A Calculating Heart (12 page)

She sighed again. She didn’t even have Leo to while away the tedium. He, like Marcus, had yet to put in an appearance. Well, if Marcus should turn out to be a non-starter, Leo would always do. Dear little Camilla was off on the other side of the world, and in Sarah’s experience, Leo was never one to waste an opportunity. If he ever showed up, that was.

She glanced idly around – and her heart turned over. Marcus had arrived without her noticing. He was standing only a few feet away in conversation with a law lord and a couple of brokers, and God, did he look lovely. Oh, for a few hours alone with him, the chance to bring him to his knees, watch those supercilious features soften with sensuality and longing. It had been part of a recurring fantasy of hers for some months.

‘Hi.’ A voice at her elbow broke into her thoughts. She turned and saw Roger Fry.

‘Hello,’ she replied, without great enthusiasm. It wasn’t that she especially disliked Roger-that was difficult to do, because he was so amiable, in a mad kind of way – but she didn’t exactly go for the geeky, crumpled type. Still, he was a close friend of Marcus, so maybe if she stood and talked to Roger for long enough, Marcus would make his way over.

So conscious was she of Marcus’s proximity, and anxious that he shouldn’t disappear again before she could speak to him, that Sarah couldn’t resist glancing in
his direction several times during her conversation with Roger.

Marcus, a few yards away, was well aware of the flirtatious glances of the blonde girl from chambers. He could hardly miss them. What was her name? Sarah? Something like that. Normally he wouldn’t have paid a great deal of attention – plenty of women looked at him like that. This evening, however, he was already mildly bored by the fact of this party and by the immediate company, and so amused himself by matching her stare with a languid one of his own. He let his eyes travel slowly, and with overt sensuality, over her face and body, gauging her reaction. Interesting. Quite challenging. Could he be bothered? She was having a one-to-one with old Roger, who probably fancied his own chances. No harm in putting a spoke in that particular wheel. And then, who could tell? She certainly looked like the kind of girl who wouldn’t take a lot of persuading.

Sarah, who was doing her best to conduct an unspectacular exchange of small talk with Roger, and at the same time savour the distinctly interested glances of Marcus, was suddenly surprised to hear Roger say, ‘You really do have a thing about him, don’t you?’

Sarah swiftly removed her gaze from Marcus. ‘Who?’

‘Marcus. You keep looking over at him.’ Roger’s eyes, behind his glasses, were frank and guileless.

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Yes, you do. Don’t worry. It’s an occupational hazard, if you’re a friend of Marcus. Women seem to have a thing about him.’

‘I don’t happen to have a “thing” about him,’ replied Sarah. She didn’t like to think she could be so easily read. She sipped her wine. When she looked back at Roger he was smiling, and for some reason, that smile was difficult to resist. ‘Okay, he
is
very attractive. I’m sorry if I wasn’t paying attention.’

‘Don’t worry. It’s a shame, because I was going to ask if you’d like to go out sometime. Maybe this evening, after this is finished.’

Sarah stared at Roger, nonplussed. ‘Thanks all the same, but—’

‘No, don’t worry. It’s okay.’ Roger shook his head. ‘I’ll leave the field clear for old Marcus.’

At that moment she glanced over and saw Marcus making his way towards her, and felt a shivering sense of pleasurable anticipation.

She gave him what she hoped was a casual smile. ‘Hi. How are you settling into chambers?’

‘Hard to tell,’ replied Marcus. ‘I’m so busy I don’t have much time to socialise. Afternoon tea in the common room’s really not my scene.’

‘Well, I’m glad to hear your practice is healthy, at any rate.’

‘Oh, it’s always going to be healthy, I think,’ said Marcus, with not a little trace of self-satisfaction. ‘Not much danger there. Just a question of matching ambition to talent. At least I’m being better clerked here. I’m having to turn work away, as a matter of fact.’

This guy, thought Sarah, as she sipped her champagne,
was truly in love with himself. Normally that would be a bit off-putting, but so much healthy arrogance blended with those knicker-wettingly good looks was somehow a lethal combination.

‘I’m told that no barrister can succeed without a good clerk. Where would you be without them?’

The disdainful eyebrow which Marcus raised in reply to this indicated that he wasn’t prepared to concede credit for his personal success to any clerk. ‘On the subject of clerks,’ he replied, ‘I’ve noticed some personal animosity between Felicity and our man, Peter. Or am I mistaken?’

