A Perfect Obsession (30 page)

‘Oh, darling, how lovely,’ said Lady Henrietta. ‘Though I shall miss you. Will you come and visit me often? Good. And I shall visit you, of course. The evenings will be so dull without my boy, and it’s nice to think I’ll be able to drop by and see you when I like.’

Gideon merely raised his eyebrows at this. ‘One thing I’m going to need,’ he said, ‘is some good furniture.’

‘What about the things from your last place?’

Gideon wasn’t about to tell his mother that he’d sold them some time ago. ‘Well, of course, but this house is larger, you see, and I do need a few more things.’

Lady Henrietta waved a hand. ‘The furniture from the house at Chesterton is still in storage. Most of it, that is. Take what you like. It’s of no use to me any more.’

‘Nonsense. What if we win against Lloyd’s?’

Lady Henrietta gave a small, tremulous sigh. ‘Your
hopes are more sanguine than mine, Gideon. No, you take what you need. I’ll ring the people tomorrow and give you an authorisation.’

‘That is so generous of you, Mummy.’ Gideon dropped a kiss on her head. ‘And now,’ he added, ‘I must go and make some phone calls.’

In his room, Gideon leafed through his personal mail, and then rang Leo.

Leo, who had been lying on the sofa in his Belgravia flat reflecting on his conversation with Camilla, was unpleasantly surprised to hear Gideon’s voice.

‘Got back yesterday, Leo. I had an idea you’d be waiting to hear from me.’

‘In a manner of speaking.’

‘Have you thought any more about my proposal?’

‘I have to see the photos.’

‘Of course, of course.’ Gideon glanced at his watch. ‘I can pop round later, if you’re not busy.’

‘Very well.’

‘See you in an hour.’

The walk from his mother’s house to Leo’s place took Gideon a mere ten minutes. He had the photos carefully tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket: he had given some thought to the question of whether Leo was the kind of person to involve the police, but he had come to the conclusion that this was unlikely. All in all, Leo really had far too much to lose. It was now just a matter of fixing a price.

He rang the bell, and Leo let him in. Gideon sauntered through to the drawing room, glancing round. ‘Do you
know, those Lehrmans really weren’t right for this room. They look much better in the museum.’ He indicated the whisky decanter. ‘May I?’

‘Go ahead,’ said Leo.

‘Such a good malt,’ said Gideon, as he took a sip of his drink and replaced the stopper in the decanter. ‘Now—’ he reached into his inside pocket, ‘—here are the pictures. Just two.’ He put his head on one side. ‘Not very good of you, but certainly recognisable.’

He handed the pictures to Leo, who looked at them. They’d been taken from the right, he saw, and the inference was inescapable. Yes, he was recognisable, once identified, and yes, it looked every bit as bad as Gideon had suggested, despite the fleeting, relatively inconsequential nature of what had actually occurred.

‘Not bad quality, are they?’ said Gideon, glancing at them over Leo’s shoulder. ‘Considering they don’t use a flash or anything.’

Had Leo had a knife in his hand, he might gladly have slipped it between Gideon’s ribs. Gideon left his side and sauntered across the room with his drink to inspect a Whittaker print.

‘You’re really very trusting, coming here alone, Gideon,’ said Leo quietly.

Gideon turned, and Leo saw from his face that he was immediately alert for sounds in the silent flat. Fear flickered in his dark eyes.

‘No, Leo, that’s not your style.’ His voice, however, did not carry its customary note of assurance.

‘What? Having you beaten senseless for my own
satisfaction? Oh, I don’t know …’ Leo tossed the photos down on a table and sighed. ‘No, don’t worry. The idea is attractive, but I don’t want to add to my troubles, no matter how much I’d like to make you suffer for this.’

Gideon swallowed his fear and relaxed. ‘So, I take it you’re agreeable to making me a modest loan?’

‘That depends how modest it is.’

Gideon cocked his head on one side. ‘I had in mind – say, a hundred thou.’

Leo had not expected this. ‘I am a man of means, Gideon, and you are obviously in dire need of funds, but that’s a very high price.’

‘It’s actually quite generous on my part, Leo. For that, I am prepared to throw in the negatives, and my assurance that this stops here.’

Leo gave a short laugh of disbelief. ‘You expect me to believe that you won’t be coming back for more?’

Gideon shrugged. ‘Why should I? There’s the future of our friendship to consider. I may need a good lawyer one day. As for believing me – well, you have my word as a gentleman.’

