Breath of Corruption (14 page)

Oblivious of all that was happening in Fulham, Leo spent the evening with Michael and Anthony, discussing events in chambers. They agreed that a chambers’ meeting should be held, but Leo decided he would speak personally to Maurice beforehand. The next day he went to see him, taking with him the copy of Melanie’s reference.

‘I take it you know by now that it was Roger who downloaded the documents from your computer and sent them round the building?’ said Leo. ‘It was an inexcusable thing to do, of course, and he’ll be making an apology to you. However, it seems he was concerned about this.’ Leo laid the piece of paper on Maurice’s desk.

Maurice didn’t even glance at it. ‘I don’t care what concerns he had, he had no business—’

‘Well, hold on,’ interrupted Leo. ‘There’s more to this issue than Roger’s invasion of your privacy, unwarranted though it was. We can’t just ignore what he turned up. This reference, for a start.’

Maurice picked up the paper, and his face grew uneasy. ‘This is privileged.’

‘No, it isn’t. You’re a lawyer. You know you can’t write whatever you like about someone – not if a prospective employer is going to read it. It can be construed as defamation. And why the hell would you want to say any of this about Melanie? She was excellent, as you well know.’ Maurice shrugged, evidently discomfited. ‘Now, I suggest you withdraw this, and write something halfway decent, or I will. You’re jeopardising her employment chances.’

‘I can amend it, I suppose.’

‘Do that. I want to see it when it’s done. Now’ – Leo sat down – ‘we come to the more important matter of the fee notes which Roger disclosed. I wanted to speak to you about these first, to save you unnecessary embarrassment at the chambers’ meeting. It appears on the face of it that you’ve been billing clients direct. I wondered if you had anything to say about it?’

‘I’ve done nothing improper, if that’s what you mean. Some of it relates to offshore work which came through an acquaintance of mine – a lawyer, admittedly, but since solicitors weren’t involved there was no referral aspect—’

‘You know that doesn’t matter. All work which comes to you should go through the system.’

‘—and the vast majority relate to work done for an Italian company, in which I happen to be a forty per cent shareholder. Those invoices were merely raised for accounting purposes, and to identify the work done. My payment comes in the form of share options.’

‘I take it you’ve been spending a good deal of time doing work for this Italian company?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Which I suppose would account for your billing figures being down. The company’s called Perinetti, isn’t it?’

‘Correct.’

‘And your wife’s maiden name, as I recall, is Perini.’

‘What a lot you know.’

‘The point is, Maurice, there are some members of chambers who would say – and I might put myself among them – that since you’ve been using chambers’ facilities to spend your time doing work for a family company, you should pay for the privilege. You’ve been avoiding paying your fair whack. You know perfectly well that all work has to go through the clerks. I have to tell you they’re not very happy.’

‘When are they ever?’

‘You’re pocketing their commission. You’re bypassing the system. Added to which, behaviour like this could get us into trouble with the Bar Council and the Inland Revenue. Not something the other members of chambers will be too pleased about.’

‘It’s nothing to do with them. This is private work, so it’s a private matter.’

‘Not if it raises problems for chambers.’

Maurice threw Leo a cynical look. ‘You see this as an ideal opportunity to stir up resentment against me, don’t you? I still maintain I’ve done nothing wrong.’

Leo rose. ‘That’s for the meeting to decide. I’m calling it for five thirty on Friday. You can put your side of things then.’

Leo left Maurice’s room without another word.

Leo had arranged with Rachel that he would pick Oliver up from school that afternoon. He worked through lunchtime to make sure he could leave at two fifteen, giving him forty five minutes to reach Chiswick, which he assumed would be ample time mid-afternoon. He was unprepared, however, for the swarms of traffic produced by the daily school run, and it took him longer than he had anticipated to negotiate the Land Rovers and double-parked people carriers which choked the side roads near to Oliver’s school.

By the time he had managed to park the car and get to the school, it was three fifteen, and Oliver was inside, waiting with the teacher on duty. Leo apologised for being late, gave Oliver a hug, and was just about to leave with him when the deputy headmistress, whom he recognised from Oliver’s first day, came out of her office, waving an envelope.

‘Mr Davies, a gentleman left this for Mrs Davies earlier today. I was going to give it to her first thing tomorrow morning, but since you’re here, perhaps you can give it to her.’

Leo took the envelope. ‘A gentleman? What did he look like?’

‘Well, let’s see. He was a very tall man, foreign I’d say, with dark hair, and what you’d call designer stubble.’ She enunciated these last words with delicate irony, intending to convey to Leo that he hadn’t really been what she would classify as a ‘gentleman’ at all.

‘Right,’ said Leo. ‘Thank you.’

He hurried Oliver to the car, then got in and opened the envelope. It was an unpleasant letter, conveying non-specific threats aimed at both Rachel and Oliver. Had Rachel read it, she would have been frightened and distressed, but she would have had no way of connecting it to Leo or his work. Nor would the police. It was, Leo realised, a warning intended directly for him, from the man who had come to see him.

Leo swore under his breath. So much for protecting his position in relation to the Proceeds of Crime Act. This was what came of indicating to Sir Dudley that he knew what was going on. He’d just made things worse.