‘You didn’t know? Felicity and Peter were having a bit of a fling not so long ago – until she found out he was married, that is. It led to a cooling of relations, as you can imagine.’

‘I see.’ Marcus gave a supercilious little grimace.

‘Do I take it from your expression that you don’t approve of – how shall I put this? – informal relationships between people in the same chambers?’

‘I don’t always think it’s conducive to workplace harmony,’ replied Marcus. Noticing her glass was empty, he crooked a finger in the direction of a passing waitress, who refilled their glasses. ‘On the other hand,’ he murmured, as the waitress moved away, ‘it doesn’t do to be too sanctimonious.’ He gazed at Sarah and clinked his glass gently against hers, and an instant of total sensuality and understanding flickered between them. Sarah smiled. Oh yes, this evening was definitely going somewhere.

She could tell from the way Marcus glanced swiftly and appraisingly around that he was about to suggest
something on the lines of their departure, when a plump, flushed young woman in a red suit laid a hand on his arm. Sarah recognised her as a solicitor from some City firm.

‘Marcus, how lovely to see you!’ The woman gave Sarah an apologetic glance. ‘Excuse me for interrupting,’ she turned her attention to Marcus again ‘I just had to tell you what a marvellous job you did in that case the other day. The clients were delighted …’

Sarah sensed a reluctant but definite shift in Marcus’s focus. Obviously he liked hearing his own praises sung. Sarah felt sickeningly annoyed. She stood sipping her wine for a few moments, listening while Marcus condescendingly enjoyed the adulation of the plump solicitor, hoping she was going to go away soon. But the woman hung on, never taking her eyes from Marcus. She clearly wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. Sarah could tell there was no way back into the shiveringly lovely intimacy she and Marcus had been sharing. She felt like a spare part. She glanced around and saw Leo some yards away, engaged in conversation with some old fart, and looking pretty bored. Maybe it would help if she showed Marcus he wasn’t the only attractive man she was interested in. Murmuring something inaudible, she moved away. Marcus didn’t even glance at her as she went.

Leo had met Ann on his way out of chambers, and they walked together up Chancery Lane to Gray’s Inn. He was glad of her company, relishing the contrast of her
dry, amusing conversation after an afternoon spent with Adriana. It occurred to him that she looked very pretty this evening, in her understated way.

‘By the way,’ said Ann, ‘I have some news for you. You may be interested to know that I’ve just been instructed on behalf of Arrow Marine in your scuttling case.’

‘Good. Nice to have a friendly face on the other side.’ So, thought Leo, the insurers were upping the ante, were they? Ann’s brief fee would be in the region of two hundred thousand, and if they were prepared to whack out that kind of money, they must be serious about going all the way to a hearing. ‘Have you had a chance to look at the papers yet?’

‘No. They’re sending them across tomorrow.’ They had reached the entrance to the gardens where the party was being held.

‘Well, let me know when you’ve read them, and we can have a drink and a chat. I’d be interested to know what you think.’

‘Will do. See you later.’ They parted, and Leo helped himself to a glass of champagne and surveyed the throng. He caught sight of Sarah in close conversation with Marcus Jacobs, and felt a flicker of amusement. He could read Sarah even at this distance – that smile, the body language, the tilt of her head – and thought he knew how the evening would pan out for those two. He was conscious, at the same time, of a faint misgiving – she might be the most practiced and libidinous twenty-three-year-old he knew, but she had
her susceptibilities like anyone else. Marcus had a reputation as a womaniser, and he wouldn’t like Sarah to get hurt. Despite the problems she occasionally gave him, Leo had a very real affection for her. Oh well, he thought, glancing away, she would look after herself. She usually did.

He saw Anthony standing by the buffet table, plate in hand, talking to someone whose identity was blocked by a knot of people. Leo was about to go over and join them when the crowd parted and he saw that it was Rachel. No that would not be a happy little triumvirate, he decided, and steered himself in the direction of Michael Gibbon, who seemed to be having quite a merry time with Mungo Stephenson and Frank Chamberlin, two senior members of the judiciary not noted for their sobriety.

At the buffet table, Anthony and Rachel were helping themselves to food. ‘I haven’t seen you for months,’ said Anthony. ‘How are you?’

‘Not bad.’ Rachel gave Anthony a quick smile, tucking her hair behind her ears. ‘What about you?’

