An Immoral Code (23 page)

‘Hello,’ she said.

He had not thought about what he would say when he saw her. He had not known what he would feel. But now he knew. He felt relieved. Annoyed, but relieved.

‘Merry Christmas,’ he said.

She sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t bear to be here. Here, you take him.’ She passed Oliver to Leo, who snuggled the baby against his shoulder, enjoying the small, compact feel of him.

‘Did you go to your mother’s?’

‘Yes,’ replied Rachel. Clearly he had not spoken to her mother. Anyway, it was true. She had gone to her mother’s, initially.

‘How was she?’

‘Not exactly ecstatic to see us. Is there any wine in the fridge? I need something.’

‘I think so.’ He put Oliver into his high chair and gave him a spoon to bang with. Then he switched the portable television off and paced round the kitchen slowly. Rachel poured them both a glass of wine, realising that she felt oddly nervous. ‘What did you do?’ she asked.

He smiled. ‘You can imagine.’ There was a silence, punctuated only by Oliver smacking the tabletop with his spoon. ‘So’ – Leo stopped pacing and looked directly at her – ‘have you done any thinking?’

‘About what you said?’

‘Yes.’

Rachel sat down at the table. ‘Yes. Yes, I have. That was partly why I wanted to get away.’

‘And?’

‘Leo, isn’t it a bit soon for this? I’ve only just got back.’

‘I want to know how things are going to be resolved.’

‘You
want to know how things are going to be resolved?’ She gave an ironic laugh, shook her head. ‘Leo,’ she said after a moment or two, ‘do you think there is any future for us?’ She could not help suddenly thinking of Charles and Nicholas and Chloe, how close they were. Close even in the absence of their mother. Maybe it would be better if she and Leo just cut their losses and parted. The effect on Oliver might not be as dreadful as Leo supposed. But nothing was that easy. She was still in love with Leo, still ready to take any chance that might bring him back to her. And that was why she asked this question, with hope.

He looked steadily at her. ‘I don’t know,’ he said at last. Then he turned and glanced at Oliver, smiled at him and stroked a chubby hand. ‘I told you, life is very confused for me at present. Call it some kind of midlife crisis, the male menopause, whatever.’

‘Do you want there to be? Do you want there to be a future?’

Oh God, thought Leo, she wants me to say that there is a chance in the future that I will love her again as she loves me, which is impossible. All I can do is lie, say yes, and gain some time. Then at least Oliver will be there each evening.

‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘That’s why I suggested we stay together – nominally, at least. Because I like to think things may change.’ He felt no compunction as he told this lie.

Relief and hope touched her heart. ‘In that case, we can try it for a few months. It seems an impossible way to conduct a marriage. But then this marriage isn’t …’ She was lost for the appropriate word.

‘Conventional?’

‘I always intended it to be perfectly conventional,’ replied Rachel. ‘It’s you who is unconventional.’ He was standing just a foot away from her, and the sight of his familiar, handsome face after an absence of two days still had its old effect on her. She
almost willed him to take her in his arms, kiss her, make love to her as he used to. But she could read in his eyes only neutrality, and a complete lack of desire. All she could do was to hope that this arrangement might, in time, return him to her.

‘Good,’ said Leo, as though some delicate negotiation had been satisfactorily concluded. ‘Now, are you hungry?’

She was not surprised by this sudden switch of tack. ‘Yes, yes, I am, as a matter of fact.’

‘Why don’t we have a takeaway? A curry, or something.’

‘If you like. You order. I’m too tired.’

She watched him as he picked up the kitchen phone, realising that the past two days had helped her. She had been able to conduct that brief conversation, which Leo appeared to regard as having settled matters, in a clear and balanced way, without any of her former sense of desperate apprehension. Something of Charles Beecham’s relaxed approach to life must have rubbed off on her. Whatever it was, she felt less pessimistic. She could only wait and see what the next few months were to bring, after all.

‘It’s snowing,’ she remarked, as Leo put the phone down. ‘Quite heavily.’

Leo walked over to the window and looked out. ‘I hadn’t realised. If it goes on like this all night it’ll be quite deep by the morning.’ He thought about the con he had with Murray Campbell at nine-thirty the next day, wondered how the trains would be. No point in driving. His heart lifted at the thought of being back in chambers, and he turned and plucked a surprised Oliver from his high chair, lifted him against his shoulder and carried him to the window. ‘Look,’ he said, pointing to the white flurry of flakes ebbing into the dark night. ‘Snow.’ Oliver goggled at nothing in particular, while Rachel sat at the kitchen table and watched them both, her chin on her hand.