For some odd reason, Leo was inclined to believe him. ‘I need some time.’

‘You’ve had two weeks.’

‘Apart from anything else, I have to move funds around. It’s a great deal of money.’

‘Isn’t it just?’ laughed Gideon, his eyes sparkling with a pleasure that was almost childlike. ‘Tell you what, just pop a cheque in the post to reach me by the weekend. That’ll do the trick. And I’ll see to it that the negatives are sent to you.
Don’t worry,’ he said, seeing Leo’s face, ‘you have my word. Oh,’ he added, gesturing to the photos on the table, ‘you can keep those – for your album.’ He put his empty glass down. ‘Thanks for the drink. I’ll see myself out.’

When he had gone, Leo sank on to the sofa. Gideon had asked for far more than he had expected, but it was a small price to pay for peace of mind. Gideon would return the negatives. He had no idea why he was so certain. He just was. Whatever else Gideon might be, Leo suspected he prided himself on being a man of honour.

Gideon arranged to leave work early the next day, and went to inspect his mother’s furniture at the warehouse where it was stored. He found enough furniture sufficiently to his taste to furnish most of his house, and in addition arranged for the removal to Christie’s auction house of a very fine pair of George I walnut chests, an eighteenth-century long case clock, a pair of early Victorian parcel-gilt pier glasses, a Victorian oak reading table, and an exquisite feather banded bureau bookcase. His mother would never know. Over the years, and from beneath her very nose, Gideon had been responsible for the disappearance of eight pieces of Derby porcelain, two eighteenth-century Bilston enamel boxes, several items of Georgian silver, and an Alfred Glendining oil which he had found in the spare room.

Leaving the warehouse, Gideon made his way home to Pimlico, ringing the ministry
en route
to check with his secretary the progress of various matters. When he got
home, he remembered that his mother was out at a bridge party. Gideon showered, changed, and watched the early evening news. He was deeply bored. He went through to his room and unlocked his desk, and took from a drawer a small dossier containing notes and a couple of photographs. He thumbed through these thoughtfully. If Leo came through with the money, as Gideon was certain he would, the little matter of the adulterous behaviour of Tony Gear, his lord and master, the country’s cultural figurehead, could be postponed. He had never put the squeeze on a Cabinet Minister before, and even Gideon felt some qualms at the prospect. On the whole, he would rather not. Still, useful to keep the dossier for a rainy day. He had the feeling, however, that Tony Gear was not likely to last long in office, and the future value of the dossier’s contents might sharply decline.

With the matter of the money from Leo at the forefront of his mind, Gideon decided to call Leo before he left chambers, and check that the thing was in hand. Gideon’s finances were, as ever, in a precarious state, and even when Leo’s cheque came through, it would take some days to clear. He wanted to make sure he got hold of the money as quickly as possible.

Leo told Gideon he had taken the necessary steps that afternoon, and that the money would be with him before the end of the week.

‘While I think about it,’ said Gideon, ‘I’d rather you didn’t send it here.’ And he gave Leo the address of the flat in Ealing. He preferred to keep his most personal papers, together with a variety of intimate paraphernalia which would shock Lady Henrietta deeply were she to stumble
across it in her occasional wanderings through his room, at his weekend retreat. The Tony Gear dossier was here only because it was an ongoing project, but as he intended to shelve it for the moment, Gideon decided to take it with him to Ealing this evening. This was a Tuesday, and although Gideon was accustomed to devote only Friday and Saturday evenings to his various pleasures, he decided tonight to vary his routine. The prospect of the money coming his way had whetted his appetite for amusement, and he felt too restless to spend the evening in Pimlico. Besides, the following day Tony Gear was making an all-day visit to a performing arts centre in Scunthorpe, which mercifully did not require Gideon’s attendance, and he could afford to get in a little later than usual in the morning and take it easy.

At a little after ten p.m., attired in an immaculate, blue, pinstripe Kilgour French Stanbury suit, Armani shirt and tie, and Tim Little shoes, Gideon took a cab to Foxtrot Oscar on the Royal Hospital Road. His arrival at the restaurant was greeted with a happy cry of ‘Gideon, you old piss artist!’ Gideon always found a number of like-minded friends wherever he went in London. He consumed a plate of eggs Benedict and a bottle of chilled red, chatted for a while, and then set off with a couple of friends for the Ritz club and a spot of gambling.

