A Calculating Heart (17 page)

‘Are you all right?’ asked Felicity.

Sandy blinked at her. He looked terrible, but possibly no worse than usual. He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘What?’

‘You came in last night and starting pushing the furniture about. Shouting. Talking to yourself.’

‘Did I?’

‘Were you drunk?’

He shook his head, and instantly his gaze was blank, uncommunicative. ‘I don’t remember. No.’

Felicity sat down on the edge of his bed. ‘Listen, Sandy, you were in a bad way last night, and if you can’t remember, that makes it even worse. This stuff about voices in your head – maybe you should see someone, get some help.’

He blinked again. ‘I’m fine.’ He wasn’t going to tell Fliss about the ketamine. He glanced at the tea. ‘Is that for me?’ Felicity nodded. Sandy pulled himself up in bed, reached out for the tea and drank some.

‘You’re not. You’re doing too much dope. It’s making you paranoid.’

‘That’s a laugh. I don’t need dope to make me paranoid. I know what’s going on.’

‘What’s that, then? What’s going on, Sandy?’

Sandy put down his cup, pushed back the duvet and swung his legs to the floor. ‘Nothing you’d understand, Fliss. They’re not interested in you.’

She followed him through the flat as he made his way to the bathroom. ‘Who’s not interested in me?’ He closed the bathroom door in her face, and she banged on it. ‘You’ve got to talk to me, Sandy! You’ve got a problem!’ After a moment or two she sighed and went back to the kitchen.

As she was making some toast, Sandy reappeared. He sat down at the kitchen table. ‘Sandy, you’ve got to think seriously—’

‘Don’t, Fliss. That’s all I ever do these days.’ He put his head in his hands. After a moment or two, he muttered, ‘I’m
sorry. Look, I’ll go down the Job Centre today. I promise. I really will try to get something. I can’t take what’s going on.’

Felicity was silent for a moment, then said, ‘There’s a job going at the Deepaks’ shop, if you want it. Only temporary. The Deepaks are going to India for a couple of months, and the person they were leaving in charge has let them down. There’s only going to be Sanjay’s old mum there, and she can’t do much beyond serve in the shop. She needs someone to help with the heavy stuff, taking deliveries, unloading boxes, stacking shelves and things. So I said you might be interested. It won’t be much money.’ She waited warily for his reaction.

Sandy took his hands from his head and laid them flat on the table, palms down. He nodded. ‘Yeah, that’ll do. I can do that. When would I start?’

‘Next Monday.’

‘Does it mean getting up early?’

‘No. You wouldn’t have to be there till later on in the morning, say around eleven, something like that. But you’d have to be regular. She’ll need you every day.’

Sandy stared at the backs of his hands. ‘Okay.’

‘You mustn’t let anyone down, mind.’

‘I won’t.’

Felicity wasn’t sure she believed this, but she had no choice. She left Sandy at the kitchen table, and went to get ready for work. On the way into chambers she thought about Sandy and the job. It was a small beginning, but maybe it would prove significant. If he could just feel better
about himself, do a few hours’ work every day and bring in a bit of money, no matter how small, he might be on the road to getting himself together at last.

Later that morning, when things were quiet in the clerks’ room, Peter came up to Felicity as she sat at her desk. He smiled and leant down.

‘What about that lunch we were going to have?’

She looked up at him, her face cold. ‘It’s not that easy to make things all right, you know.’

‘I know. I’m only asking you to give me a chance. We can be friends, at least.’

She stared back at her computer screen. Right now, she felt so emotionally fragile that she couldn’t handle this properly. She badly needed to be able to tell him to piss off in no uncertain terms. But she couldn’t. She looked up at him. ‘What for, Peter? What’s the point?’

Their eyes made the connection. He let some seconds elapse. ‘Because of the way we still feel about each other.’

That was it. By rights, she should have slapped his stupid face. But she sat transfixed, just looking at him. He was doing it to her again. God, she wanted him, and hated him, so badly. How easy it would be to say yes. Part of her longed to, was more than ready to. ‘Come on.’ His voice was low. ‘You don’t really hate me as much as you think.’

‘Yeah, I do, actually.’ She looked away.

‘And you know what they say about hate and love.’

Henry came bustling into the clerks’ room, and glanced over at Peter and Felicity. ‘Got a moment, Fliss?’ he called.

Relieved, Felicity got to her feet. ‘Yeah, sure.’ She gave Peter a glance, and muttered, ‘Stick your lunch. You could never be my friend, Peter.’

