An Immoral Code (16 page)

Anthony had managed to make his escape from the American woman and her husband and was just about to join Murray and some of the more sensible and agreeable Names, who were laughing and talking in a corner, when he saw Rachel. He had not seen her for almost nine months, and the sight of her gave him something of a shock. But as this ebbed away, he realised, with relief, that the jolt he had felt was nothing to do with the way he had once been in love with her. He scanned her face as she glanced round the room, thinking that she looked as lovely as ever, with her dark, shining hair and pale face, wide mouth and eyes, and faintly hesitant manner. But nothing about her touched and pained him as it had once done. Leo had been right. He did fall easily in and out of love. He realised that he should speak to her and went over, collecting a fresh glass of champagne from a tray for her on the way. She glanced round in surprise as he touched her arm, and then this look was replaced by one of faint relief. She coloured slightly at the sight of him.

‘Oh, Anthony! How nice to see you again. It’s been – it’s been quite some time, hasn’t it?’ Her voice was bright, but still edged with hesitancy.

‘Nine months,’ he said, and gave her a smile. ‘Here.’ He handed her the glass of champagne and she took it, then looked around the room.

‘Leo seems pretty well taken up,’ she remarked.

Anthony, following her glance, saw Leo surrounded by a little group of Names, mainly women, so far as he could see, and all over fifty.

‘Lloyd’s groupies. Leo’s sort of the Bruce Springsteen of the legal world at the moment.’

Rachel laughed and sipped her champagne. ‘And what about you?’ she asked. ‘Why aren’t you surrounded by Lloyd’s Names, all hanging on your every pronouncement?’

‘I’m just the roadie,’ replied Anthony. ‘You know, tuning the guitars, humping the equipment. No one wants to talk to a junior, when they can have the real thing. Anyway, Leo loves it. I don’t.’ He turned and gave her an intense gaze. ‘You’re looking very well,’ he said. She wasn’t, he thought. She still had that calm beauty about her, but there was definitely a change, something nervy and tense about her, despite the smile.

‘Thank you,’ she said automatically. There was a pause, in which the sight of Anthony after so many months made her wish, suddenly and desperately, that it had been Anthony and not Leo with whom she had fallen in love, that it had been Anthony who had held the key, who had been able to lay to rest all the fears and dark shadows of her past. She did not think life with Anthony would be a complicated, unreal matter. But that was all dead and gone. Here she was, talking to him as to an old friend. Only he was not enough of a friend for her to tell him everything. How she wished there was someone to whom she could tell everything. ‘So you’re both on this Capstall case?’ she said. ‘It must be rather fun to be working with Leo. He’s so amusing – people like being with him …’ she added faintly. She glanced round again, and Anthony thought he saw a look of panic in her eyes.

Anthony cast around for something to say. ‘Are you – are you doing anything special over Christmas?’ he asked. Rachel was about to reply, but at that moment Charles Beecham joined them, and in the same instant Freddie came up beside Anthony and gripped his elbow in an unpleasantly tight, shaky grasp. He had been unable to get anywhere near Leo, so had decided he would make do with this fella Cross instead.

Ignoring Freddie for just a moment, Anthony shook Charles
by the hand. ‘Charles. Good to see you. Rachel, may I introduce Charles Beecham? Charles, this is Rachel Dean.’ Then he added, ‘Excuse me, won’t you?’ before turning patiently to Freddie.

Anthony, without realising it, had introduced Rachel by her maiden name. But then, that was the way he had always known her. Rachel decided to let it go, and smiled at the man standing before her. ‘Charles Beecham? Why do I know that name?’ she asked, and sipped her champagne. She had drunk most of it out of nervousness while talking to Anthony, and it gave her a pleasantly mellow feeling.

‘Hah.’ Charles gave a laugh of embarrassment and looked away. ‘Now, either you’re teasing me, which I probably deserve, or else you mean it and I’m going to be horribly humiliated. Either way, I come out of this looking fatuously arrogant.’

‘Ah.’ Rachel smiled. ‘That means you’re famous.’ She hesitated and then laughed, raising a hand to push her dark hair gently back from her shoulder. ‘In which case, I’m the one who’s going to be humiliated.’

