Errors of Judgment (16 page)

He watched her leave, then sat down. He poured what was left of the wine into his glass, marvelling at what could both connect and disconnect people over time. Then he took out his reading glasses and tried to read the papers he had brought. But the encounter with Jackie, with his own past, had left him disturbed. Jackie was on her way home now, happily laden with Christmas presents, to prepare supper, to be with her family, to become immersed in a life entirely unconnected to his own existence. Confused, bleak thoughts beset him. Of Rachel. Of Oliver. Of how different his life might have been if he had known twenty-two years ago that Jackie was pregnant.

Pointless thoughts, he told himself. His life had been good. Was good. Some mistakes, certainly. But things were as they were. Gabrielle was still a secret he had told no one about. Now he badly needed someone to share it with. He had thought that he might tell Sarah – there was little she didn’t know about his life already – but since moving in she had been somewhat remote. The easy, relaxed sensuality with which she usually behaved when they were together had disappeared. Tactfully he let her alone, assuming she was still raw from the break-up with Toby, that it had been harder for her than she had expected. Maybe she’d even had regrets about it, and about the events after Grand Night which had led to it all. He told himself he had nothing to feel guilty about; there had been no need for her to tell Toby that she had slept with him. The truth was that she had probably let it happen simply to give her an excuse to break off the engagement. With that achieved, presumably she’d had no further desire – except for somewhere to stay. The idea that something had been lost between himself and Sarah made him feel even more isolated and depressed. He glanced at his watch. Almost seven. He drained his glass, gathered up his papers and made his way back to chambers, hoping Anthony would still be there.

Anthony was sitting at his desk, going through his online bank statement in a mild state of shock. The only light in the room was that from his desk lamp, its glow etching gaunt shadows on his face. He couldn’t believe the figures. That he had gone through so much money in one month was unbelievable. The debits to Blunt’s cascaded down the page, night after night, thousand upon thousand. He felt his
stomach tighten with fear. Why was he afraid? Because he knew only too well that he couldn’t just shrug these losses off, quit gambling and wait for his finances to recover. He didn’t have the strength of will. A part of him knew – was convincing itself even now – that inevitably he had to go back to the tables to try to make good what he had lost. The disastrous scenario lay all too vividly before him, and he could think of no escape.

There was a light rap at his door, and he glanced up and saw Leo.

‘Your light was on, so I thought I’d say hello.’ Leo stepped into the room and closed the door. ‘Working?’

Anthony logged off the page and leant back in his chair. ‘Just casino stuff.’

‘Ah. Your Lion King case. Rachel’s told me about it. The hearing’s in a couple of months, isn’t it?’

Anthony could feel the knot of fear still twisting his insides. He badly wanted to unburden himself to Leo, find a way to loosen the dread. ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant my ridiculous gambling losses.’ He added, with an effort at lightness, ‘I blame Edward, leading me into bad habits, luring me to poker games when I should have been in bed.’ He began to feel his anxiety relaxing. He would confess to Leo, and Leo would absolve him, help him.

But Anthony’s words and manner irritated Leo. Gambling amused him only vaguely, and the idea that anyone should allow themselves to rack up losses struck him as incredibly weak.

‘Spending your evenings gambling? I imagine that’s why you were so badly prepared for that interlocutory disclosure hearing the other day.’

Anthony gave him a sharp glance, all thoughts of
confession and absolution dismissed. ‘What do you mean? Who told you that?’

‘George Webb from Holmans mentioned it to Henry. Henry mentioned it to me. Doesn’t do to let down instructing solicitors, you know. Especially someone like Webb. He’s the kind of person you should be looking to for reliable future income. But if you spend your nights in casinos and turn up ill-prepared—’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, the hearing has nothing to do with anything. Felicity messed the days up. I didn’t have time to get my head round the case.’

Leo said nothing for a moment. ‘If you say so.’ There was an uncomfortable silence. ‘So, how much are you talking about?’

‘How much what?’

‘Your losses.’

But Anthony knew the moment had passed. ‘Forget it. It’s not that bad. I don’t know why I mentioned it. Anyway,’ said Anthony, seeking now to deflect the conversation from himself, ‘why are you in chambers at this hour?’

