A Calculating Heart (3 page)

After twenty minutes, the buzzer to his flat sounded. With a sigh, Leo rose and crossed the room and went to the intercom. ‘Yes?’

‘Leo, it’s me – Camilla.’ The voice was light and young, charged with anxiety.

‘Come up.’ He pressed the buzzer to let her in, and went to the front door.

She stepped out of the lift, rain-soaked, and came into his arms, unquestioning and loving, and hugged him. Touched, he passed his hand lightly over her auburn hair.

‘You’re very wet.’

‘It’s stopping now. I ran all the way from the Tube.’ She took off her raincoat and Leo hung it up.

‘Aren’t you meant to be in court today?’

‘I am. But when I rang chambers and Felicity said you were here, I had to come. I can’t stay long. I’ve got to be back in court at two.’ She hugged him again, then looked at him, eyes wide and sad. ‘Oh, Leo …’

He essayed a smile. ‘Not much fun, is it?’

‘There was a copy of the paper in the robing room at the Law Courts. I couldn’t believe it … I still can’t.’

‘What does that mean? You don’t believe it? Or you don’t want to?’

Leo turned and went into the kitchen. Camilla followed him.

‘Of course I don’t believe it! No one who knows anything about it possibly could. You told me all about her, the way
she was harassing you. I was in court with you that day she showed up with her camera – remember? I just don’t want other people to believe it.’

‘Yes, well … there’s not a lot you can do about that, unfortunately.’

‘But you can.’

‘Issue proceedings, you mean? It’s not something I ever advise anyone to do lightly. Litigation is a mug’s game, as well you know, which is why the mugs pay people like you and me so handsomely to conduct it.’ He opened the fridge. ‘Can I make you a sandwich or something? Can’t sit around in the Court of Appeal on an empty stomach.’

‘No, thanks. I’ll get something on the way back.’ She came over, closed the fridge, and hugged him again.

He sighed and put his arms round her, giving himself up to her ardour and sympathy. ‘You are the sweetest thing in the world. I’m glad you came.’

‘I called you on my mobile. Why didn’t you answer?’

‘I assumed it might be some journalist.’

‘How would they get your number? Henry wouldn’t give it out.’

‘True.’ He sighed. ‘I’m getting paranoid, fairly understandably. Come on—’ he took her hand and led her from the kitchen ‘—I want to sit down and hold you.’

He stretched out on the sofa, Camilla nestling against him. They talked for a while about the newspaper article, about what Leo could do about it. ‘The trouble is,’ he said, ‘I still feel rather numb. It’s hard to think properly. The
best thing for me right now is you.’ He kissed her. ‘It seems absurd that you still haven’t moved in. I could do with a bit of domestic security.’

‘Leo, it’s not that easy. I can’t just pack up and leave. Jane has to find a new flatmate, and that takes time.’

‘I’ve told you that I’ll happily pay dear Jane as much rent as—’

‘It’s not just that. It’s not just money. And it’s not just Jane. There are my parents to think about.’

‘Oh, God.’

‘Leo, look at it from their point of view. How will it sound if I tell them I’m shacking up with some forty-six-year-old? I’m twenty-two. You’re older than my mother, for heaven’s sake.’

‘You could point out to them that I’m a perfectly respectable commercial lawyer, who’s—’ He paused. ‘No, I suppose the respectable bit is shot to pieces, isn’t it?’ Leo ran his fingers through his silver hair in exasperation. ‘Christ, if a libel action is what it takes, then so be it. But you’re grown up, for God’s sake. Why worry about what your parents think?’

‘Because they are my parents! And I love them. I don’t want to upset them.’ Leo gazed at her. Twenty-two. From a parental point of view, still not much more than a child. She kissed him. ‘I do love you-you know that?’

Leo returned her kiss gently. ‘
Yes
, I believe you do.’

She got up. ‘I have to get back to court. Sorry it’s such a fleeting visit. I’ll see you this evening.’

