An Immoral Code (26 page)

Rachel glanced away dismissively. That was one subject she definitely wanted to steer clear of. ‘No, nothing’s changed there. Apart from the fact that we’ve agreed to the truce I told you about. He leads his life and I lead mine. Now’ – she smiled, picked up the menu and scanned it – ‘let’s forget all that and talk about something pleasant.’

Over lunch they talked easily, animatedly. Rachel asked about his children and his work, and Charles, especially after his second glass of wine, basked in the knowledge that he was being amusing and scintillating, and that she was enjoying herself. He loved the way her blue eyes seemed to grow even more incandescent when he made her laugh, so he tried to do it as often as possible. And when Rachel was explaining to him the mysteries of toxic mould growth in food cargoes, he was able to sit and take pleasure in simply watching her, without listening to a word she said. At one point she broke off, smiling, and shook her head.

‘You’re not remotely interested in any of this, are you?’

He sat back, arms folded. ‘Not in the least. But I could spend all day listening to you. So long as I’m not expected to take notes and answer questions afterwards, that is.’ He paused, then said softly, musingly, ‘Do you know how incredibly beautiful you are?’

Rachel ducked her head slightly, looking away. She was not accustomed to being talked to in such a way, and had none of the usual skills of female repartee with which to respond. ‘No,’ she murmured. ‘At least, I don’t think I am.’ She looked round quickly for the waiter. ‘I really think I could do with more coffee,’ she added.

Charles, watching her, suddenly realised that lunch was nearly over, and that, apart from being amusing and companionable, he had not advanced his cause one whit. Instinct took over, and he surprised even himself by using a tactic which he had not employed for years. He leant forward, caught her gaze, and said in no more than a murmur, ‘Don’t laugh at this, but I have fallen terribly in love with you.’ He did not smile, and the words, the earnestness of his voice, astonished Rachel. For several long seconds neither said anything, but as they looked at one another, each was conscious of an honesty of exchanged emotion. Good God, thought Charles, maybe it’s true. Maybe I actually am in love with her. Not just fancying her, or lusting after her, but completely and helplessly nuts about her.

Rachel managed to glance away. ‘No, you’re not,’ she said faintly. That he had spoken as he had, that they had looked at one another so candidly, had made her realise just how dishonest she had been about her possible feelings for this man. All it had taken were those few words, and she felt intensely vulnerable. Oh, just to be loved by someone as kind and easy as he was … But she pushed the thought aside. There was still Leo. There would always be Leo. Charles was the kind of man who probably made love to as many women as took his fancy. It was nothing more than that.

His voice went on, earnest and gentle. She had never heard him speak like this before, and was surprised at how easily it moved her. ‘I’m going away on Saturday. To China. For this series. Can I see you again before then?’ he asked. The atmosphere between them was suddenly charged, and he decided to see how much emotional capital there was to be made out of keeping it at this pitch. No frivolity.

She looked at him. ‘No,’ she said, and knew instantly that she spoke against her will. But what else could she do? While there was Leo, still the possibility of a future with him, there could be no question of letting anyone else into her life. And Charles, she sensed, was dangerous.

‘When I get back, then? I’m only going for three weeks.’

She hesitated. ‘I’ll be away. At this conference. But I couldn’t, anyway. Look, Charles—’

‘Don’t. Don’t try to tell me that this is nonsense. You have no idea—’ He broke off, his gaze still fastened on her face, then suddenly smiled ruefully. ‘I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. I can’t bear to see you looking at me in that guarded, unhappy way. Look, forget what I said and just – just behave as though I had never said anything. Please. Too much wine, got carried away by your intoxicating presence. Now, smile at me. Please?’ He looked so droll and pleading that she could not help but smile. A tension within her relaxed. ‘Good,’ he said, deciding to steer the atmosphere back to sunnier waters, pleased with the way in which matters had significantly intensified. ‘But no matter what you say, I have to see you again. If only to continue the seminar on mould growth, or whatever it was.’ He motioned to the waiter for the bill. ‘I’ll call you.’ She opened her mouth to speak again, possibly in protest, and before she could say anything he added, ‘I don’t care how often you say no, I’ll keep calling.’ He gave a carefree smile. ‘Now that I’ve found you, I have absolutely no intention of letting you go.’
When he said this, Rachel was conscious of feeling a mixture of helplessness and anxiety. If only everything could be entirely beyond her control, in the way that he suggested. But life wasn’t like that, she knew.

