaving.

But Roger merely lay there, mildly surprised. Jarvis Cocker?

Sarah slammed out of the flat. She was right – he was smug. Infuriatingly smug. He’d been smug from the beginning. Love her? Everything he’d just said showed he didn’t love her. He wanted to belittle her, to occupy some sort of moral high ground, make out that she was preoccupied with trivia and false values, and that he had the monopoly on all that was genuine. Well, he could be genuine on his own.

Leo was in the Belgravia flat, getting Oliver ready to go out, when the phone rang.

‘Leo, darling,’ said Adriana’s voice. ‘Have you missed me?’

‘Naturally. It’s been the most tedious week without you.’

‘Good. I’m glad to hear it. Now, are you busy today?’

‘My son’s spending the weekend with me. We’re just about to go and look at the house in Chelsea that I’m
buying. I thought he might enjoy watching the men dig up the foundations. Anyway, what did you have in mind?’

‘Something along the same lines, funnily enough. I told you that I’m looking for a house in England, and I have the particulars of a most wonderful place in Gloucestershire. I’m going to look at it this afternoon. Would you like to come, with your little son?’

‘I don’t see why not. We don’t have anything else planned.’

‘Lovely.’ He could hear the smile in her voice and almost smell her perfume, and felt a glimmer of desire. After the week’s respite, the possibility of her gorgeous little body in bed later on this evening was distinctly appealing.

‘Give me the address of the house in Chelsea,’ said Adriana. ‘I can meet you there.’

A couple of hours later, Adriana’s car pulled up outside the house in Gratton Crescent. Leo and Oliver, having exhausted the pleasures of watching the workmen dig the trench at the back, were taking a brief tour of the house and saw the car from an upstairs window. Leo, holding Oliver in his arms, watched Adriana step from the car. He was used to seeing her in her business suits. Even in her tight designer jeans and cropped jacket, with her soft hair falling to her shoulders, she looked sleek and expensive. He’d often speculated on how old she was. Mid-thirties, probably. Today she looked much younger.

‘She’s a pretty lady, don’t you think?’ he said to Oliver.

The little boy nodded, gazing down. He pointed. ‘That man’s got a hat.’

‘That’s her driver. Isn’t he smart? And that’s a very expensive car. Come on, let’s go down and meet her.’

Leo introduced Oliver to Adriana, and then took her on a tour of the house.

‘It’s perfectly charming,’ she said. ‘But quite small.’

Leo smiled. ‘For you, perhaps. But I think it’s quite big enough for my needs.’

‘Oh, you would be surprised, Leo, how one’s needs can grow. Now, where are you two fine gentlemen going to take me for lunch?’

‘I did promise Oliver Pizza Express,’ said Leo.

‘Very well. Pizza Express it shall be. I suggest we drive back to yours, then take my car for the rest of the day.’

Leo, quite happy to be chauffeured around, thought this was an excellent idea.

Adriana was a greater success with Oliver than Leo had expected. She was quite businesslike and direct with him, and not in the least patronising, and was utterly charmed when Oliver remarked that she smelt nice.

‘You have your father’s way with women,’ laughed Adriana, and stroked Oliver’s cheek. Oliver picked up another slice of pizza and ate it with satisfaction, aware that he was getting on all right with this new person.

Observing the interesting chemistry between them, Leo reflected that all males, even those of Oliver’s age, must naturally be susceptible to the kind of extravagant femininity which Adriana exuded.

‘Do you like children?’ asked Leo.

‘I like your son. He is intelligent, like you. But I’m not one of those motherly creatures, believe me.’

‘Don’t you want to create a little Papaposilakis dynasty of your own?’

‘No, thank you. I have never wanted babies. My business is my child, and its demands are quite enough for me.’

After lunch, they drove out to Gloucestershire. Adriana produced the estate agent’s brochure setting out the house details and read from it in her pretty, light accent. Oliver sat in his car seat with his thumb in his mouth, eyes fastened on her face as she read.

‘Clewis and Partners are delighted to offer for sale this exclusive Georgian property, set in an enchanting rural position, with superb gardens and extensive views of the surrounding countryside. Situated near Mapleigh, in Gloucestershire, Boringdon Hall was built by Lord Whiteway in the 1770s and has been extensively refurbished by its present owners. It has its own indoor swimming pool and orangery, six reception rooms, eight bedrooms, a staff wing, and a three-bedroom coach house.’

‘Sounds snug,’ observed Leo. ‘How many times a year would you propose to visit this little pied-a-terre?’

‘That depends.’ Adriana gave a shrug. ‘I’m rather tired of Greece at the moment. The pollution is very bad, even outside Athens. I might decide to live here permanently. It depends on many things.’ She closed the brochure and turned her gaze to the passing countryside.

Leo said nothing. He wondered if she was referring to him, to the possibility of persuading him to become a part
of her life. He still couldn’t decide whether the idea was sublimely attractive, or quite simply ridiculous. Whichever, it had certainly prompted him to review dispassionately the various options which life currently presented, and he had found it a timely exercise. The focus was narrower than he had imagined. Apart from sharing Oliver’s life, looking after him and watching him grow up, what lay ahead? Another ten or twelve years of practice, the usual round of cases and clients, then perhaps a seat on the High Court bench. That itself had seemed an interesting enough prospect once, viewed from a distance. Not any more. Leo suspected he wasn’t temperamentally suited to being a judge, listening to longwinded counsel and writing his own longwinded judgments. And what of the rest of his life? At present he had a twenty-two-year-old girlfriend of whom he was undoubtedly fond, but to whom, judging from his own present behaviour, he wasn’t going to be able to offer the kind of commitment and fidelity which she undoubtedly wanted and expected. He had recently extricated himself from the threat of marriage, and all the domestic impedimenta that that involved, but if he continued with the relationship, he suspected that couldn’t be held at bay for too long. The alternative was to revert to his former pattern of behaviour, and take lovers as and when he pleased, of either sex – but how satisfactory could that be, as he slid into middle age, and with Oliver to think about?

He glanced at Adriana’s serene profile. She was, by any standards, a remarkable woman. She was beautiful, sexy, clever, rich, cosmopolitan; she was powerful in her own
sphere, but delightfully submissive in other ways; she wasn’t interested in having children, which was ideal; she shared many of his tastes, and was not, except as a client and in bed, particularly demanding. Above all, she was wealthy, and seemed prepared to share her wealth, and the pleasures it brought, with him. He wasn’t in love with her, but she appeared to be with him, and that was good enough. Leo’s only misgiving was that he suspected that buried beneath the loveliness, like a stone within a peach, lay a cynical and calculating little heart. Still, that was the quality which made her a shrewd businesswoman, and an indefatigable litigant. Perhaps the same cynicism would make her the perfect partner for someone like himself. Camilla, so innocent and earnest, expected complete fidelity from him. Adriana, on the other hand, might be content with a little less. No, if there was any problem, it was the sacrifice of independence, subsuming his own existence in a world created entirely by Adriana’s wealth. Could he handle that? The truth was he would have no idea how it felt until he tried it.