He lay on the sofa, listening to the sound of the front
door closing. He thought about the evening a week ago when he had gone round to her flat. He’d been afraid that he’d lost her, fearful that all the things she’d heard – about his bisexuality, his fling with Anthony, and God knows what else – had estranged her from him for good. Did he now regret the impulse which had prompted him to propose marriage to her? It wasn’t a question of not loving her enough. God knows he did … But if anyone had told him a few years ago that at forty-six he would be on the point of marrying for a second time, he would have laughed in disbelief. Someone whose sexual appetite ran to men as well as women wasn’t exactly ideal husband material. He had spent twenty years cultivating for himself a private life utterly detached from his professional existence, one in which he enjoyed spending the considerable sums he earned in his practice at the Bar, indulging his tastes in clothing, works of art, wine and ridiculously expensive cars. Being tied to someone, unable to do exactly as he pleased, with whomever he pleased, was not his style at all. Which, naturally, was why his marriage to Rachel had come unstuck. One homosexual affair and a fumble with the nanny was probably more than most wives would tolerate in their husbands. Not that his marriage to Rachel had ever been more than one of convenience – his own, at any rate – something to scotch rumours about his sexuality which had, at the time, threatened to harm his professional reputation. And she’d been pregnant. Oliver, his two-year-old son, was the one
good thing to have come out of that mess. He had never thought it possible to love another being as much as he did Oliver … Beyond Oliver and his own mother, Leo didn’t care much for the idea of family.

At least with Rachel he hadn’t had to contend with anything more than her mother, and those encounters, while she’d been alive, had been mercifully few. With Camilla, however, he was going to get the full works, he could see that. He rubbed his hands across his face. Parents. He was going to have to meet them. Oh, Lord … he really wasn’t up for this. It was already beginning to feel oppressive. Not Camilla herself, who was delightful, clever, astonishingly sensuous and touchingly young, but the set-up, the encroaching involvement of other people. A wedding. Relations. She would want babies, eventually. Shades of the family prison-house begin to close upon the ageing rake, thought Leo – and a lot of people would doubtless say it served him bloody well right.

He shouldn’t have asked her to marry him. Just to move in. But in thinking that, wasn’t he admitting that the thing wasn’t necessarily going to be long-term? It was possible that she would grow tired first, feel the need of someone younger, closer to her own age, but in all honesty, the doubts lay with him. He knew himself too well. How long until his notoriously restless gaze fell upon someone – male or female – and he found himself unable to resist the temptation? He loved Camilla, but he didn’t trust himself. Just a couple of months ago certain episodes with that departed wretch, Gideon, had forced
Leo to the decision that some clean, respectable living was what he needed at his age. For Oliver’s sake, if not his own.

He closed his eyes at the recollection of that narrowly averted scandal. Gideon, now mercifully deceased, had been a rising young star in the Civil Service, and he and Leo had become close for a while. Far too close, in hindsight. Gideon, besides being a heavy gambler with a taste for expensive living which far outstripped his means, had also turned out to have a nice little sideline in blackmail. Leo, it ultimately transpired, had been one of his intended victims, and only Gideon’s untimely demise had relieved Leo of the obligation of forking out a hundred thousand pounds to the young wretch. Yes, that incident had certainly served as a reminder that Leo was capable of living far too dangerously. Camilla had seemed the answer to that. Marry her, settle down, live quietly … Now, as the reality of what it all involved began to dawn on him, he felt less certain.

With a groan of exasperation, he stood up and paced around the room. Forget Camilla for the moment. Forget about marrying anybody. That could wait. The pressing issue at the moment was what he should do about this hellish thing in the papers, and limiting the damage it was bound to cause. The one person to whom he very much needed to talk was Anthony. There was no one closer. But he had succeeded in damaging that precious relationship through his own irresponsible behaviour. The mistake had been to sleep with him, to let Anthony think there was something more to it than … What? Friendship? He doubted if there
was any of that left. A week ago Anthony had been ready to leave chambers just to get away from Leo, so hurt and disillusioned was he, and Leo, having spoken to him only once since then – a brief, unhappy exchange which had resolved nothing – had no idea if that was still his firm intention.

He needed to speak to him, to sound him out, to help him decide what to do. He had never gone to Anthony in that way before. Maybe it would help to resolve more than one troublesome issue. He went to the phone and picked it up, and rang chambers, asking to speak to Anthony.