Lunch finished in the same companionable way in which it had begun, but there was no escaping the new emotional element which Charles had introduced. He kissed her goodbye in the same brotherly fashion as before, and the hand which he raised as her taxi drove away was no more than the casual salutation of one friend to another. But as she tried to marshal her concentration at work that afternoon, Rachel’s mind kept slipping back to the things he had said in those few profound moments, and the expression in his eyes, and each time she felt a delicious and irrepressible thrill at the recollection. As for Charles, as he ambled back into the restaurant for another glass of wine and a quick chat with some friends he had caught sight of in a corner, he felt well pleased with the day’s doings.

That evening Leo came home tired and dispirited. He felt as though he had been wading through run-off contracts for half a lifetime, and the Capstall case, which had seemed so attractive in its significance at the outset, was beginning to oppress him. It consumed every waking moment, and, although the spirit of determination with which he fought every case was in no way dimmed, he longed for some variety in his working day, some change of pace. The total absorption which the case demanded gave him an odd sense of isolation, which was heightened by the fact that he now felt oddly cut off from Anthony, who spent most of his free time with Camilla. As he parked the car and locked it, Leo reflected on this, ruefully acknowledging to himself that he found it difficult, as he had always done, to accept that anyone should displace him in Anthony’s life.

He paused by the car, staring up at the blank windows of his
big house. God, he thought. Only four years ago he had been in love with Anthony, and even though it had never amounted to anything in the long run, he had always supposed himself to be paramount in the younger man’s affections. Not even Rachel had stood between them, ever. Oh, Anthony had thought she had, but Leo had known otherwise. And now there was this girl. Leo tossed the car keys lightly in the palm of his hand, staring down at them, thinking coldly of Camilla. He would be a fool to let Anthony make the same mistake that he had made. He knew Anthony, knew his susceptibility. The best thing for Anthony would be to remain single, uncommitted, leading his own life, instead of getting caught up in the tangle of other people’s. He glanced up again and saw the light come on in Oliver’s room, then Jennifer drawing the curtains. He sighed and let himself into the house.

Rachel was in the kitchen, putting dishes into the dishwasher.

‘I ate with Oliver and Jennifer,’ she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. ‘I want to spend the evening working on my paper. I hope you don’t mind making yourself some pasta. I took a sauce out of the freezer, but you’ll probably have to warm it in the microwave.’

‘No, that’s fine,’ he said. Her voice was bright and rapid, he noticed, as though she was especially cheerful about something. For some reason this irritated him.

Rachel detected the weary note in his voice. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

‘So-so.’ Despite the inevitable distance which existed between them, he felt like sitting down, having a drink with her, telling her about the pressures of the case, but just as he was about to suggest it, she closed the dishwasher and said, ‘Right. I’m going to lock myself away now.’ Then as she reached the door she turned and added, ‘Oh, that documentary thing you’ve been watching – the one about the Crusades. It’s the last programme
tonight. Tell me when it comes on. I’d like to watch it, too.’

She went out, and Leo stood thinking about Charles Beecham. He hadn’t seen him since before Christmas. It did infatuation no good to be starved of the sight and sound of its object. Even that pleasant little piece of speculative fantasy was not sustaining him at present. And he could think of no pretext for getting in touch with Charles. There was always the settlement offer which it was rumoured Lloyd’s might soon be making, and which he would then have to discuss with the committee. He might see him then. But for the moment he would have to nourish himself with Charles’s last programme, enjoy him at one remove. It was better than nothing.