‘I was meeting an old friend for a drink. I needed to come back to chambers to drop some papers off.’ He knew he could say nothing now about Gabrielle and Jackie. The mood was wrong. Anthony was angry, troubled, and he himself felt tired and confused. The faint trace of Jackie’s perfume clung to his face from where she had kissed him, and was a source of irritation rather than pleasure.

Anthony nodded. They gazed at one another, aware of a loss of connection.

Leo rose. ‘I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He paused. ‘Can I give you a lift home?’

‘No thanks. I have some things to do. Papers to look at.’

As he listened to Leo’s footsteps fading on the stairs, Anthony wished he had accepted the lift. He wasn’t seeing Gabrielle till eight. It would have been a chance to rewind the clock, confide in Leo and find some wise counsel. For an instant he almost got up and went after him. But the seconds ticked by, and silence reclaimed the empty chambers. Anthony locked up, and made his way home, glad of the thought of having Gabrielle to take his mind off his problems, even if she couldn’t solve them.

It was ten o’clock when Gabrielle reached across to the bedside table to check the time on her phone. She rolled back to face Anthony. He was lying on the pillow with his hands clasped behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

‘What are you thinking about?’ She traced a line with her finger down his chest, and kissed his shoulder.

He didn’t answer for several seconds, then suddenly turned to her. ‘Sorry – what?’

‘Don’t worry. You were miles away.’ She sat on the edge of the bed, fishing on the floor for her underwear. ‘I have to go. I’ve got an essay to finish.’

‘Will I see you tomorrow?’

‘My parents have some family friends coming for dinner. They asked me to be there. Sorry.’

Anthony got out of bed and pulled on his boxer shorts. He padded to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. When he came back, Gabrielle was dressed. He took her in his arms, stroking her face. ‘It’s weird. I’ve only been seeing you for a couple of weeks, and yet it feels like I’ve known you much longer.’

She gave a crooked little smile. ‘Maybe we met in another life.’ She pulled a brush from her bag and dragged it through her hair. ‘So, what do you plan to do tomorrow night, now that I’m blowing you out? It’s Saturday, after all.’

‘Not sure. Maybe I’ll pop along to Blunt’s. Edward might be there.’

‘As will the lovely Julia, no doubt. She and her husband practically seem to live there.’ Gabrielle turned to a mirror and checked her reflection.

‘I’m not remotely interested in her,’ replied Anthony. ‘As well you know.’

‘But she’s interested in you. Watch yourself.’ She picked up her coat. ‘And don’t gamble too much. You always seem to lose shedloads. I can’t believe you can afford to chuck so much money away.’

When she had gone, Anthony put on some music and tried to clear his mind. With Gabrielle he had been able to forget his anxieties, but now they returned. He thought of the calculations he had done earlier, reckoning up his mortgage, outgoings, chambers’ rent, the cost of the new car he’d recently bought, against his monthly losses. Maybe the answer was just to stop. Just stop, cold. But how would that help? It was a panicky reaction, and the wrong one. Looked at rationally, the losses were only the cumulation of a losing streak. Nothing lasted for ever. What he really needed to do was to stop panicking and be patient. Quitting now would mean losing entirely the possibility of a big win. And really, that was all he needed – just one big, solid win to rebalance everything. Just fifty or seventy-five grand to set him back on an even keel. It was possible. It had happened to him before. And what about
that guy who had won a hundred and eighty grand the other night? It would be mad just to stop. The truth was, he didn’t like the idea of giving up his nights at the casino. He enjoyed spending time there, seeing Edward and the new friends he had made lately. The answer was to cut down. Instead of lashing down a few hundred on every bet or poker game, he could bring it down to sensible levels. That was the solution. Thirty or forty pounds could just as easily net him a big win at higher stakes. He liked to think that he was cultivating a better idea of judicious betting. He even had a bit of a system going. It was just a question of hanging in there till his luck turned.

His deliberations had made him feel better about everything. He glanced at his watch. Only half ten. He might as well start his new regime now. He felt happier, could sense luck waiting round the corner for him.

He dressed, left the flat, grabbed a cab, and fifteen minutes late he was in the plush, warm, well-lit womb of the casino.

Toby stood at the kitchen window in his parents’ house, a mug of coffee in his hand. His mother’s car drew up, and he watched as she got out and crossed the yard to the house, Scooby bounding at her heels. She came into the kitchen, pulling off her coat, and saw Toby.