After taking Leo’s call, Anthony stood up and paced round his room to stretch his long legs. The dark, sensuous good looks which had so attracted Leo four years ago, when Anthony had first come to 5 Caper Court as a raw and nervous pupil, had taken on something of a hard edge over the last year or so. He paused at the window, as he did countless times each day, and gazed with troubled and brooding eyes at the sundial set in the stones of the wall opposite. The conversation with Leo had been brief, perfunctory, and a little puzzling. First Leo had asked if Anthony had seen the papers.

‘No,’ Anthony had said. ‘Not yet. Why?’

‘Nothing that need worry you. It’s my problem, I’m afraid.’ A pause. ‘I – I need to talk to someone about it. Which is why I’m ringing you. Have you got an hour or two to spare at the end of the day?’

That was where Anthony had hesitated. He’d told
himself not long ago that he wanted nothing more to do with Leo, that that was it, finished. But …

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ He hardly knew why he said it.

‘Thanks. I’m at home at the moment. I’ll come into chambers around seven, if you don’t mind hanging on till then. I don’t particularly want to see anyone else.’

That had been the end of the conversation.

Anthony moved away from the window and paced around again. He knew in his heart that he should have said no. How was he ever going to make good his resolution to dissolve the relationship if he was so instantly willing to sit down and discuss Leo’s personal problems with him? He wasn’t sure he cared to know about any of Leo’s problems, anyway. They usually signified the messing-up of other people’s lives. The trouble with Leo’s fatal attraction was that everyone who got involved with him ended up getting hurt. He himself was no exception. It seemed that four years of the best, the most intense and stimulating friendship he had ever known with another man, had been wrecked by a combination of his own naïveté and Leo’s cruelty. Staying the night at Leo’s, letting Leo make love to him – he had thought it signalled some transition in their relationship, a step towards something secure and lasting. What a fool he’d been.
‘It’s only sex, Anthony.’
He recalled Leo casually tapping his cigar on his case before lighting it, narrowing his eyes against the smoke, throwing away the words. Throwing away Anthony’s very heart, destroying his belief in Leo. Muscles in
Anthony’s stomach tightened reflexively as he steeled himself against the memory. He was only one in a long line of victims, after all. No big deal, no big surprise. How long did Camilla think she was going to last? Another nice bit of footwork on Leo’s part, moving in on Anthony’s ex-girlfriend when he knew he still had feelings for her … That was one good reason to leave 5 Caper Court. The place was becoming incestuous, emotionally claustrophobic. But there, too, was another instance of his own vacillation. Having made up his mind to leave and find a tenancy in another set of chambers where he wouldn’t have to see Leo every day, here he still was, undecided. It was pathetic. He hated himself.

If he’d had any sense, let alone strength of purpose, he would have told Leo to stick his problems, find some other fool to lay them off on – Sarah, for instance. She was always eager and willing where Leo was concerned. But an unquenchable part of him longed to see Leo, to be for just a little while the sole focus of his time and attention. That was the real reason why he’d said yes. In spite of everything, it pleased Anthony to be needed by Leo. He reached out to his computer, saved the work he’d been doing, and shut it down. Better go and rustle up a newspaper and find out more about this problem, whatever it might be.

On the way downstairs he ran into Jeremy Vane, a senior member of chambers, a loud and self-important individual for whom Anthony didn’t care a great deal.

Jeremy stopped him. ‘Heard the latest scandal about Leo, have you? Got himself splashed all over the front of the tabloids-some woman who tried to top herself on his account.’ Jeremy thrust fat fingers into the tight pockets of his waistcoat. ‘Whole thing’s bloody ghastly. Doesn’t reflect at all well on chambers.’

Anthony’s mind reeled a little at this information, but he managed to reply, ‘I shouldn’t imagine it’s doing Leo a lot of good, either.’ What woman could this be? Knowing Leo, one of many. It must be pretty grim if it had made the front pages.

‘Man’s only got himself to blame. The kind of unregulated life he leads. It was always going to rebound on his professional standing some day.’

‘Jeremy, if I didn’t know how much you cared about the image of chambers, I’d say you actually sound pleased.’

Jeremy raised his eyebrows. ‘Merely saying that it’s about time Leo had his come-uppance.’ He marched on upstairs to his room.

Anthony went into the clerks’ room, and found a huddle of barristers mulling over Robert’s copy of
The Sun.

‘Seen this?’ David Liphook, a stocky blond man in his mid-thirties, passed the paper to Anthony.