He watched wistfully as she crossed the room to talk to Henry. That fantastic arse. She really had been about the best he’d ever had, and good company, too. Pity she had these strange ideas about not wanting to be someone’s bit on the side. That wasn’t the way he’d seen it at all. But he could tell from the look in her eyes that he’d talk her back round. If he knew women, she probably wanted him to. It was only a matter of time, and persistence.

The summer weeks drifted by, and the newly expanded chambers at 5 Caper Court settled into a tranquil rhythm. Maurice’s early dissatisfactions and restlessness had been soothed by a couple of big-earning cases and the sense that, in playing a significant role in the matter of the chambers party and in the revamping of the website, he had established a certain ascendancy among his fellow tenants. Ann, Roger and Marcus seemed content in their new surroundings and rubbed along harmoniously with the other members of chambers, although Marcus, with his late hours and industrious zeal, remained somewhat aloof. Work appeared to be his consuming passion. His two-seater Alfa Romeo was among the first in the car park in King’s Bench Walk each morning, and was often still there late into the evening. To Sarah’s frustration, he was rarely around at afternoon tea, and was never to be found whiling away the odd fifteen minutes in idle gossip in the
clerks’ room, so her fantasies of a growing relationship based on chance meetings around chambers seemed destined to remain unfulfilled.

As July turned to August a heat wave bathed the City, and in the antiquated buildings of the Temple the lawyers sweltered. They flung up their sash windows, rolled up their sleeves, and set piles of papers and briefs nickering and fluttering under the breeze of countless electric fans. Clerks hurrying about their duties paused to loiter and gossip in the cool shade of courtyards and cloisters, lunchtime workers broiled in the sun on the grass in Embankment Gardens, and beneath the summer trees the iridescent waters of Fountain Court danced and splashed.

Sarah was sitting in her room, drafting a statement of case for Jeremy Vane, and hating it. She put down her pen and took a swig from the bottle of Evian water which stood on her desk. Thank God, only four more weeks to go, and she would be out of here. She pulled back her blonde hair in one hand, twisted it up in a knot behind her head, and stuck a pencil through it to hold it in place. She sighed, then stared dispiritedly at the papers in front of her in an effort of concentration.

There was a light knock at the door, and Roger Fry looked in.

‘Busy?’

‘I should be. Jeremy wants this draught statement of case by the end of the afternoon. But somehow I can’t summon up the enthusiasm.’ Sarah yawned and gave Roger a reflective glance. ‘Roger, tuck your shirt in.’

He looked down, hitched up his trousers and made an
ineffectual attempt to straighten his shirt. ‘Anyway, I came to ask you – d’you fancy seeing a film tonight?’

Yes, why not? Who else is going?’

Since the evening of the Proms, she and Roger had become quite friendly, occasionally lunching in hall together, or having a drink after work. Apart from the gorgeous and unattainable Marcus, Sarah regarded him as one of the few interesting members of chambers.

‘No one else. Just you and me.’

Sarah hesitated. Was this a date, Roger trying to move things on to another level? She sincerely hoped not. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘There’s a Portuguese film festival running at the ICA at the moment. That could be quite interesting.’ She returned his guileless gaze.

‘Really?’

He shook his head. ‘No, that was a small joke. I had the new Samuel L. Jackson movie in mind.’

‘Maybe I like Portuguese films.’

‘Mmm. Maybe you’ve never seen one.’

Sarah smiled. ‘True. All right, let’s go and see Samuel L. Jackson.’

‘I’ll see you around six. We can have a drink first.’

She nodded. ‘Okay. See you later.’

Leo picked up a pen from the box on Henry’s desk. He inspected the
5
Caper Court
logo printed on the side, pulled off the cap, then replaced it. ‘Whose idea was this? As though I need to ask.’

‘Mr Faber’s. You lot are meant to hand them around at conferences, solicitors hold on to them, and next time they want to instruct someone, they catch sight of a 5 Caper Court pen lying on their desk and think, aha! those are just the boys. Or girls, as the case may be.’

Leo winced. ‘I can’t go around handing out free pens to people like some
Crackerjack
presenter.’

‘Sorry, Mr Davies?’

‘Lesley Crowther. Michael Aspel.’ Henry looked blank. Leo sighed. ‘Don’t worry, Henry. It’s an age thing.’

‘He also has ideas about redesigning the chambers’ booklet. Thinks it’s a bit staid.’

‘Christ, he’ll have us advertising on the sides of buses soon.’