He went into the living room and poured himself a large drink. The idea of cooking supper bored him, and, although he had brought home some papers to look at, he couldn’t face them. He had had enough of Alan Capstall for one day. He picked up the newspaper from a chair and glanced through it, unconsciously registering the sounds of Rachel switching off Oliver’s light after saying goodnight to him, her feet on the stairs, the sound of the study door closing. Leo chucked the paper aside and remembered the novel which he had been reading before Christmas. It had been rather enjoyable, easy. He hadn’t had a moment to look at it since. That would fill in the time between now and nine o’clock, something to help him unwind.

He went upstairs, his drink in one hand, loosening his tie with the other. Jennifer, crossing from the bathroom to her bedroom on the floor above, caught sight of him and stood looking down at him, tightening the belt of her towelling robe as she did so. She felt, as she always did, a little rush of excitement at the sight of him, his silver hair, his handsome, tired features. He was easily the most attractive man she knew, much better than the boys of her own age that she met in pubs and clubs.
Leo possessed sophistication, and there was something aloof in his manner towards her which Jennifer found particularly challenging. Over Christmas she had discussed him at length with her best friend, speculating on the possibilities of going to bed with him. She had never done such a thing in any household she had worked in before – none of the husbands so far had been remotely fanciable – but she knew plenty of nannies to whom it had happened. From the currents of tension between Leo and Rachel, Jennifer guessed that they no longer slept together. Someone like Leo, mused Jennifer, as she watched him unbutton his collar and slip off his jacket before going into his room, must need someone, something. She could think of one way of arousing his interest. Slowly, thoughtfully, she padded downstairs, until she was only a few steps away from Leo’s bedroom door, which stood ajar. She waited, sponge bag still in hand, the tendrils of her curling hair damp from the shower. Either he had gone in there to change, or to fetch something. After a few seconds she heard his feet approaching the door, and she quickened her pace to hurry down the last few steps, so that she and Leo collided as he came out of his room. She dropped her sponge bag, and as they murmured apologies to each other and she bent to retrieve it, she contrived to let her robe slip open slightly. Leo’s gaze could not help but be arrested by the sight of Jennifer’s soft round shoulders and childish breasts before she quickly pulled the edges of her robe together again and tightened the belt, apparently in clumsy embarrassment. He was aware, as he caught the faint fragrance of her clean, soaped body, of his own instant arousal.

‘Sorry,’ she murmured, ‘I was just going down to the kitchen to fetch a drink.’ She gave him a quick, uncertain smile and went downstairs. He stood watching her, his eyes fixed on her legs, the peach-like curve of flesh where her thighs disappeared beneath the hem of her short bathrobe. He came slowly
downstairs a moment later and went into the kitchen, where she was standing with her back to him, pouring herself a glass of juice from the fridge. He put his book on the table and began to prepare supper for himself. Neither spoke to the other, but there was a heightened awareness, an almost palpable sexual tension, which secretly delighted Jennifer. She smiled to herself as she left the kitchen, dipping her head to drink from her glass. He could have made a move there and then – she could tell he had wanted to – but he probably didn’t think it was a good idea with Rachel only a few rooms away. Well, she could wait.

Later that evening, Leo and Rachel sat together and watched Charles Beecham, Rachel curled up in an armchair, Leo stretched out on the sofa, each containing their own private thoughts and fantasies, while an unknowing and pre-recorded Charles lectured them on Pope Innocent III and the Albigenses. Upstairs in her room, Jennifer watched for a few moments and grew bored. She switched off the television and lay back on her bed, thinking about Leo.

The following week, on a raw, blustery Thursday afternoon, Leo left his room in chambers and went slowly downstairs, yawning and stretching, with the idea of going over to Inner Temple for afternoon tea. He was conscious of a stiffness in his legs and neck from sitting for so long at his desk, and it occurred to him that he should take some time off from the rigours of this case and have a game of squash. He hadn’t played in ages, simply hadn’t had the time. For a moment he toyed with the idea of ringing up Charles Beecham and inviting him over to his club for a game. But he didn’t even know if Charles played. If he had wanted to capitalise on that budding friendship, he should have done it earlier. To get in touch with the man now might seem somewhat contrived. Besides, there was still too much preparation for the case to allow for romantic distractions. No time or energy even for love, thought Leo ruefully. He went out, taking a deep breath of the chilly January air to shake off his feeling of lassitude, and as he passed through Caper Court and into the cloisters, he saw Anthony striding towards the common room from the direction of the library. There was someone who
had plenty of time for everything. Law and love. He quickened his pace and came up beside Anthony, falling into step with him. Anthony glanced up and smiled.