‘Toby, what a nice surprise! When did you get here?’

Toby crossed the kitchen to give his mother a kiss. ‘About half an hour ago.’

‘You should have told me you were coming. I wouldn’t have spent so long in town.’

‘Just thought I’d pop down and see how you old folks are getting on. I have a lot of spare time these days.’

‘Well, I have just come back from Waitrose with the most enormous shopping, so you and your father can bring it in from the car. Where on earth is he?’ She went to the door leading to the hallway and called into the house. ‘Jon-Jon, I’m back!’

Toby went out to the car, happy to postpone, if only by ten minutes or so, the business of telling her about the break-up with Sarah. He had been calling and texting her several times every day since the night she’d left. Yesterday she had eventually answered one of his calls, and by the end of their conversation he finally accepted that it was over, and that she was never coming back to him.

He opened the boot and started to take out bags of shopping. His father emerged from the house to join him.

‘Have you said anything to Mum?’ asked Toby.

Jonathan Kittering shook his head. ‘I’m leaving that to you.’

They carried the bags into the kitchen, and Caroline began to bustle about, putting groceries away.

‘Mum,’ began Toby, ‘the reason I came down today—’

‘In a minute, darling. Let me sort all this out, and then we can have a chat. Make yourself useful and put on the kettle. I’m dying for a cup of tea. Shopping always wears me out.’

While Toby made tea, Caroline unpacked bag after bag, talking nineteen to the dozen about her trip into town.

‘I met Denise Hannon at the delicatessen counter and I hardly recognised her. You wouldn’t believe the amount of weight she’s put on since summer. Here,’ she handed a bag of frozen food to Jonathan, ‘all this can go in the freezer.’

‘Here’s your tea,’ said Toby.

‘Thank you, dear. Just pop it on the table. Nearly finished.’ She started to empty the last bag of groceries. ‘Actually, I’m glad you popped down, because we need to discuss arrangements for Christmas. It’s only a week away, you know. The way it creeps up! Annabel gets back from Florence on the nineteenth, though she doesn’t know yet if
Marcus will be here or not. Daniel and Ffion can’t get here till the afternoon on Christmas Day, because they’re driving down from Wales, so I thought I would do the meal in the early evening, if people don’t mind. I was also thinking it might be a good idea if you and Sarah were to come down the day before, so that Sarah can give me a hand with preparations. I know she’s not all that keen on domestic chores, but if she’s going to be one of the family, she’ll have to learn to muck in—’

‘Sarah won’t be coming for Christmas,’ said Toby abruptly. ‘We’ve split up.’

Caroline stopped, open-mouthed, a packet of milk chocolate digestives in one hand. ‘Split up?’

‘She ended it. Said she didn’t want to marry me after all.’

Caroline put the biscuits on the kitchen table and sat down. ‘Good heavens. Oh, Toby – how awful for you. How truly awful.’ She turned to her husband. ‘Did you know?’

Jonathan Kittering nodded. ‘Toby told me as soon as he got here.’

Caroline looked piteously at her son. ‘Darling, I am so sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I’m glad I found out now the kind of person she is.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When I was away in Scotland – you know, at the rugby – she slept with someone else. She told me when I got back. She’s moved in with him. For all I know, she could have been seeing him for months.’

‘What? How absolutely dreadful! Who is he?’

‘No one you know. A barrister called Leo Davies. Someone she used to work with. So you see, I’m probably well out of it.’

‘Yes. Oh, what a shock. I can’t believe it. You poor, poor boy.’ Caroline got up and went to hug him, standing on tiptoe to get her arms around him.

‘Mum, honestly …’ Toby tolerated her embrace for a few seconds. ‘I’ll get over it.’

Caroline stroked his arms, then returned to the table and sat down, picking up her tea, her gaze growing distant. ‘I shall have to make some phone calls. What a good thing we decided on a marquee for the reception and didn’t book Calcott House. I imagine the deposit—’ She broke off, glancing at Toby. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, darling. I shouldn’t be thinking of such mundane things at a time like this. Too practical for my own good. How awful for Vivian. He was so thrilled when you and Sarah got engaged. His best friend’s daughter. So perfect. And now …’ She raised her eyebrows eloquently. ‘Though I have to say, sad as it is that you and she have split up, that Sarah was really never quite my idea of—’

‘Not now, Mummy,’ said Toby brusquely. ‘I think I’ll take Scoobs for a walk.’