Anthony took the paper and scanned the front page, absorbing the contents. He flicked through quickly to the inside pages. How much of this could possibly be true? He felt cold at the possibility. No, it couldn’t be … But he’d thought he’d known Leo, and just look how far he’d been deceived. Come to think of it, he
remembered a conversation with Leo several months ago, one in which he’d admitted knowing this woman Angelicos, having some kind of a fling with her …

‘I haven’t a clue what to make of it,’ said David, and shook his head.

‘I personally think the woman’s off her head,’ said Michael Gibbon, leaning his thin frame against Robert’s desk and folding his arms.

‘Very possibly,’ said Will Cooper. He looked languidly round at the others. ‘But how much close scrutiny does Leo’s private life bear?’ He shrugged.

‘The fact is,’ said Michael, ‘one month ago Leo took out an injunction against Melissa Angelicos to stop her harassing him. Doesn’t that tell you something?’

Will raised his eyebrows. ‘It tells me there’s no smoke without fire.’

‘They were co-trustees of Chay Cross’s museum,’ said Michael. ‘Anthony knows all about it.’ This was a reference to Anthony’s father, ex-hippy and waster, who had managed, thanks to the caprices of the modern art world, to reinvent himself as one of the leading postmodernists of the day. The wealth attendant upon such fashionable success had enabled Chay Cross, with the help of some local authority funding, to open a museum of modern art in a defunct Shoreditch brewery, of which Melissa Angelicos and Leo had been trustees, along with others.

‘I’d hardly say that,’ said Anthony. ‘I barely knew the woman.’

What about Leo?’ asked David.

‘Well, he
knew
her, obviously …’

‘Do we mean in the biblical sense?’

Anthony was at a loss. Before he could find words, Michael Gibbon cut in. ‘Look, whatever the nature of the relationship, I’m pretty much sure from what Leo told me that these allegations against him are pure fabrication.’ He tapped the paper. ‘Leo is quoted as saying as much.’

‘What d’you reckon?’ David asked Anthony.

Anthony folded the paper and handed it back to David. ‘I don’t know any more about it than the rest of you – not as much as Michael, at any rate – but I don’t believe a single word this woman has written. If Leo says she’s lying, then that’s good enough for me.’

‘Too bloody right! Good for you, Mr Cross!’ Felicity, who had been listening, banged down her pen and got up from her desk. ‘I don’t know how anyone can think otherwise, frankly. You lot should stick up for one another.’

‘It’s not a question of loyalty,’ said Will, ‘so much as veracity. I doubt if even
The Sun
would print this kind of thing if there wasn’t something behind it.’

‘That’s rather a naive point of view, if I may say so,’ said David. At that moment Henry came through the swing doors, balancing his lunchtime packet of sandwiches on top of a steep bundle of papers. What’s your take on all this, Henry?’ asked David, tapping the paper.

Henry waved the paper away wearily and took off his jacket. He sat down, adjusted his red braces, opened his sandwiches and sighed. ‘I don’t know where he finds
the time, to be honest. Not with the amount of work he has.’

‘You’re not saying you believe this rubbish they’ve written, are you?’ Felicity rounded on Henry.

Henry held up his hands in defence. ‘I’m not saying anything. I don’t care one way or the other, frankly. Mr Davies’s personal life is his own – it’s when it starts damaging business that I mind.’ He shook his head. ‘This isn’t going to do his practice any good.’

‘I think that’s where you’re wrong,’ said Felicity. ‘Even bad publicity is publicity. You wait and see.’

Henry shook his head. ‘Anyway, I’ve got enough on my plate without worrying about Mr Davies’ practice. We’ve got four new tenants and a clerk landing on us tomorrow morning, don’t forget.’

‘As if I needed reminding.’ And then Felicity swore with such unladylike vehemence that Henry was quite startled. He had yet to fathom why she was getting so worked up about the arrival of this new clerk, Peter Weir. So far as Henry could see, he was a perfectly nice bloke.