‘Daddy, you said the S word,’ said Oliver reprovingly.

‘Sorry,’ said Leo. ‘That was bad. Come on, let’s get you home and give you some tea. Then we can play, and I’ll take you back to Mummy’s before bedtime.’

He stuffed the letter, which he had no intention of disclosing to Rachel, into his coat pocket, thanking providence that it was he, and not the childminder, who had picked Oliver up today.

Pride, and the suspicion that Lucy might have been telling the truth, prevented Anthea from confronting Leo. Instead she took her unhappiness off to Lola, who, from her elegant
penthouse overlooking the river, offered the usual comforts of champagne and a little coke.

‘I couldn’t very well turn up at Chantal’s party without the cake, so I had to go hunting round for another.’

‘Did you find one?’ asked Lolly, deftly cutting thin, snowy lines of cocaine on the small glass plate in front of her. Just enough for a little evening ‘sniffter’, as she called it. She was very fond of that joke.

‘Eventually, in a patisserie in Pimlico, but it wasn’t spectacular. I’d ordered the other one specially. And those moronic teenagers ate half of it! I could absolutely have killed them both.’

‘What happened to the other half?’ asked Lolly wistfully. ‘Did you eat it?’

‘Darling, as if I would, with you in the world.’ She delved into a carrier bag and brought out the cake box.

‘How fab. We’ll have it in a minute. Here – you do that, while I get us some champers.’

She proffered the little mirror to Anthea, who snorted her couple of lines as daintily as it was possible to do, then shook back her blonde hair and sighed. ‘I don’t usually do this stuff, you know. But right now I need it. I still haven’t told you the worst bit.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, Lolly!’

‘What?’ asked Lola in alarm, setting down the glasses and the bottle. She put her arms round her friend and let her weep for a little while, before disengaging herself to pop the champagne and pour it out. ‘Here, get this down you’ – she handed Anthea a glass – ‘and tell me what’s wrong.’

Anthea dabbed her tears. ‘That little cow of a sister of mine tells me she slept with Leo while I was away.’

‘Oh, crap!’

‘What?’ Anthea eyed her friend doubtfully. ‘You mean – crap, as in rubbish, or crap, as in, oh no?’

‘The first. He wouldn’t do something like that.’

‘He might. She would.’

‘Would she?’

Anthea knocked back her champagne and gave a miserable, impatient sniff. ‘She’s had a crush on him for a while. She’s always finding excuses to be there when he comes round.’

‘So what? That tells you nothing. Oh for God’s sake, Leo wouldn’t sleep with your sister! She’s only seventeen.’

‘She said he said he liked younger girls. And look at her, Lolly – she can be quite the sex kitten when she wants to. Bitch,’ she murmured, and took another swig of champagne. ‘I seriously believe it might have happened, Lolly. Her putrid friend Georgia backed her up.’

‘Like she would know.’

‘She seemed to. If it happened, she was in on it somehow. My God, Lucy even described his bloody bed linen to me! How could she do that if she wasn’t there?’ Anthea put her face in her hands.

There was a brief silence as Lola considered the possibilities. ‘Don’t you trust him?’ she asked at length.

‘Oh my God, Lolly!’ wailed Anthea. ‘What are you
talking
about? Of course I don’t trust him!’ She beat her fists against the sofa cushions in frustration. ‘I don’t want him to be that kind of man – it’s so boring! I just don’t want him sleeping with my little sister!
Half-sister
,’ she added. ‘Her father’s to blame for how awful she is.’

‘What makes you think she’s really slept with him? She’s probably just winding you up because you were upset about the cake. Shall we have some, by the way?’

‘Lolly, she said she stayed at his house on Friday night. She said he made love to her and drove her home the next morning. Now, either he did – or he didn’t.’

Lola shrugged. ‘You may not trust him, but the least you can do is ask him. Shall we have that cake now?’

Anthea threw herself back against the cushions and groaned. ‘How abject is that going to sound? I mean, imagine
asking
him if he slept with Lucy! My God …’

‘Well, you don’t have to be that direct.’ Lola tenderly lifted the lid of the cake box. ‘Say she told you some stuff about staying over at his house, and take it from there.’

‘I could, I suppose.’ She blew her nose and looked at Lola. ‘He wouldn’t, would he? I mean, what kind of man would sleep with their girlfriend’s teenage sister?’

Lola decided it was best to leave this unanswered. ‘I’ll get a knife for the cake,’ she said.

When they had finished cake, coke and champagne, Lola said, ‘I’m sorry you can’t stay longer, sweetie, but I have to go out in fifteen minutes.’

‘That’s OK, Lolly,’ said Anthea, putting on her shoes. ‘I’m going to go home and have a bath. And work out what to do.’

‘You’ve probably got nothing to worry about. You know what teenage girls are like – it’s probably all in her mind.’

‘Well, if I find out it’s not, I’m not sure who I’ll kill first – her or him.’