‘Got to move with the times, Mr Davies.’

‘Have we, Henry? I sometimes think I’d be quite happy if they moved without me.’

Leo took his mail from his pigeonhole and went upstairs to his room. He slung his jacket on the back of his chair and loosened his tie, and began to sort through the letters. The
Persephone
hearing had been suspended for a second day due to Mr Sagewell’s indisposition, and Leo was using the spare time to catch up on unattended matters.

A few minutes later his phone rang. It was the surveyor reporting on the Chelsea property. Leo had looked at four other houses since then, but none had been quite as perfect as that in Gratton Crescent. So Leo had put in an offer a couple of weeks ago, and it had been accepted.
Now he was waiting to hear what kind of condition the property was in.

‘Not entirely good news, I’m afraid,’ the surveyor told Leo. ‘You may have a problem with subsidence at the back. There’s a large mulberry tree close to the house in the garden at the rear of the property, and it’s possible the roots have undermined the foundations.’

‘Is that going to be expensive?’ asked Leo.

‘Depends. We really need to dig down to find out.’

Leo sighed. He’d largely expected a property of that nature to be pretty much sound, given the asking price. ‘Can we ask the present owners to investigate the extent of the problem? They’re the ones who want to sell it, after all.’

‘Certainly we can ask them. But you may find you finish up having the work done at your own expense. That’s something the estate agent will have to sort out. But look – I’ll get a full report out to you in the post this afternoon, and then you can decide what you want to do.’

‘All right. Thanks.’

Leo put the phone down. He was still pondering this latest development when Camilla knocked on the door and looked in.

‘Robert said you hadn’t gone to court.’

‘No. Mr Justice Sagewell’s still off his cornflakes.’

‘Nice to have a day off. Why have you got that brooding look?’

‘I’ve just had a call from the surveyor about the house in Gratton Crescent. There’s a problem with subsidence,
apparently. How big a problem, we don’t yet know.’

‘Oh.’ Camilla wasn’t sure what kind of response was required. Leo had gone to great pains to involve her in the house purchase, but she was finding it hard to take an absorbing interest. Wandering around these grand properties with Leo, she had difficulty envisaging herself living in any of them.

Leo sighed. ‘Still, can’t expect these things to go without some sort of hitch.’ He smiled. ‘Now, is this visit purely pleasure, or business?’

‘I just thought I’d let you know that Elborne’s are sending me back to Bermuda for another stint. I’m off tomorrow morning.’

‘That’s a bit sudden.’

‘I know. That’s why I’m telling you now. So that you can take me somewhere very nice for dinner this evening.’

Leo smiled. ‘I’d better book something straight away.’

When she had gone, Leo continued opening his post. From an envelope larger than the rest he drew out a stiff, engraved card. It was an invitation from friends he hadn’t seen in some time – Hector and Sonia Treeves – to a party in celebration of Hector’s fiftieth birthday in August. A black-tie affair, champagne reception, formal dinner, string quartet – the works. He mused on this, wondering why they had sent it to chambers; then he realised that the last time he had seen the Treeveses was when he was still married to Rachel, and that they probably had no idea where he was presently living.
The Treeveses themselves had a magnificent house in the heart of Mayfair, and Leo had no doubt that this would be an event of some splendour. Camilla would enjoy it. He dropped the invitation into his briefcase, to answer later, and turned his attention to a new set of instructions which had arrived that morning from Richards Butler.

‘Do you want some popcorn?’

‘No, thanks.’

Sarah waited as Roger stood in the queue, watching him with curiosity. Whatever doubts she might have had earlier, this pretty much settled them. No man who had taken her to the cinema on a first date had ever settled down to munch his way through a large bag of sweet popcorn and a medium Coke.

Once in the cinema, he paid no attention to her at all. Not that she expected or liked people to talk to her during a film, but from any man who took her out she was accustomed to some acknowledgement of her existence – a word, or a shared glance or smile. Roger, entirely absorbed in the film, seemed almost unaware she was there.

Two hours later, the credits rolled.

‘Excellent,’ said Roger, as they made their way out.

‘You didn’t find it a little low-brow?’ asked Sarah, as they stepped out into the dense, warm evening air of Leicester Square.

‘Extremely. I’m all for low-brow. Love it.’

‘I’m surprised you should say that, given all those movie books on your shelves at home.’

‘I don’t mean I like that kind of thing exclusively. It’s just I’ll watch anything. I like Fassbinder as much as, say, the Farrelly brothers. Depends on what mood I’m in. Are you hungry?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Pizza Express all right?’