‘I was just thinking about you,’ said Anthony. The words touched Leo instantly with pleasure. There were few people in the world, he thought, who could affect him as Anthony did. But then, there were scarcely any others for whom he cared as much.

‘Oh?’

‘Wondering if we shouldn’t try to fix up a game of squash. I’m rather conscious of being out of condition these days.’

Leo laughed at the coincidence of thought. ‘Yes, I know what you mean,’ he murmured, and pushed through the swing doors into the warmth of the common room, and the murmur of conversation and tinkle of teacups. ‘But we’ll have to make it some time before next Thursday. Rachel’s going off to a conference in Sydney for a couple of weeks, and I won’t have any free evenings. Domestic duties, and so forth.’

Anthony glanced fleetingly at Leo as he paid for his tea. He had never seen Rachel and Leo’s baby, found it peculiarly difficult to imagine Leo as anyone’s father, let alone a dutiful and doting one. He was too accustomed to perceiving Leo as an independent, emotionally unfettered being. He thought suddenly of Leo as he had been when he had first met him – a debonair bachelor, charismatic and witty, intellectually brilliant, but above all, a loner. There were certain activities in which one could not envisage Leo engaging, and those included changing nappies and cuddling infants. He tried to repress a smile at the thought, but Leo caught it. ‘What?’ he asked, as they sat down together.

‘Oh, nothing. Just finding it hard to imagine you looking after a baby.’

‘It is no joke,’ remarked Leo grimly. ‘In fact, you may come
over one evening while Rachel’s away and see what it’s like.’ He sipped his tea and then leant back, smoothing a hand over his silver hair. ‘Actually, Oliver is a very good child. Well, he is so far. Quite what he’ll be like when his mother is away, I can’t say. Anyway—’ Leo took a small cigar from his case and lit it, abruptly changing the subject. ‘I meant to tell you that I asked Fred Fenton the other day to instruct Walter Lumley as second junior.’

‘God, no,’ groaned Anthony.

Leo glanced up in surprise and faint annoyance. ‘What have you got against Lumley? He’s extremely able. Roderick said he was invaluable on that joint venture case last autumn. Or are you just jealous of another rising young star? Don’t like the firmament too crowded?’

‘Leo, I couldn’t care less if he was the next Lord Denning. He’s just such a – a weasel.’ Anthony thought of Walter Lumley, his small, pointed face and bright, penetrating eyes behind his glasses, and could think of no other word.

‘You don’t hold the poor fellow’s looks against him, do you?’ Leo’s voice was faintly cold. He blew out a little cloud of cigar smoke.

‘It’s nothing to do with the way he looks. If you’d been in his tutorial group at Bar School, you’d know what I mean. He was always so watchful, so smug, ready to pounce with the right answer. And I don’t think he washed his hair more than once a month.’ Anthony shifted restlessly in his chair, aware that he was sounding a trifle childish. ‘He’s just not – well, he’s not your average decent chap. There’s something off-putting about him.’

‘But you’ll admit that he’s bright?’ enquired Leo, setting down his empty teacup.

‘Oh, yes. Yes, I’ll give you that. Supernaturally so. It might help him if he was a bit less brilliant.’