Even Gideon, however, knew how dangerously close to the limit his finances had gone, and despite the protestations of his friends he left after only an hour. He took a cab to Ealing, to a certain gay club which he liked to frequent, but he could find nothing there to interest him. At around two in the morning, still bored and frustrated, he went to the
Ealing flat. He always had alternative ways to keep himself amused. Once there, he took off his shoes, jacket, trousers, shirt and tie, and made his preparations.

So Peter was married. He was married with a kid, he was a lying, cheating bastard, he had strung her along for weeks, and Felicity never wanted to see him again. That was her initial reaction to Monday’s discovery. By the time Tuesday evening came, she’d had the chance to consider the possibilities. Maybe he was separated from his wife, maybe even divorced. Perhaps he wasn’t even married. You never knew. The receptionist had said his little boy had been taken to hospital, and any father would rush off, wouldn’t he? Only if that were the set-up, how come he’d never mentioned the fact that he had a son? Most blokes would, unless there was something else to conceal. No, Felicity thought miserably, everything fell into place. Never seeing her at weekends, only seeing her the odd night here and there … Though God alone knew what he told his wife the nights he was at Felicity’s flat. She had been taken for the proverbial ride by a married man who wanted a bit on the side.

She felt gutted, sick with anger, and above all heartbroken. For she really thought she’d found someone special, had even begun to imagine the relationship could go somewhere. As of today, it was going absolutely nowhere. She felt like calling Peter up, giving him an earful, letting him know just what she thought of him. Only she didn’t have a number for him, except in chambers. He always rang her, always. Now, what did that tell her? Bastard, bastard … She would
just have to wait until she saw him at lunchtime next day. Part of her still hoped, though, that she’d got it all wrong.

They met in a coffee bar at Ludgate Circus. After ten minutes of listening to him come out with his usual glib, inconsequential patter, Felicity couldn’t stand any more.

‘How’s your little boy?’ she asked.

His reaction, while it confirmed everything she had suspected, was most gratifying. He stopped mid-sentence, mouth open, and stared at her. The change in his face was quite remarkable. The bright, good looking features blanked, seeming to close up, and for a few seconds he didn’t look handsome at all. He looked down at his coffee and stirred it slowly.

‘I’m really interested – how is he?’ asked Felicity.

Peter cast around for a few seconds, then said abruptly, ‘He had an asthma attack. He’s all right.’

Felicity nodded. ‘When were you going to get round to telling me you were married?’

‘Dunno.’ Peter tried to shrug off his embarrassment by glancing out of the cafe window at the street. He couldn’t meet Felicity’s eye.

‘Don’t just say it like that, like it doesn’t matter,’ said Felicity angrily. ‘You’ve taken me for a complete ride!’

Peter struggled to recover some of his aplomb, smoothing his hair back from his face and then looking her in the eye. ‘Come on, Fliss. What’s the big deal? We have a good time, don’t we?’

‘What’s that got to do with it? You’re married, with a kid! Weren’t you ever going to tell me?’

He shrugged. ‘I might have. I was worried it might put you off me.’

‘Too bloody right it would! I don’t go out with married men. I don’t like the idea of busting up marriages.’

‘Nothing to bust up. Anyway, how did you find out?’

‘I tried to ring you in chambers yesterday. What do you mean, “nothing to bust up”?’

‘Debbie and me, we do what we like. Free agents. We sort of agreed to keep it that way a couple of years ago. Only we’re there for the kids, we keep it together for them, especially at weekends, holidays, all that.’

‘Kids? There’s more than one?’

‘Yeah. Ricky, Paul and Leanne.’ He looked down at his coffee once more; his embarrassment seemed to have returned.

‘Oh, how bloody wonderful! And all this time you’ve been stringing me along, letting me think I really meant something to you.’

‘You do mean something to me, Fliss.’ The way he said it, the look on his face, reduced Felicity almost to tears. She so wanted to believe it.

‘I actually thought we had something special, that our relationship might be going somewhere. You let me think that! But it’s not going anywhere, is it?’

‘I’m not leaving Debbie, if that’s what you mean. Not while we’ve got the kids. They’re everything to me.’ It was the first time in the conversation that he had sounded anything like resolute. Felicity could think of nothing to say. She knew now exactly where she stood, her value to him, his order of priorities. He kept his domestic life ticking
over, and she was his bit on the side, nothing more, never could be. If he and his wife, Debbie whoever, had decided to do their own thing two years ago, Peter must have been knocking girls off on a regular basis, not telling them, or stringing them along until they found out … She was probably one in a long line. The worst thing was the idea of him keeping it all from her. She didn’t matter enough to know. She was just another bit of stuff.