‘I suppose so.’

They talked over pizza about the film, and about films in general. Roger’s knowledge seemed encyclopaedic. As she listened, Sarah realised that he reminded her of a boy she knew when she was ten, who’d lived next door to her grandmother. They’d played together all summer long.

Unassuming, mild-mannered and cheerful, the perfect friend. Like the boy, whose name she had long forgotten, Roger treated her in an even-handed, asexual way – which was flattering in one sense, because it meant he valued her company, and baffling in another. Sarah was used to a certain look in men’s eyes when they regarded her. No matter how they might try to conceal it, it was always there – desire, sexual interest, call it what you like. She didn’t detect that in Roger. Not that she cared. It was just different.

When they left the restaurant it was dark, but the streets were still busy, the pavement cafes crowded.

‘What now?’ asked Roger.

‘Home, I think,’ said Sarah. ‘I’m doing work for Jeremy
all this week, so I’d better not get to bed late. He piles it on.’

‘Come on then. Pity it’s so late, or we could have walked through the park.’

‘Walk? I can’t walk all the way to Kensington – it’s miles!’

‘So? It’s a lovely evening.’ And Roger began to amble off in a westerly direction, hands in his pockets. Sarah experienced a few seconds of acute irritation, in which she almost decided to take a taxi and let Roger do as he liked. But something – perhaps the suspicion that if she did, he wouldn’t be in the least bothered – made her change her mind. She walked quickly to catch up with him.

Walking home, rather than taking a taxi, was surprisingly pleasant, strolling along next to Roger, chatting, letting the night traffic rush by. After half an hour, they reached Sarah’s flat.

‘Thanks for the evening,’ said Sarah. ‘I enjoyed it.’

At this stage in the proceedings, a certain delicate sexual tension would normally have been created, precursory to the customary moves. But Roger merely stood with hands in his pockets and nodded. ‘Good.’

Sarah smiled. He was without pretension or self-regard, had no level of sophistication to which she could rise.

‘What?’ asked Roger, catching the amusement in her eyes.

‘Nothing.’ She laughed. ‘I’m sorry. Nothing. You’re just so different from most men.’

‘Is there something you were expecting?’

‘No, of course not. Like what?’

‘Oh … Well … I imagine most men would have made some kind of pass at you by now.’

‘Well, since you mention it, yes – most of them would. But don’t worry. It’s not mandatory. Thanks again. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

She reached up to give him the customary light kiss on the cheek which etiquette demanded. As she did so, he put his arms around her and, with far greater expertise than Sarah would have expected, kissed her properly for some considerable time. Being kissed by Roger wasn’t at all what she had anticipated. It was amazing.

‘Okay?’ asked Roger, with the air of someone who’d done what was expected of him.

‘You don’t have to sound quite so blasé,’ said Sarah, her voice a little faint.

Roger frowned. ‘Blasé?’ He stared at her for a few seconds. She waited, wondering what he was going to say.

‘See you in the morning.’ He gave her a smile and walked off.

‘Night,’ murmured Sarah, somewhat dazed. She went upstairs and let herself in. Her flatmate, Lou, was already asleep. Sarah got ready for bed.

Half an hour later she still lay awake, trying to make sense of Roger, and of her own response to him. Poor guy. He’d kissed her because he thought it was what he should do. It had been nice, but probably only because of the unexpectedness of it. She turned over, closing her eyes. He definitely wasn’t her type at all.

By Monday of the following week Mr Justice Sagewell, still looking a little green about the gills,’ was well enough to resume his duties on the bench, and the
Persephone
hearing got underway again.

‘Apparently it was some oysters at the Great Eastern,’ whispered a member of the instructing team of solicitors to Leo.

Leo winced. He watched as the judge shuffled his papers in preparation. Seafood poisoning wasn’t likely to have improved Sagewell’s disposition, choleric at the best of times. A hand touched his shoulder lightly, a light fragrance seemed to envelop him, and he turned to see Adriana Papaposilakis smiling at him.

‘Good morning, Leo,’ she murmured.

‘Morning,’ replied Leo, somewhat surprised to see her there. She had been absent for a fortnight, missing much of the tedium of the expert evidence, and he had assumed she wouldn’t reappear until towards the end of the case. But here she was, snug and sexy in a blue summer number that showed off a delectable amount of cleavage. His glance flickered from the soft expanse of skin to her blonde hair and mischievous dark eyes.