‘Then that’s all I’m interested in,’ said Leo. ‘I don’t care if
he never takes a bath, so long as he can help us win this case. And by all accounts, I rather think he can.’ Leo rose. ‘Find out if there’s a court free after five tomorrow night, and we’ll have a game and a couple of drinks afterwards.’ He gave a quick smile, then left the common room. Anthony felt faintly uncomfortable, and wished that he had said nothing against Lumley. Leo had a way of making one feel small, sometimes. He sighed, drank his tea and glanced at his watch. He thought he had detected a change in Leo’s manner towards him of late, something slightly off-hand, as though Anthony had in some way offended him. At that moment Camilla came into the common room, and Anthony felt his heart expand with pleasure at the sight of her. As she came towards him, it suddenly occurred to him that Leo’s behaviour towards Camilla had altered, too. Formerly casual and aloof with her, Leo had recently become critical, picky about her work and occasionally subjected her to cutting little remarks of reproof. Perhaps it was the strain of the case, thought Anthony. It must affect them all. But he knew in his heart that Leo must have perceived the relationship between himself and Camilla, and that it had fanned a little flickering flame of jealousy in Leo. Certain things never change, thought Anthony, remembering his own impotent sense of humiliation and loss when Leo had married Rachel. He could not fathom the bond between himself and Leo, had no idea of what it consisted, and what might affect it. Camilla sat down in the chair which Leo had recently vacated, and smiled at him.

‘You look miles away,’ she remarked.

‘I was. I was thinking about Leo.’

She set down her cup of tea and made a face. ‘I said hello to him on my way in, and he just looked straight through me. Why were you thinking about him?’

Anthony gazed reflectively at the table between them, and suddenly wondered what he would do, if he was asked to choose
between Camilla and Leo. It was an absurd thought, and he had no idea why it had come into his head. He tried to push it away and looked up, switching his attention to her features. ‘Oh, no reason really. I just worry about him sometimes, that’s all,’ he replied.

He had never done anything so petty in his life. Why had he just cut the girl dead? wondered Leo, as he made his way back to chambers. He could think of absolutely no reason, except a sheer fit of ill-temper brought on by the sight of her – young and attractive, carefree, happy. And part of Anthony’s life. The conversation with Anthony, too – he shouldn’t have ended it so abruptly. True, Anthony’s occasionally immature opinions might make him impatient, but it was no reason to cut things short. Half the reason for going across to tea had been to relax, have some conversation, get away from chambers for a while, and here he was on his way back ten minutes later, in a bad mood. Oh God, thought Leo, this was probably what happened as one got older. Irascibility, a brooding sense of envy at the sight of youth taking its easy pleasures, making its casual judgments … He glanced up and saw Cameron Renshaw coming through the archway from Middle Temple Lane, his portly frame clad in a fine new blue cashmere coat. Cameron was putting on weight. He moved less briskly than he once had, nimble as a cat in the way of so many big men. How old? Leo wondered. Sixty? Sixty-one? In fifteen years’ time, he thought, I shall be that age. It was not a new thought, but in his present mood of mortal awareness it caught him like a sly blow beneath the ribs. He watched as Cameron paused at the entrance to Number 5, catching his breath before mounting the stone steps. He glanced across and saw Leo approaching, and nodded in greeting.

‘Been to tea? I thought of popping over, but I’ve got a con
in fifteen minutes. Rush, rush, rush …’ They went in through the door together, Cameron unbuttoning his new coat with a touch of pride. ‘Like m’coat?’ he asked Leo ingenuously. ‘Savoy Taylors. In the sale. No other bastard big enough for it to fit, I suppose.’ From behind the clerks’ desk Felicity began to remind Cameron about his conference, and he flapped at her dismissively with the papers which he held in his hand. ‘I know, girl, I know! Not bloody senile yet. Rustle me up a cup of tea, would you, there’s a sweetheart, and bring it upstairs. Parched.’ He turned back to Leo. ‘Now.’ He jabbed a gentle finger at Leo’s waistcoat. ‘Been wanting to have a little word with you about new tenants.’ They began to mount the wooden stairs, Leo keeping pace with Cameron’s slow tread. ‘What do you make of this new girl of Jeremy’s? Camilla Thing.’

‘Lawrence. She’s Anthony’s pupil now, actually.’

‘Whatever. Is she any good? I understand she’s been helping you with the Lloyd’s business.’

They reached the landing, and Leo hesitated. ‘She’s – she’s very good. First-class mind, very quick …’

‘But?’

Leo shrugged. ‘No “but”. There have been times when I’ve thought she lacked the aggressive touch, I suppose.’

‘Got no balls, you mean?’