‘Two things,’ said Felicity.

Leo looked up from the notes he was reading. He could tell from her face that Felicity was on an organising blitz. She had them every month or so, and he assumed that it was something menstrual, or to do with phases of the moon. There would be a sudden flurry of snappily arranged conferences and hearings, fees would be raked in, people’s affairs sorted out, and Felicity would generally behave with uncharacteristic briskness. He supposed that, on this occasion, it could have something to do with the new year. Like many people with gossamer willpower, Felicity was given to making resolutions. Leo knew this because they had both tried to give up smoking five months ago, he his cigars, she her fags. Each had taken comfort in the failure of the other. ‘What?’

‘One, you’ve got a date for the Capstall hearing.’

Leo sat back in his chair and stared at her. ‘Already? When?’

‘Last week in February.’ Felicity thought he looked tired. Pinched, her mother would have said, or peaky, the shadows beneath his eyes and high cheekbones giving him a gaunt, exhausted look. Even the divine Leo had to age, she reflected.
This case probably wasn’t doing him much good. He worked all hours. So did Anthony, but Anthony was only young, he could push himself to the limit, and still have time for other things. Thinking of which, she’d have to have a chat with Camilla, who’d been going around since the beginning of the new year looking quietly happy in a closed-up way.

Leo groaned. ‘I don’t believe it. Christ, two months to prepare. I may be dead by mid February, at this rate. Go on, what’s the other thing?’

‘The other thing is that Sir Basil is doing the hearing.’

‘Sir
Basil?’

‘So I’ve been told. Anyway, must get on. Ta ta.’

When she had gone, Leo swivelled round in his chair and stared out of the window at the few scraps of greyish snow that still clung to the slate roof of the chambers opposite. Sir Basil Bunting had been, before his elevation to the High Court Bench a year ago, the head of chambers at 5 Caper Court, a magisterial, old-fashioned figure who had prided himself more on the calibre of his clients than on his grasp of the law. He had become head of chambers in days when nepotism was more widely practised than today, and although he had been a competent advocate, his skills had been those of diplomacy and courtly cunning, rather than legal acuity. Leo wondered whether the old boy was really up to the task of absorbing and understanding the vast wealth of statistical evidence with which he would be bombarded when the Capstall hearing got under way. Feeling like stretching his legs in any event, he decided to go and mull matters over with Anthony.

When Leo went into Anthony’s room, Anthony was staring in a trance-like fashion at the bookcase, his face wearing an expression of vacancy which Leo knew, from experience, masked deep thought. Anthony roused himself from his meditation and glanced at Leo, sighing.

‘I’m trying to work out how to draft this bit about the Lloyd’s solvency return.’

‘Well, if it helps to concentrate your mind, Felicity’s just told me that they’ve set the date for the full hearing in six weeks’ time.’

‘Oh, wonderful. How are we going to get our act together by then?’

‘If we have to, we will, I suppose.’ Leo strolled over to the window, hands in pockets. Anthony, looking up at him from where he sat at his desk, noticed the slack lines on the skin of Leo’s neck where the collar of his blue shirt touched it, the slight thinning of his hair, and reflected, as Felicity had, on Leo’s ageing. He must be heading towards forty-five, thought Anthony, making a rapid calculation. Or was it forty-six? ‘The thing is,’ said Leo suddenly, ‘I think I’ll have to bring in another junior. We can’t carry this workload between us.’

‘There’s always Camilla,’ said Anthony. He felt an unreasonable sense of intrusion at the idea of another barrister muscling in on the territory which was his and Leo’s. He liked the exclusivity of working with Leo, of maintaining the intimacy of the relationship which had been – still was – so important to him.

‘She’s very able,’ said Leo. ‘She’s a great help. Very bright. But there’s a natural limit to what she can do, as a pupil. Where is she, by the way?’ he added, glancing at the empty desk.