Jonathan sat down at the kitchen table. ‘I have to talk to Vivian, obviously.’

‘And say what, exactly? That Sarah has behaved appallingly? I should think he must be heartily ashamed of her.’ Caroline sipped her tea, and added, ‘That’s assuming he knows.’

‘Sarah must have told him, surely?’

Caroline shrugged. ‘Who knows? I should wait until he rings you. In the circumstances, it’s really up to him.’

‘I suppose. I’ll give it till Wednesday. But if he hasn’t been in touch by then, I shall have to call him.’

That Wednesday, Sir Vivian spent the hours between ten and two at the London Library, engaged in research for his new book, a history of the Cambridge Apostles. When he got back to his Westminster flat he felt he had pretty much earned an afternoon in front of the telly. He put on his slippers, toasted and buttered some crumpets, poured himself a glass of beer, and settled down on the sofa to watch the racing from Uttoxeter, the phone by his side so that he could ring his bookmaker if the urge overtook him. He had just taken one bite of crumpet and a sip of beer, when the phone rang.

‘Buggeration,’ he muttered. He hesitated, wondering whether to bother, then pressed the ‘mute’ button on the remote and picked up the phone.

He recognised Jonathan’s voice at once. ‘Jonathan, my dear fellow. You’ve just caught me putting my feet up, watching the racing. How can I help?’

‘Vivian, I’m sorry to disturb your afternoon, but I had to call you. Toby came to see us a couple of days ago.’ A brief silence elapsed. ‘He and Sarah have broken off their engagement.’

‘What?’

‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I would have thought Sarah might have told you. It happened over a week ago.’

‘She hasn’t said a thing.’ Sir Vivian tried to quell his alarm with words of reassurance. ‘Probably because it isn’t as serious as you think. You know what young people are like. It’s probably just a trivial tiff.’

‘I really think it’s more than that.’ Jonathan spoke his next words with evident difficulty. ‘Apparently Sarah has gone to live with another man.’

‘What?’

‘His name is Leo Davies. Toby thinks it’s possible she’s been seeing him for a while.’

The spark of instinctive concern Sir Vivian had felt for his daughter on the news of the break-up was immediately extinguished. Shame and anger washed over him. He recalled Grand Night, the conversation he had overheard. Sarah had been with him that very evening. How could she do this to Toby – to everyone? ‘Jonathan, the girl has taken leave of her senses. She adores Toby. I’m sure there must be some explanation, some way of sorting this out.’

‘From the way Toby was speaking, I don’t think there’s any way back. We may just have to accept it.’

There was a long pause before Sir Vivian spoke. ‘I cannot find words at the moment, Jon. You must let me speak to Sarah.’

‘As you wish, Vivian. As you wish. We are so sorry – about all of it.’

When the conversation had ended, Sir Vivian was in no mood for beer or crumpets. He rang Sarah’s mobile, but it went straight to voicemail. He left a message asking her to ring him as a matter of urgency.

Sarah didn’t pick up her father’s message until the following morning, as she was leaving the offices of an insurance company in Lombard Street where she’d been for a job interview. A few days earlier she had made a tentative approach to her ex-boss, Hugo, and found his wrath had cooled to the point where he was prepared to write her a reference – albeit a fairly equivocal one. As he himself had
said, if every person in the City who’d ever screwed up was never able to work again, most major financial institutions would be in a state of collapse. The interview had gone well; Sarah was one on a shortlist of three, and instinct told her she had it in the bag. With any luck, by New Year she would be back in work.

When she switched on her phone and heard the message from her father, she guessed that he had heard at last about her split with Toby. It had been a calculated decision not to tell him, to let him hear the news from the Kitterings. Since the tone of his message had been irate rather than sorrowful, she assumed he also knew that she was living with Leo. She stopped outside the entrance to Cannon Street station, about to call him back, when she thought better of it. She would go and see him instead.

Fifteen minutes later she emerged from Westminster tube station and made her way to her father’s house near Smith Square. When he opened the door, Sir Vivian’s expression was one of surprise, and then gloom.

‘Come in,’ he said, and she closed the door and followed him into the living room. He permitted a stiff exchange of kisses. ‘What’s this about you and Toby? And why was I the last to know?’