‘Well, that’s it, then, isn’t it?’ Her voice was flat.

‘Come on, Fliss, it doesn’t have to stop, you know. OK, you feel I’ve deceived you. But you know the set-up now. Debbie doesn’t care. Why can’t we just go on as we are?’ He essayed one of his smiles, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

‘You don’t get it, Peter, do you? I want more than just to be someone’s mistress. What a word! What a stupid, poncy word! I don’t want to be some furtive little thing you do when no one’s looking, a sort of add-on extra to your real life. I’m not putting up with that!’

‘Don’t make it sound like that. You’re really special—’

‘Yeah, like I believe you. Your kids are special, you mean. You’re special. I know just what I am to you.’ She picked up her bag and stood up. ‘I really don’t ever want to see you again.’

‘Look,’ said Peter, putting out a hand, ‘sit down again. It’s not that simple. There’s something that’s come up—’

But Felicity was now too wound up and fizzing with righteous anger to listen. She should have seen from the beginning what a smarmy, lying git he was. She’d have liked to have called him that to his face, but since they’d
had to conduct the entire conversation on a subdued level in a crowded cafe, she didn’t feel she could. She stormed out of the cafe and up Fleet Street, heels clacking on the pavement, sniffing back her tears. Why did she always pick the wrong blokes? Why did she get taken in? First of all Vince, a waster and a loser who’d ended up in prison and still thought he had some rights over her, and now Peter, all smarm and charm and lies. At least she’d had the strength of mind to end it. It would have been easy, all too easy, just to let it go on, do as he suggested. That was the worst of it. For all that he was a two-faced liar, she really, really liked him. She didn’t really want to stop seeing him. But there was no choice. It wasn’t going anywhere, and she’d only have got hurt in the long run. As long as she never had to see him again, it would be all right. She would get over it eventually. People always did.

That didn’t stop her locking herself in the loo and crying for twenty minutes when she got back to chambers.

Camilla had no idea what she expected from Leo when she saw him on Tuesday. He seemed, however, entirely normal, slightly preoccupied, talking about the case on the way to court, making no reference to anything that had happened the previous evening. It was as though everything had suddenly swung back three months, to the way things had been between them before their affair had started. As though it had never started. Camilla supposed she could expect nothing else. Hadn’t she told him she didn’t want to go on seeing him? She shouldn’t, anyway. She shouldn’t want to have anything more to do with him. He hadn’t
denied anything. Not sleeping with Sarah, not the business with Anthony … It was all so horrible that it was just as well he was behaving as he was. With indifference. Not studied, but genuine.

Counsel for Lloyd’s was moaning about some letter or other which the Names’ lawyers had failed to produce. Camilla didn’t even pretend to concentrate. She could think about nothing but the conversation of the evening before. She hadn’t been able to sleep because of it. She realised Paul Rollason had stopped talking. The judge glanced in their direction and murmured, ‘Mr Davies?’ At her side, Leo rose to his feet.

‘My Lord, in view of what Mr Beddoes has said previously, we have sought to see if that letter is available. There is no reply among the Chairman’s papers. As I indicated to the Court on a previous occasion, we are prepared to provide to the Court Mr Long’s finality statement …’

Clearly, it hadn’t affected Leo’s concentration in the slightest. As ever, he was focused entirely on the case, as though nothing had happened in the last twenty-four hours to disturb him. When he sat down, he didn’t so much as look at her, hardly seemed aware of her existence. All day she had sat next to him in court, conscious of his every movement, tone and gesture, but he was on another plane, not thinking about her at all.

Which only went to prove that she had been right. He had simply shrugged her off. He must have been lying when he said he loved her. He must have. Look at the way he’d reacted when she’d said that stupid thing about marrying her. She curled her fists into her palms in embarrassment
when she recalled that. What a mad thing to say. She’d only done it to show him, to show him how false everything he said was. And it had worked. Now they both knew it. Now he wasn’t going to bother pretending anything any more.

When he got back to chambers, Leo went to the clerks’ room to pick up his post and gather the latest news from Henry.

‘All the new furniture’s arriving next Thursday,’ said Henry. ‘Carpets in on Wednesday, so people can start moving in the week after. I’m still sorting the phone lines out, mind, but we should be ship-shape a week Monday.’

‘Good,’ said Leo. We want this transition to go smoothly.’

‘Oh, while we’re on the subject, Mr Davies, I think I’ve sorted out the matter of a new clerk.’