‘Yes, fine … Well, it’s been a bit of a strange year, really.’ They stood, pausing in uncertainty, on the gravel walk. ‘Come on,’ said Anthony, pointing in the direction of an empty table, ‘let’s sit down.’

Rachel, somewhat to Anthony’s surprise, had instructed him three weeks previously in a demurrage case, and so it was natural that they should fall into conversation about it this evening. They ate and talked, the evening light fading around them. As Anthony gazed at Rachel’s calm,
Madonna-like features, the smooth brows, the long, silky black hair, the troubled eyes, he found himself pondering the vagaries of the human heart. He had been deeply in love with this woman just a few years ago, obsessed to the point where even her mute frigidity had had an exquisite appeal, but he’d got nowhere with her. She had been so damaged by adolescent experiences that no one could touch her, reach her – until Leo. It was Leo who had taken with consummate ease that which Anthony never achieved. What a pity such a power to inspire love found itself in such callous hands, he reflected. And how sadly it had ended for all three of them. Anthony watched her, hardly listening to what she was saying, and tested his own heart, wondering how he still felt about her. Love might pass, he realised, but its shadow always remained; the heart retained a memory, an eternal impression of the way in which certain features and a particular voice had once moved it.

He shifted his thoughts, trying to pick up the thread of what she was saying – something about commuting to and from work each day.

‘Have you thought about moving back into London? You used to say you liked it. You lived in Fulham, didn’t you?’

‘That’s right. But I don’t imagine I’ll come back. Charles loves the house, and the countryside. I couldn’t ask him to leave. I think it was bad enough for him when he thought he was going to have to sell because of his Lloyd’s losses. Besides, there’s Oliver to think about. He’ll have enough of
London life when he’s with Leo.’

‘How old is Oliver now?’

‘He’ll be three in October.’ Rachel smiled. ‘He’s fantastic. Funny, and very bright. And beautiful, of course. But as his mother, I would say that.’

‘Leo says much the same thing. He talks about him whenever he gets the chance.’

‘There you are. Another unbiased opinion.’ Her smile softened to sadness.

‘I was sorry about you and Leo, you know. Genuinely. Despite everything.’

‘Well, that’s in the past,’ said Rachel quickly. ‘Charles and I are very happy.’

‘Good. I’m glad.’

There was a hesitant pause, then Rachel asked with diffidence, ‘What about Leo? I mean, I don’t really get to find out what goes on in his life. He just comes and goes with Oliver. The only clues are the unfamiliar voices on the phone occasionally, when I ring up. Male, female, you never know what to expect with Leo, do you?’

‘No,’ agreed Anthony. ‘He’s a law unto himself.’ Her eyes were fixed on his. He realised she was waiting. ‘I gather …’ said Anthony slowly, ‘that he’s been seeing someone in chambers for a while now. Camilla Lawrence. I don’t know if you know her.’

Rachel dropped her gaze. ‘I’ve met her. She’s – she’s very young.’ She looked up suddenly again. ‘But – didn’t you go out with her for a while? I seem to remember—’

‘Yes.’ Anthony nodded. ‘Yes, I did. It was quite serious – well, I thought it was. I screwed things up, though.’

There was silence between them for a while. The sounds of the jazz band drifted across the summer air. Then Rachel murmured, ‘Is it habitual, d’you think? Or just coincidental?’

‘What?’

‘That he annexes people you care for. Makes them his.’ Her blue eyes met his.

‘I hadn’t thought about it, to be honest. Not – not quite in that way. I’m not quite sure what Leo’s motives are where I’m concerned.’

‘I think I know.’ Rachel traced a line in the linen tablecloth with one clean, white fingernail. ‘He loves you. And because he can’t have you, he’ll do what he can to prevent anyone else from having you, even to the point of making your lovers his own.’

After an uneasy hesitation, Anthony replied, ‘I try not to think about it. Just take him at face value. It’s about all one can do.’

A gust of wind shivered the garden, and Rachel glanced up reflectively at the evening sky. ‘I wonder sometimes what it’s like to be Leo.’

‘Confusing, I imagine.’

‘And lonely?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘Is he serious about this Camilla girl?’

Anthony looked at Rachel. Her eyes were very dark against the paleness of her face. ‘I think he might be.’
She said nothing, but gazed down thoughtfully at the tablecloth, still running her nail across it, gouging neat creases. ‘You have Charles,’ he added.