Anthony spent the afternoon considering the applicability of the Brussels Convention to a French arbitration dispute, spinning out the time, punctuating it with cups of coffee. From half past five onwards, people drifted out of chambers, and by seven the building was empty. Anthony, whose sash window was open to the summer evening air, swivelled round and glanced down into Caper Court. Sure enough, punctual
as ever, Leo appeared from the cloisters and crossed the flagstones. He was wearing dark blue trousers and an open-necked shirt, and carried a copy of the evening paper. Anthony swivelled back around and waited, listening for the sound of Leo’s feet on the stair. He remembered a time when that swift, springing tread, taking the stairs an unmistakable two at a time, had set his heart racing, when he couldn’t wait to see Leo’s face, hear his voice. It had been a happy anticipation then. Now, the anticipation was dark, tainted. The love he had felt for Leo had lost its innocence, just as he had.

A few moments later Leo rapped on the door and came in. ‘Hi.’

Anthony merely nodded by way of reply. Leo sat down in one of the chairs at the long conference table which abutted Anthony’s desk, chucking his copy of the
Standard
on to the polished surface. ‘I take it you saw
The Sun
earlier today?’

‘I saw it at lunchtime.’

‘There’s nothing in the evening paper, thank God. I’ve no idea if any of the dailies will follow it up tomorrow.’ He glanced at Anthony. ‘I suppose it’s all over the place?’

Anthony nodded. ‘You’re the talk of chambers.’

‘And the entire Inns of Court, no doubt,’ sighed Leo.

‘Have you done anything about it yet?’

‘I haven’t issued any writs, if that’s what you mean. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘Why me?’ asked Anthony. He gazed frankly at Leo. ‘Libel isn’t my specialism. There are plenty of other people
better equipped to advise you than I am.’

Leo stood up and thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘You know I don’t need advice on the law, Anthony. I need to speak to you as a friend.’

‘And you think I’m your friend?’

Leo paced the room, tapping the spines of books, inspecting the pictures which lined the walls. Long moments passed.

Leo turned at last. ‘You tell me. Are you?’

It was Anthony’s turn to be silent. He swivelled his chair slowly from side to side, looking at Leo long and hard. It exasperated him, infuriated him, that Leo should take him so much for granted.

‘I don’t think you can ever know what it cost me to—’ He stopped. Leo could never understand. Leo was so cool with his sexuality. He wouldn’t ever understand how it was to grow up thinking you were a nice, straight boy, only to find out that things weren’t that simple, that someone like Leo could lead you down another path, confusing you, making you think and want things you had never dreamt of, then leaving you high and dry. A lost boy.

He tried again. ‘Put it this way, Leo – I haven’t got anything to thank you for.’

‘I know.’ The shadows in the corner of the room where Leo stood made his face look tired and grim. ‘I shouldn’t have let it happen. And I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry?’

‘That it’s caused this – this bad feeling between us. It
was never my intention to hurt you. I thought you knew the terms.’

Anthony shook his head. ‘No, it turns out I didn’t. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to go back over that. It’s in the past now, and it’s going to stay there.’ He paused. ‘Don’t ask about friendship. We’re both here now. If you want my advice, you can have it, for what it’s worth.’

‘Thank you.’ Leo crossed the room and sat down again. ‘I’ve been going over the whole thing all afternoon, trying to decide what to do.’ He let out a sigh. ‘Eight hours ago I was all set to sue. The entire story is the most pathetic pack of lies, after all. The woman is not only obsessive and deluded, she’s also a calculating and vindictive bitch. This is a deliberate act of personal sabotage.’

Anthony shrugged. ‘She must have a motive. And I assume there’s a basis in truth, that you had some kind of relationship with her. I seem to remember you telling me a few months ago that you’d gone back to her place after a few drinks – something like that.’

‘Not one of the cleverest things I’ve ever done, admittedly. But absolutely nothing happened. Quite the opposite. She had ideas, but I wasn’t interested. And that, I suspect, is where it all started. I won’t go into details, but I imagine she found the episode somewhat humiliating, and never quite forgave me. Hence the vendetta.’

‘Hence the suicide attempt?’

‘Hardly. Still, if you ask me, it’s a pity she failed.’

‘Except that that would have damned you completely.’

‘True.’

‘So there’s no truth in anything she says?’

‘Not a single word. She has a diseased imagination.’ He glanced at Anthony. ‘Did you believe there was any truth in it?’

Anthony shook his head. ‘No. I don’t think anyone who knows you could possibly believe it.’