‘I’ve sent her off to dig up everything she can on asbestos. The Johns Manville business, the US court decisions, medical research, market reports, that sort of thing.’ He was quite glad that this work kept her out of chambers for stretches of time. He was too professional, and she too meticulous, to allow the fact that they shared a room to rob him of his powers of concentration, but there was no denying that her presence four feet away from him charged the atmosphere and inevitably
distracted him. He had seen her every other evening since just after Christmas, ten days ago, and had got no further than prolonged and delightful spells of kissing her. There was, for someone of Anthony’s age and temperament, a natural physical tension when she was around. Although there was nothing calculating or predatory in his attitude, it was difficult not to succumb to the temptation of devising ways and means of taking her to bed. She was an entirely different proposition from Sarah, and he was not entirely sure how things were to develop.

Leo nodded, then said, ‘I think another junior is inevitable. Someone to devote their time exclusively to the asbestosis and pollution points and work up Camilla’s research. You can’t possibly do that as well as all the accounting stuff, and I’ve got to start drafting my opening speech.’

Anthony could see his point. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he murmured.

‘Anyway, I’ll attend to that. The other piece of news is that Sir Basil is going to be doing the full hearing.’

‘Sir Basil? That bodes well,’ replied Anthony.

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Well, leaving aside the point that no High Court judge who is also a Name would be allowed to hear our case, I can’t think of anyone more likely to be biased in favour of the Names. His brother-in-law, Frederick Choke, has lost an absolute bomb on Lloyd’s. He’s on every duff syndicate you can name – Feltrim, Gooda Walker and, of course, Capstall. He’s had to sell up his farmland, get rid of his vintage car collection, flog off the French chateau …’

‘My heart fairly bleeds,’ murmured Leo.

‘You remember Edward Choke, chap who used to be a pupil here?’

‘Vaguely.’

‘He’s Frederick Choke’s son, Sir Basil’s nephew, and he told
me all this when I met him last week. Apparently his mother has been in an awful state about it all. So Sir Basil’s heart has doubtless been moved by the iniquities suffered by his sister at the hands of Capstall et al. Can only be good for us.’

‘If you say so,’ said Leo. ‘But I think you misjudge the righteous Sir Basil. I certainly wouldn’t bank on anything. He’s the kind of man who might deliberately lean the other way, if he thinks anyone might accuse him of bias.’

At that moment Camilla came in, bringing an aura of cold from the freezing day outside. Anthony felt an expansive internal pleasure at the sight of her, and she gave him a warm, fleeting smile as though she knew this. ‘Hello,’ she murmured to Leo.

As Camilla took off her coat, Leo glanced briefly from her to Anthony, and was aware of an imperceptible shift in the atmosphere, the unmistakeable tension that bound two people together and excluded the other. There’s something going on between them, he suddenly thought. He knew this instinctively and certainly, even though Anthony did no more than glance at Camilla as she sat down at her desk, setting down the bundle of notes she had brought in. His mind flitted over the times he had been with them recently, remembered the studied, offhand manner with one another at tea in the common room. A deliberate smokescreen. Well, put two attractive young people in close working proximity for long enough, and a certain chemistry was bound to evolve, he supposed. But he could not help feeling a certain pang at the thought that Anthony’s heart and mind should be devoted to another person, as they had once been to him. Leo knew that even after he left the room Anthony and Camilla would continue to behave with exactly the same circumspection as they did now, but even so, his perception of how matters stood made him feel that he should leave. ‘Don’t forget Murray Campbell is coming over with Snodgrass and
Carstairs at four,’ he said. And he left, aware that he was childishly and irrationally irritated by the idea of Camilla and Anthony together. So far as life in chambers went, he was too accustomed to regarding Anthony as his own special property.

Henry felt that suffering in silence for a week was long enough. Since work in chambers had resumed after the Christmas holiday last Tuesday, Felicity had behaved as though nothing had happened that night after the chambers party. Henry could hardly believe it. He had spent all Christmas in agonies of longing and doubt, and when he had come into chambers on the morning after Boxing Day, he had expected to know the best – or the worst – from Felicity. Now he could stand it no longer. It was nearly lunchtime, people were drifting out of chambers towards sandwich bars, and Felicity was sitting in front of the computer, chewing on her thumbnail and swearing horribly under her breath.

Henry came up behind her and said tentatively, ‘Felicity?’

