The Decision (93 page)

‘Shall we—’ said Philip Gordon, indicating one of the seats in the centre of the square, and she said yes, and followed him and sank down rather feebly and managed to smile at him.

‘You did awfully well,’ he said.

‘I did?’

‘You did. Held your own, refused to give any ground. And he’s on your side: imagine what he must be like across a courtroom—’

‘Ye-es.’

‘I wouldn’t worry too much about what he said, that you might lose.’

‘Really?’

‘No, no, they all do that, it’s to make themselves seem even more impressive when they win, this seemingly impossible case turned over by their oratory. If he will take the case, and if your – your funds will meet his very high charges, then you will certainly have the very best hope of winning.’

‘Yes. Yes, I see,’ said Eliza, and sat there, feeling the sun on her face, and thinking about Tristram Selbourne, snide, slithery, spluttering Tristram Selbourne fighting her case, her rather fragile case, but based as it was on such virtues as integrity and courage and love, and thinking then of Toby Gilmour and that flash of approval, and she suddenly heard herself saying quite clearly and firmly, ‘You know, Philip I don’t think I want him to take my case. Even if he is willing. I think I want Toby Gilmour to. In fact, I’m quite, quite sure.’

She returned home exhausted: after a long argument with Philip Gordon, during which he had told her that in all honesty he did agree with Gilmour that it was a very difficult case, that she had possibly not more than a fifty per cent chance of winning, but that, should she retain Tristram Selbourne, the odds would rise dramatically in her favour. She had said that while Philip undoubtedly had her best interests at heart, she could not contemplate being represented by him, that he would distort and destroy what little she did have to offer, and that funds were not actually a problem, indeed her godmother who was meeting her costs had been very enthusiastic about the possibility of Selbourne being her barrister but she wanted Toby Gilmour and that was all there was to it.

She went into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea – Emmie was out at a party, as usual, what she would give for Emmie’s social life! – and heard the phone ringing in the hall.

She went out and picked it up and said ‘Hello?’, afraid that it would be Philip Gordon with more arguments; but it wasn’t, it was Toby Gilmour.

‘I just rang,’ he said, his voice, his quick, impatient voice making her nervous again, ‘I just rang to say thank you. I hope you’ve made the right decision, and obviously I am pleased and flattered. And I will do my utmost for you, as I hope very much you know.’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘thank you.’

‘But I do feel nonetheless that you should know it won’t be easy.’

‘I realise that. As Sir Tristram said, I would be lucky not to lose it.’

‘Well, you see, there I would disagree with him. If you don’t lose it, Mrs Shaw, luck will have very little to do with it. If you don’t lose it, it will be because we, and I include you, will have done an extremely good job.’

‘Oh – right. Yes. Well – I’m sure we will. Goodbye then, Mr Gilmour and thank you for ringing.’

He was a bit – odd. But really very, very nice.

Jeremy Northcott had led a charmed life. He had never known financial anxiety, professional failure, social apprehension, or even the mildest depression, for he had been blessed, along with all his other advantages, with a sunny and equable nature. He ran his life, both personal and professional, with considerable ease; he was endlessly clever with people, making the dull feel interesting and the interesting more so.

He was frequently heard to say that his main job in running one of the biggest and most succesful advertising agencies in the world was to keep everyone happy: and when people said there must be more to it than that, he would smile and tell them to try it.

‘Not easy. Not easy at all. But fun.’

And indeed in a business where people were devious, greedy – for both fame and money – and self-regarding, it was not easy at all, but he managed to achieve it to a large extent. Under him people worked not only extraordinarily hard, but very happily so; they felt appreciated as well as rewarded, involved as well as ambitious.