Oh, do that again, thought Charles, watching the way her shining hair slid from her fingers, his gaze travelling to her face, resting on the almond-shaped dark eyes. He had seen Rachel from the other side of the room ten minutes ago, had been completely transfixed by the sight of her, and had spent eight of those ten wretched minutes trying to talk his way free from Mrs Honoria Hunter so that he could get near to her while she was still talking to Anthony, and be introduced. She was absolute perfection, he thought, shining like a lovely light amongst this roomful of drones, bores and cranks. Charles was disposed to a fairly jaundiced view of his fellow Names this evening on account of yesterday’s late night at a restaurant with friends, and several bottles of wine too many. He almost hadn’t come this evening, but he’d been in town, anyway, going over the scripts for his new series, and thought he might as well kill
an hour or so and imbibe some free champagne before catching the train back. If he hadn’t come, he now told himself, he would not have met this paragon. The idea was agonising. Was she as good as she was beautiful, he wondered? Then he realised that he was staring at her, that it was his turn to say something, and summoned back the words Rachel had uttered a few seconds ago.

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘unless you’re interested in the Crusades, or the Mogul Empire or esoteric nonsense of that kind, there’s no reason why you should have the faintest idea who I am.’

She frowned, and he loved that, too. Then her eyes widened. ‘Oh – how stupid of me! You do those documentaries on Channel Four, don’t you?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ he said.

Rachel was about to say that Leo watched the programmes, but something – the champagne, the pleasure of talking and joking with this suddenly familiar stranger – made her decide not to. She would not couple herself with Leo. Just as she had gone back to work to regain her independence, so she was going to have to assert it in other ways, too. She was herself, nothing to do with Leo. So instead she said, ‘It must be rather irritating, being recognised by people – or half-recognised,’ she added with a laugh.

‘No, I’m still vain and immature enough to enjoy it,’ replied Charles. ‘Or maybe that’s just because I’m just not famous enough. I suppose that it would become a bit irksome if one were, say, Michael Fish.’

Charles, panicked by the idea that if he didn’t hold her interest this divine creature would depart from him for ever, continued to talk in a random fashion about the nature of celebrity, recounting a number of amusing anecdotes which had the virtue of being told against himself. Rachel listened, glad to be able to laugh and mean it, feeling more at her ease than
she had done for a long time. She had been right to come, she thought, to get out and talk to other people. It helped one’s mood. She watched Charles as he talked, taking in the faintly creased, suntanned face, the aquiline nose and grey-blonde curls. He was even more attractive than he looked on television, she thought, somehow more alive and arresting. She supposed that television diluted images, adumbrated personalities. There was something vivid and fresh about this man, and he was very funny, in a hapless, self-deprecating way which she liked.

Leo, by now rigid with the boredom of discussing the iniquities of Alan Capstall, glanced across and saw Rachel laughing and talking to Charles. He was surprised by the feeling of slight annoyance this gave him, and wondered whether he should go over. No, he decided, he wanted to keep Charles entirely apart from any other personal areas in his life. He wanted the complete, unadulterated pleasure of talking to Charles on his own. He turned back and tried to concentrate on what Basher Snodgrass was saying about the American Superfund legislation.

‘Now, look, you’ve run out of champagne,’ said Charles, taking Rachel’s glass from her. ‘Let me get you a refill.’ He looked round for the waitress, anxious to keep Rachel to himself for a while longer. He had noticed the wedding ring on her left hand, but that didn’t perturb him. It never had in the past. When love struck, nothing else mattered. He was thoroughly enjoying the giddiness of this thrilling encounter.

‘Oh, no – really,’ said Rachel. ‘I have to be going. I only looked in for a few moments.’

God, she was going. What to talk about, how to detain her? ‘So, tell me, are you one of us? I mean, are you a Name?’ he asked, opening up a new vein of conversation.

‘No!’ Rachel laughed. ‘Do I look like one?’

‘No,’ sighed Charles. ‘You’re far too young and beautiful.
And you haven’t mentioned Lloyd’s once in the last ten minutes.’

Rachel laughed again and blushed. ‘Actually, I work for Nichols and Co.’ She gestured towards Fred and Murray. ‘They’re colleagues of mine.’

‘Oh. Ah.’

‘But I’m afraid I really have to be going now …’

‘Listen, listen …’ Charles laid a hand on her arm. How cool and smooth her skin was. ‘Why don’t we have lunch together some time?’

She was momentarily startled. She looked at him, at the droll, faintly pleading expression in his eyes. She imagined that few women could resist that particular look. For a moment she hesitated. Why not? She liked him. He was charming, amusing – and if Leo could lead his own life, surely she could. But she was too afraid, too unready.