‘Something like that,’ replied Leo, giving Cameron a caustic glance. ‘But of late she seems to have been gaining confidence. And, of course, she needs experience.’

‘Hmm. She’ll get plenty of that soon enough.’ Cameron resumed his progress up the stairs, Leo at his side. ‘Well, I must say she strikes me as being of the right calibre. And – I never thought I’d say this – we need a woman in chambers. Got to keep up with the times. I propose that we offer her a tenancy at the end of her pupillage.’

‘Already?’

‘Strike while the iron’s hot. I’ve heard very good reports about her from others in chambers, and with a starred first from LMH, she’ll get other offers. I don’t want this set getting a reputation for being chauvinistic or stick-in-the-mud. Seven KBW have got two women already, and I gather they pile in the work.’

‘Fine. I’m all for it.’ Leo’s bland expression betrayed nothing.

Cameron paused outside his room, puffing slightly, his new coat slung over his arm. ‘Good. I’ll put it forward at the next chambers meeting. Oh, and there’s the question of new premises to be discussed as well—’

At that moment, Leo could hear the phone ringing behind the closed door of his own room. He nodded. ‘Fine. We’ll discuss it. I can hear my phone.’

Cameron nodded in dismissal and Leo went into his room, wishing that Cameron had not further depressed his spirits by mentioning the matter of new premises. He had enough upheaval in his life at the moment, and had no real wish to leave the familiarity of 5 Caper Court. He sighed as he picked up the phone.

‘Murray Campbell for you,’ said Felicity’s voice.

‘Fine. Put him on.’ Leo sat down behind his desk, removing his jacket with his free hand and slinging it over the back of his chair.

‘Leo? Got some news that should make you sit up. Chris Upjohn from Fairchilds has just been on. Lloyd’s want to settle. They’re prepared to make the Names an offer.’

Leo sat forward, his face alight with interest. He picked up a pen and opened a notebook.

‘How much?’

‘Forty-nine point four million. That’s without including the auditors, and no cap on liability.’

‘Hmm.’ Leo pondered this. ‘It’s not ideal. What the Names
want is to know that the claims won’t keep on rolling ceaselessly in. Money in hand will mean something to the likes of Freddie Hendry and Brian Carstairs, but we have to look ahead. Honoria Hunter and old Snodgrass wouldn’t sniff at it either, but what they’re interested in is having the lid put on their claims.’ He paused, doodling a series of lines beneath the figure of £49.4 million which he had jotted down. ‘And I’m not at all keen on the idea of assigning the auditors’ claim … What do you and Fred think?’

At the other end, Murray sighed. ‘It’s an offer. If we accept it, at least the Names don’t run the risk of going to court and losing. If that happens, they end up with nothing, except a packet in costs. This way, they get a hundred per cent of line. You’re never going to do better than that.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ mused Leo. He paused in thought once more, then said, ‘It’s something to put to the Names, in any event. We’d better call a meeting and thrash it out. I’d like to have a word with Anthony and get back to you, if I may.’

‘Fine. I’ll wait to hear from you.’

Leo hung up and sat back in his chair. Apart from the faint sense of relief at the fact that Lloyd’s were nervous enough to want to settle the claim, the fact that the offer fell short of the ideal only galvanised him into wanting to push on with the litigation. He relished the prospect of a day – or more – in court with Capstall, and had confidence in his own ability to win. There was something lukewarm about settling, particularly on these terms. But then, one never knew how far the thing might be open to negotiation. It was improbable that the high and mighty of Lloyd’s would agree to capping the liability of the Names, absolving them of any future indebtedness. And what if Murray was right? What if they were never going to do any better? His mind ran quickly over the scenario of the next few days. Murray would inform the committee, a general
meeting of the Names action group would be called to discuss the proposal, and he, Leo, would have to address them on the advisability, or otherwise, of accepting. He had enough arrogant belief in his own powers of persuasion to know that most of the Names would be guided by what he said. In the end, much would depend upon which way Leo pushed them. He rubbed his hands over his face for a brief moment, as if to smooth away the stress and anxiety which this case had brought, then stood up. He would go and talk to Anthony.