Now for the first time, in falling in love with Mariella, he found himself at once happy in a way he had never known before, and yet lost, helpless and genuinely wretched; and for the first time also he could see no answer to it. Had it been simply an affair, a physical experience, he could have ended it; but it was not, for she had taken hold of his heart, and he of hers. And had her husband been harsh, disagreeable or in other ways unworthy of her, then he could perhaps have set thoughts of him aside; but Giovanni was charming, affectionate, a man in love himself and, besides that, a generous host and a good friend.

Therefore, it must end, this joyous, wonderful thing that he had found at long last in his life; he knew that, as surely as he knew anything, it could not continue, he could not continue to deceive a gentle, vulnerable old man, by depriving him, albeit without his knowledge, of the greatest of all his treasures.

And end it he would: and it had been agreed between them, while each of them lacking the will to do so – just yet.

‘I am in London, just for a few hours, just a small, small meeting, and then no more …’

‘I’m in Paris next week, for two days, let us meet, darling Mariella, one last time …’

‘How can we not be in our lives together, when I love you so much?’

‘How can I say goodbye to you for ever when it tears my heart out to say it for a few hours?’

‘I love you, dear, dear Gentleman Jeremy.’

‘I love you, my darling Signora Crespi.’

‘Just one more time.’

‘Just one last time.’

It was dreadful, awful, the pain. And the guilt. And the tantalising, shocking happiness.

It had to end. He had to end it.

‘I’ve got some very good news, Matt,’ said Ivor Lewis.

‘What’s that, then?’

‘They’ve dropped Selbourne.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. I imagine his fees were too high. They’ve gone for the junior. Toby Gilmour. Very bright, but none of Selbourne’s substance. Obviously.’

‘As you said before,’ Why did he feel like this? Uneasy? Uncomfortable?

‘So Hayward will slaughter him. Slaughter the lot of them. We’ll win. It’s a foregone conclusion.’

‘Well – that’s good. That’s very good.’

‘You OK, Matt?’ Louise looked at him across the table.

‘What? Oh – yes. Yes, fine.’

‘You seem a bit – distracted.’

‘Of course I’m bloody distracted. I’ve got a bid in on a ten-millioncontract, and a divorce case starting in earnest on Friday.’

‘Yes, OK. It’s not my fault.’

‘It’s your fault you’re here. I didn’t suggest dinner.’

‘Right. Well, in that case you’re on your own. Enjoy it.’

Louise stood up, picked up her bag and stalked out of the restaurant. Matt looked after her, hesitated, then got up and followed her, caught up with her outside on the street.

‘Louise! Don’t be so bloody stupid. I was only – only—’

‘Only being rude and arrogant and self-obsessed. So what’s new. It gets very tedious, Matt. I was actually in need of a bit of a diversion myself. So I’m going home to watch
Emergency Ward Ten
. Much more interesting.’ She raised her arm, hailed a taxi.

It pulled over and she leaned in. ‘Paulton Square, please. Night, Matt. Have a good evening.’

He watched her go; she hadn’t changed. Still the same stroppy, self-opinionated Louise, tough as all get out …

He walked back into the restaurant, sat down at the table, pulled his notes out of his briefcase; they stared back at him. They didn’t seem to be making a lot of sense. And now he’d got this long evening on his own. He looked at his watch. It was only eight. He couldn’t go home, Eliza had asked bloody Maddy over. Who wasn’t just her friend, she was On the Other Side, in capital letters. Funny, how everyone was on one side or the other now. Like – well, he could hardly bear to think of the latest development on that one. And once it was over – then what? Then – the sides would be more rigidly drawn up than ever. It would never be over, actually. Never. They had thrown up this barrier and it was getting higher every day. It would never come down. It was like the Berlin Wall. With one side losing sight of the other.

He suddenly wanted to hang onto his side for as long as he could.

‘Louise?’

‘Go away, Matt. I’m busy. Washing my hair.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. Listen – I’m – I’m sorry.’

‘You’re what?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I thought that was what you said. God, Matt. That’s a first. How long have I known you?’