When she got home Anthea decided there was no way that she was going to ring Leo. The idea of calling him and demanding to know whether he’d slept with Lucy was too debasing. She ran a bath and lay in it, soaking and thinking. If anything had happened between Leo and Lucy, that was the end. What she’d said to Lola was true – there was a certain piquancy to the knowledge that Leo might not be the most trustworthy lover in the world, but there were limits. But why would he do such a thing? She’d really thought Leo was beginning to value what they had together, that their mutual pretence at its inconsequentiality masked something deeper. Maybe she was kidding herself. A sick, cold feeling of certainty began to take hold of her. Of course it was true. How could it not be? Lucy wouldn’t know what kind of sheets he had on his bed if she hadn’t slept in them. She wouldn’t make up a story like that without some evidence to back it up. An image of Leo and Lucy together presented itself; Anthea gave a little whimper and sank down beneath the water to obliterate it. After a few seconds of immersion she thought she heard the phone. She emerged with a gasp and splutter, and listened. Definitely the phone.

With a sigh she launched her lovely body out of the bath, pulled on a towelling robe, and padded to her room, wringing her wet hair with her hands. She lifted the receiver. ‘Hello?’

‘Anthea, it’s Leo.’ Her heart gave a little dip. ‘I was wondering if you’d like some company this evening.’

Anthea sat down on the bed. The sound of his voice brought it all together for her – so cool and arrogant, full of the easy assumption that he’d got away with it. You snake,
Leo, she thought. Coming on like you can do that to me and I won’t find out. Her voice was cold as she replied, ‘I don’t think so.’

‘No? Why’s that? You sound fed up.’

‘I imagine you’d probably prefer something younger. Something in the sixteen-, seventeen-year-old range, perhaps?’

There was a pause, then Leo suddenly realised where this was coming from. He sighed and said, ‘What has Lucy been saying?’ And as soon as the words were uttered, he wished them back.

‘My God, I didn’t think you’d admit it that easily,’ said Anthea, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘But then, why wouldn’t you? You can hardly deny it, not in the circumstances. Not now that she’s told me all about it.’

‘Anthea, whatever she’s told you isn’t true, I assure you.’ Why in God’s name, he asked himself, hadn’t he had the sense to tell Anthea exactly what had happened that night? Because tiresome and silly as Lucy was, he had never believed she would be this malevolent.

‘Leo, do you think I’m stupid? If it was all lies, you wouldn’t have a clue what I was talking about! But obviously you know all too well! You slept with my sister while I was away! She stayed in your house, in your bed!’

‘Anthea, it wasn’t like that. If you’ll stop yelling and let me explain—’

‘Oh? What was it like, then? Do you deny she stayed there?’

‘No, but—’

‘And that you slept with her?’

‘No – I mean, yes! Yes, I deny it! She was at a nightclub, and I went to pick her up—’

‘And brought her home and fucked her! Admit it, why don’t you? She has!’

‘She’s lying. She’s lying because – because she wants to hurt you. Or me. I don’t know.’ The pause at the other end made Leo hope she was listening, and perhaps growing calmer. But Anthea was merely trying to muffle her sobs.

‘Leo, you took her to bed! I know you did!’ She clenched her teeth, tearful and enraged. ‘Don’t you dare try to deny it!’

‘I didn’t—’

‘Do you? Do you deny it? Do you deny she was in your bed?’

‘No, but that was the next morning, when she—’

Anthea let out a screech of anger. ‘My God, you’re such a weasel! Trying to talk around this like there are excuses to be made! You – picked – up – my – seventeen – year – old – sister—’ She beat her fist on the bed with each word. ‘—–and – slept – with – her – while – I – was –
AWAY
!’

‘If you would just stop screeching and let me explain—’

‘Don’t you tell me I’m screeching! I am not screeching!’

‘Yes, you are. Calm down, and let me—’

‘No, I don’t want to hear any more from you!’ She took a couple of deep breaths. ‘You’ve said enough. She was there, with you, in your bed – you’ve admitted all of it. You are a piece of slime, Leo, and I never want to see you again.’ She switched off the phone and flung it, then herself, on the bed and wept.

Leo listened to the buzz of the line, then hung up. Why
was it, he wondered, that after half a lifetime spent honing his powers of rhetoric, he had handled that so spectacularly badly? Perhaps because Anthea had unwittingly followed the golden rule of cross-examination by asking only questions to which she knew the answers – or thought she knew the answers. But this was the heart of the problem – whatever spiteful lies Lucy had told, a good deal of the damning circumstantial evidence happened to be true. Hence his wretched performance in trying to set the matter straight. Perhaps he should have lied outright, and said the entire thing was a fabrication, instead of admitting to bits of it. That wouldn’t have helped, though, because, like a fool, he had indicated from the outset that he knew she was talking about Lucy.

Leo leant back in his chair and groaned. Then he picked up the phone and rang Anthea’s number again. She answered after a couple of rings and told him to go to hell. Not tearfully, not emotionally – but coldly and dispassionately. Not a good sign. So what was he to do? Even if he were to find a way of getting her to listen to him, the true story was never going to sound particularly convincing. It would be his word against Lucy’s, and since Anthea already believed whatever lurid version of events Lucy had chosen to give, he didn’t stand much of a chance.

Time for a little word with Lucy.