Sarah composed her features into an expression somewhere between sadness and anxiety. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I think it was because I knew how upset you’d be that I couldn’t face telling you.’

‘Upset about what? You breaking off with Toby, or the fact you’ve taken up with some other man? I simply do not understand you, Sarah. God knows, you were trouble enough when you were a teenager, but behaving like this at
your age! You and Toby had everything ahead of you, and now you’re throwing it all away. For what? Explain it to me, because I simply do not understand.’ He sat down in an armchair, crossing his legs and staring at her with angry expectancy.

Sarah leant against the fireplace. ‘I’m not sure what you want me to tell you. It sounds as though you know everything already. I was stupid. I did something idiotic. Toby found out. He’s right not to forgive me.’ Sarah allowed her eyes to brighten with incipient tears, then she looked away.

Sir Vivian looked uncomfortable, and his manner softened. ‘I’m not sure that it’s my place to say anything about your behaviour. You’re a grown woman. I don’t pretend to understand the morals of today’s world.’ He sighed. ‘But if, as you say, it was simply a mistake, and no more, why on earth can’t you and Toby patch things up?’

‘It’s not as simple as that. Things have gone too far.’

‘So it’s true about this man Davies – that you’ve been living with him for the past however many weeks?’

‘Yes.’

‘My God. Poor Toby.’

‘Look, I don’t know how to explain it. When Toby came back from his weekend away – the weekend it happened – I felt I had to tell him. He was so devastated, I couldn’t stay in the flat. I had nowhere else to go, so … well, I was at a low ebb, and when Leo offered—’

‘So it was his idea? Pah! He is clearly a disgusting creature. Another man’s fiancé – unspeakably low behaviour.’ Sir Vivian frowned in disgust. Sarah had undeniably behaved badly, but he couldn’t help feeling that the real culprit in all this was the odious Davies.

‘The blame lies with me,’ said Sarah meekly, and in a manner intended subtly to suggest to her father the exact opposite, that she had in fact been the victim of a callous seduction.

‘Hm. Yes and no,’ replied Sir Vivian. Then he added, ‘You have been foolish beyond belief. Moving into that man’s house has merely compounded the problem. But I don’t see that the damage is irreparable. You and Toby could still—’

‘It’s completely finished, Dad,’ said Sarah quickly. ‘There is absolutely no way we’ll ever put it right. I won’t be marrying Toby.’

There was a long silence. Sir Vivian sighed and said, ‘Sarah, I can’t hide from you the fact that all this makes me profoundly unhappy. Naturally I cherished the prospect of my daughter marrying the son of my oldest and dearest friend. I remember when you and Toby got engaged, thinking that it seemed to be too good to be true.’ He rose from his armchair. ‘I suppose there really is nothing left to say. Obviously it is impossible for you to speak to the Kitterings. I shall have to make what reparations I can.’

Sarah was inclined to observe that it was nothing to do with the bloody Kitterings, that it was between herself and Toby, but she restrained herself. She crossed the room and gave her father a gentle kiss. ‘I’m sorry you’re so disappointed, Dad.’ He made a movement of impatience, refusing to look at her, and she added quietly, ‘I’m pretty miserable myself, in case you hadn’t realised.’

He nodded glumly. Sarah picked up her handbag and let herself out.

Sir Vivian sat back down in his armchair to mull over the whole wretched business. It seemed such a waste, all so
unnecessary. Sarah and Toby had been admirably suited. Obviously Sarah must take her share of the blame, but clearly the influence of this odious man Davies lay at the heart of it. He was, if Colin Fryer and others were to be believed, a man of foul perversions. Bisexual, indeed. The world might nowadays smile on such people, but Sir Vivian believed such distorted lusts had to be evidence of deeper corruption. To think he had seen the man’s name in the applications list for the High Court Bench, too. Well, even if he couldn’t salvage the mess of Sarah and Toby’s relationship, there were certainly other things he could attend to. He would make investigations.

Mission accomplished, thought Sarah, as she headed back to the station. Her father was angry and sorrowful, as expected, but at least she’d managed to deflect his wrath towards Leo, and that would burn itself out harmlessly over time. As for how things worked out between her father and the Kitterings – well, she really wasn’t bothered. At least she’d escaped from the prospect of having Caroline Kittering for a mother-in-law. And an economics teacher for a husband.