‘Too long probably,’ he said and he smiled into the phone. ‘So could you – hold the shampooing? For half an hour? I could bring a bottle of wine.’

‘I don’t feel like wine. I could do with a cup of tea though. Yes, all right. Come on round. Oh, and could you bring a nice packet of biscuits? I’m hungry. Lemon puffs, perhaps, for old times’ sake?’

‘God give me strength,’ he said. ‘Look, tell you what, I’ll make us an omelette.’

‘I’ll put the kettle on. Then it’s over to you.’

Louise put the phone down and smiled at it. Then she patted it. Round to her. Most definitely.

He turned up looking wretched. ‘Hello. I’ve got eggs and some French bread, and I will make the omelettes. But I’ll need a drink.’

She poured him a whisky; he sank onto her new cream cord sofa, and nodded at it approvingly.

‘Very nice. Heals?’

‘Yes.’ She’d forgotten how he cared about such things; it was so rare in a man.

‘Oh, God,’ he said, drained the glass in one go and put his head in his hands.

‘Matt – look, I do want to help, but – what exactly is the matter with you? I mean, apart from the obvious one?’

‘Sorry. I should have told you in the first place. I just got punched very hard below the belt by my own family.’

‘Tell me now.’

‘No, let’s eat. Give me another whisky and I’ll do it.’

He made the omelette; she took a bottle of wine out of the fridge.

‘Let’s have this, you can’t eat an omelette with whisky.’

‘I can eat anything with whisky. But – that does look nice. For a person who doesn’t like it much, you do buy good wine. Shall I open it for you?’

‘For Christ’s sake, Matt, don’t start treating me like a woman. I can actually turn a corkscrew. Now, tell me what the matter is. What’ve your family done?’

‘Only my sister. She’s turned traitor in a big way.’

‘Really? I like Scarlett, she’s great.’

‘I thought so too. Anyway, she read me a filthy great lecture about how I was hurting Emmie, and told me it wasn’t too late to stop the whole thing—’

‘Ye-es—’

‘Don’t tell me you agree with her?’

‘Well – I – do worry about Emmie, as a matter of fact. Quite a lot.’

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ he said.

‘But – go on. I won’t say any more. Yet.’

It had shocked and hurt him beyond anything when he heard: Scarlett was going into the witness box for Eliza, hell bent, as he saw it, on queering his pitch.

‘I can’t believe it. The disloyalty of it. I thought we were mates. We were mates. Always.’

‘And – to help Emmie, you say?’

‘Yes. She says Emmie will be better off with her mother than me, and she feels she’s got to do what she can to help make it possible.’

She noticed he’d started calling Eliza that, rather than by her name; presumably to de-personalise her, make her easier to demonise.

‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘apart from kicking me in the balls, she could have really helped my case. I need people to say I’m a good father, and the only one I’ve got doing that is Mum. Who you could say was hardly an ideal witness. Bit biased, you could say.’

‘You could, I suppose.’ She was silent for a bit; she looked at him. He was so thin, and horribly pale, and there was a lot of grey in his hair. She thought of the young Matt, so strong and tough and tenacious, and so sure of himself and where he was going, with his dark good looks and his cocky charm. How had this happened, how had he turned into this wretched, hollow-looking creature? And even though she knew a lot of it was down to his own folly and stubbornness, she felt her heart turn over with sympathy and – and, well, sympathy.

‘I just need someone else,’ he said, ‘not even Dad will do it. And I can see why, I’m not stupid, I’m a man, as they’re all so keen on telling me, and she’s a little girl and I work all the hours God sends, and – but I’m going to change, Louise, I’m going to be home every night by six and I’m going to read her stories and not go out to dinners, and I’ve found this very good nanny, an older woman, highly qualified, much better than that Margaret creature, and in the school holidays, my mum’s going to be there too, and I’m going to take a lot of time off—’

‘Matt, can you really do that? Can you really cut your hours and never be away from home and—’