‘Bloody hell! “To copy edit com files from the DOS directory to the FRUIT directory …” What’s a frigging fruit directory when it’s at home?’ she demanded, turning and looking up at Henry. Henry sighed and leant over to press a couple of keys on the keyboard, and the files that Felicity wanted sprang up on the screen. He could smell the faint fragrance of that perfume she wore – some cheap thing, but he didn’t care, it was hers, Felicity’s.

She grinned in delight. ‘You are brilliant. Thanks.’ She pattered at the keyboard for a few seconds, and then leant back. ‘Sorted. Yeah, what was it?’ she asked, swivelling round in her chair.

Henry paused as Roderick passed by, pulling on his jacket and dropping a brief in the basket on his way out. He waited until Roderick had left, and then said, ‘I’ve been meaning to
talk to you.’ After a moment’s hesitation, he added, ‘I mean, in case you’d been wondering …’ He faltered again. This was not easy.

Felicity folded her arms, which elevated her generous bust slightly, and frowned at Henry. ‘Wondering what?’ Her glance slid briefly to the clock. She hoped this wasn’t going to take long. It was ten to one, and she was meeting Vince for lunch. He’d had an interview that morning with a security firm and she was impatient to learn if he had got the job.

‘Well, wondering why I hadn’t said anything. Since that night.’

‘What night?’

‘The night of the chambers party. When we – when I took you home in the taxi, and – and—’

He seemed terribly embarrassed, almost unable to get his words out. Felicity had forgotten all about that evening. The bits which she had ever been able to remember in the first place. What on earth was Henry driving at? Then a cold, awful fear crept upon her. He couldn’t mean … They hadn’t … had they? Oh God, no! No, she would remember … wouldn’t she? She’d been drunk all right, but what if …? She couldn’t remember anything between getting tight on champagne and waking up in her bed the next day.

She leant forward, her manner suddenly sharp, startling Henry from his confusion. ‘What? You took me home and what?’

‘Well … you know … in the taxi.’ Henry looked down at his hands, plaiting his fingers together.

In the taxi? No – that wasn’t possible. In the
taxi?
‘Henry, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.’ He raised his eyes to hers, and she waited with faint dread.

‘Well, you kissed me – I mean, I kissed you, and – well, a bit more than that. Nothing much, really.’ He was finding this
painfully difficult. ‘And you just seemed to like it. We both did. Then I dropped you at your flat. And it was – the thing is, afterwards, it sort of made me think …’ He stopped, stared at her. All he wanted to do was say, ‘I love you, Felicity,’ but the words would not come out.

And then she did that awful thing. She giggled. She put her hand up to her mouth and laughed, mainly from relief, and partly because it struck her as funny. The sound made Henry feel as though he had been slapped. He blinked. She sat back in her chair and laughed again. Then she said, ‘Oh God, Henry, I didn’t mean – look, I didn’t think what you said was funny, or anything. It’s just that I thought, when you were going on about what happened in the taxi and everything, that we’d – well, you know. Done it.’

He gazed at her, realising that it had been no more than a light-hearted piece of drunken fun for her, what she could recall of it. She was even suggesting that it was not beyond the bounds of possibility for her to have had sex with him in the back of a taxi, just because she had been tight. He felt faintly appalled. Did she really think he would have, could have done such a thing? He looked down, untwining his hands and rubbing his palms against his trouser legs. ‘No,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t worry. It was nothing like that.’ He remembered the softness of her flesh as he had touched her, caressed her, and could almost have cried.

She was silent for a moment, puzzled. Why was he bringing this up? Then she realised that whatever had happened in the taxi – and it clearly hadn’t been much – he had misinterpreted it, had been hoping that it meant something. She had always known intuitively that Henry had a bit of a thing for her, but now she saw that matters had got out of proportion, thanks to the aftermath of the chambers party. She broke the embarrassed silence. ‘Well, then,’ she said gently, leaning forward as if to reassure him, ‘that’s all right, then. No harm done.’ There was
a pause. Still Henry did not look at her. What a fool he felt. ‘Listen, Henry,’ she added, ‘I really like you. We’re good mates. But whatever went on, it didn’t mean anything. I was just drunk, that’s all. I’m sorry.’

He sighed. ‘No. No, I know.’ He rose. ‘Anyway, look … just forget I mentioned it. Just forget it altogether. Please.’

She nodded slowly and watched him walk out of the clerks’ room, then sat for a while, thinking how sad things were for some people, how they always picked the wrong people to fall in love with.