‘No – no, I’m sorry. That’s not possible. I’m very flattered, Mr Beecham, but I don’t really think my husband would be …’ Her voice trailed away. What would Leo be? Nothing. It was probably what he wanted – that she should start seeing someone else, so that he could be relieved of guilt, and do exactly as he pleased himself. ‘Anyway, I really must be going. I did enjoy meeting you.’ The smile she gave him was divine, that of a fleeing goddess.

Charles watched her go with regret. Oh, well, he’d been wrong about the wedding ring. Sometimes it meant something, sometimes it didn’t. She was an utter peach, though. Pity. Like all romantics, Charles possessed the ability to convince himself instantly that he had met the love of his life, the woman of his dreams. But if it should turn out that the woman of his dreams was not available or open to persuasion, he rarely wasted time moping over it. That was the beauty of possessing a shallow nature. One’s caprices could be switched on and off at a moment’s notice.

Rachel went over to Leo and told him that she was going home, and he nodded. Not even for the sake of public appearances did they kiss on parting. It did not occur to either of them to do so.

When she was gone, Leo saw that Charles was standing by himself in the middle of the room, one hand in his pocket, sipping his champagne with an air of boredom. He excused himself from Basher and went over.

‘Charles,’ he said, ‘good to see you.’ He shook Charles’s hand, delighting in the fact that no one in the room could possibly be aware of the significance to him of this small physical contact. And for Charles? He still could not tell. Charles had dropped no hint during their encounters so far. But then, he was a man of discretion, and must realise the circumstances of this case were not appropriate to an acknowledgement of mutual attraction.

‘Leo,’ said Charles with a smile of genuine pleasure. ‘How are you?’

Leo lowered his voice. ‘Bored rigid, if you want the truth. I was hoping you’d show up, so that I could at least have a bit of sensible conversation.’

‘I nearly didn’t come, actually,’ said Charles, swirling the champagne in his glass, wondering if it would be wise to drink any more. Rachel had slipped from his mind already. ‘But I happened to be in town this afternoon, so it seemed the polite thing to do – pop along, you know.’

Leo’s heart fell slightly at this. Clearly Charles had not regarded the possibility of seeing Leo as of any special significance. Or perhaps he was being deliberately casual as a way of masking his feelings. Leo so much wanted Charles to reciprocate what he felt that he made himself believe this. ‘Tell you what,’ said Leo, glancing round, conscious that his mouth was dry. He took a quick drink from his glass. ‘After another twenty minutes or so I rather think I’ll have done my duty by
this lot.’ He glanced in the direction of the buffet tables, where food was now laid out, and where Freddie Hendry was making heavy play among the chicken legs and vol-au-vents. ‘And I’m not keen on this particular kind of food. What say we escape for dinner? There’s a rather good restaurant round the corner which I’ve been meaning to try.’

Leo felt his pulse quicken with anxiety as he watched Charles make a face and glance at his watch. He had not felt this way about anyone for a long time. The balance was cruelly out, and he was glad that Charles had no idea of how abject Leo felt his position to be. That balance, Leo told himself, must be perfectly redressed in the months before he made his move. They must come to one another on equal terms. In the meantime, the best he could do was to hope that he might at least secure Charles’s company over dinner for an hour or so here and there.

‘I’m afraid I have to get the eight o’clock train back down,’ said Charles, genuinely sorry at having to turn Leo down. He could have done with a decent dinner – that awful sushi stuff the television people had insisted on having for lunch hadn’t gone far, and the thought of Leo’s conversation and a couple of bottles of good wine was appealing. For a moment he was sorely tempted. But he knew himself too well, knew his own weaknesses. He’d only finish up drinking too much and regretting it in the morning. And with the punishing work schedule of the next few weeks, Charles knew he couldn’t afford to do that.

‘Maybe some other time,’ said Leo, masking his own acute disappointment with an easy smile.

‘Yes. Yes, definitely. Anyway, I just have to have a few words with Basher before I go for my train. Good to see you, Leo …’ Charles lifted his hand in farewell, and Leo raised his glass in return. He watched Charles’s tall figure weaving through the little groups of people, and sighed inwardly, letting his idle
hopes and fantasies for the evening subside. Well, he’d better just get on with this PR exercise. He’d talked to just about all of the Names already, except for Freddie, so he might as well get that over with. In a resigned fashion, Leo went over to where Freddie was ham-fistedly trying to roll up a few chicken legs in a napkin, just managing to cram them into his pocket before Leo arrived.