A Calculating Heart (8 page)

‘When you and I talked that day at Stanton, I gave you the impression Charles and I might be splitting up. We’re not.’

Leo’s pulse quickened. ‘You mean you’re going to the States with him? I thought you said you had no intention of taking Oliver out of the country.’ He knew that Charles Beecham had been offered work in the States, and his one fear was that Rachel would go too, taking Oliver where Leo would rarely see him.

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ replied Rachel swiftly. ‘I know Oliver is the only one of us you’re concerned about. You’ve always made that perfectly clear.’ Leo said nothing. He knew she would be miserably content with the intimacy of a row, but he wouldn’t afford her that satisfaction. After a few seconds, she went on, ‘Charles is still going to do the documentary series for NBC, but I won’t be going with him. That is, he’ll go out to the States for six weeks or so, come back for a week or two, then go out again. It’s not ideal, from his point of view, but he understands that you and Oliver have to see each other.’

‘I’m grateful to him. To both of you. It’s very considerate.’ Beyond the words lay an unarticulated truth. Leo knew that Rachel was still in love with him, whatever relationship she might have with Charles. She would never voluntarily leave their common sphere of existence and go where she could not see him on a regular basis. This much she had just acknowledged. If she could not have Leo, she
would let Charles, and the safety of his adoration for her, suffice.

‘I wasn’t thinking entirely of you in all this, you know,’ added Rachel. ‘The firm may make me an equity partner before the end of the year. I don’t want to lose that.’

‘No, indeed,’ said Leo. An equity partnership in a firm such as Nichols and Co. would be an enormous boost to her income, worth at least a couple of hundred thousand a year. ‘Congratulations.’

‘I haven’t got it yet.’ Rachel sipped her water. ‘Anyway, that’s how things stand. Nothing is going to jeopardise your contact with Oliver.’

‘I have some plans of my own, where Oliver is concerned,’ said Leo. ‘I’ve put the flat in Belgravia on the market. I’m looking for a house, something with a decent garden, somewhere more like a proper home for him as he grows up.’

Rachel nodded. She longed to say –
We had a house like that, once. We could have given Oliver that stability and happiness. You had to chuck it all away. You couldn’t do anything as simple as stay faithful, or love us both.

Instead she asked, ‘Does anyone else figure in this sudden change of domestic circumstances?’

‘If you’re asking about my girlfriend—’

‘By which you mean that you’ve actually managed to last more than six weeks with someone.’

Leo sighed. ‘Don’t. Please.’ He met her unhappy gaze. ‘If you’re asking about my girlfriend, the answer is – I’m
not sure. Aspects of my life have become rather uncertain recently. Oliver is the prime object of my concern, in any event.’

‘I know. I just like to know who else is involved in his life, who’s around at the weekends when he sees you.’

And in my bed, in my thoughts.
‘I can assure you, I’ll keep you abreast of any long-term decisions that affect Oliver.’

‘I want him to be happy. And safe. I suppose I should be glad it’s a woman, you’re seeing, and not some man.’

Leo glanced at his watch. How wearying these meetings with Rachel could be, in a subtle, relentless way. He replied, ‘I suppose you think you should be.’ There was a pause. ‘I have to be getting back.’

Rachel nodded. ‘Let me know how your house-hunting goes.’

‘I will.’ Leo rose. ‘I’ll call you in the next few days to arrange about Oliver’s weekend.’ He gestured to the waitress for the bill, and dropped two ten-pound notes on the table. ‘Oh, and send those Silakis papers over. I’ll have a look at them.’ He bent and kissed her swiftly on one cool, pale cheek. ‘Bye.’

‘Bye.’ She sat and watched as he headed for the door, ducking his head to avoid the low beam on the way out. Then he was gone.

Felicity put the phone down and swore under her breath. Twenty to two, and she still hadn’t had a chance to slip out for lunch, not thanks to this bugger Maurice Faber.
He’d been bitching on all morning about all the things that were wrong with his new room, and she had spent the last hour trying to get someone to come and sort out the lighting, which he maintained had too much glare. ‘I insist that it be altered by the end of the day. I simply can’t work in these conditions,’ he’d said. She’d like to alter something for him, she knew, and it wouldn’t be his lighting.

Sod it. No one was going to come out at such short notice, so he was going to have to lump it. She picked up her bag, and was about to leave, when the phone rang. Since Robert had slipped out for a few minutes, and the other two clerks were at lunch, she had no choice but to answer it.

‘Hello – clerks’ room.’

‘Fliss – is that you? It’s me – Sandy.’

At the sound of her brother’s voice, Felicity subsided into her chair. She hadn’t spoken to him in months. ‘Sandy. How are you?’ Her tone was apprehensive. Sandy had only once called her at work before, when he needed to borrow money.

‘Uh …’ There was a long pause, filled with Sandy’s breathing. ‘Not so good, actually, Fliss. Not so good.’ The tone was lightly philosophical, but the voice had a broken edge to it, as though not far from tears. ‘Can I see you, like? In your lunch hour?’

‘Why? Where are you?’

‘Just down the road a bit. Not far from you.’ There was a bipping sound. ‘Shit. My money’s running out. I’ll be
outside McDonald’s. The big one. By Charing—’

The dial tone cut him off. Felicity replaced the receiver. He must mean the McDonald’s at the end of the Strand, by the station. She picked up her bag and hurried out of chambers.

Fleet Street was so choked with traffic that she abandoned any idea of getting a bus, and walked instead. It was after two by the time she reached McDonald’s, and at first she couldn’t see Sandy. But there he was, not milling around with the rest of the tourists and shoppers, but sitting against the far end of the wall, hunched up on the pavement. He got up when he saw Felicity, and tried to smile.

‘Oh, my God.’ Felicity was appalled at the state of him.

He was wearing a stained, grey hooded sweatshirt and filthy jeans and trainers, and his hands and face had the unmistakable grime of a street sleeper. It was then that she noticed the sleeping bag and bundled-up dirty blankets on the ground next to the place where he’d been sitting. His eyes as he gazed at her were bright and slightly feverish. ‘Hi, Fliss.’

‘Oh, Sandy. Bloody hell. What’s been going on?’

He shrugged. ‘Got chucked out of the flat. Couldn’t quite manage the rent.’

‘How long ago was this? What have you been doing since then?’

Sandy scratched his head. His nails were encrusted with dirt. He simply shrugged again, swallowed hard, and she saw that he was close to tears. Some people
passing by jostled him, and she put out a hand to steady him.

‘We can’t talk here. Come on. Let’s go somewhere quieter.’

Sandy picked up his bundle of bedding and together they walked down Villiers Street towards the gardens by Embankment Station. Felicity bought them both a couple of rolls from a sandwich shop on the way, and they sat on the grass in the shade of the plane trees and ate them. She watched as he ate, thinking how much things had changed since the days they had shared the flat in Brixton three years before. They’d left home together to get away from their drunken bastard of a father, off on the big adventure. The flat had been tiny – pretty scummy really, but it had seemed great at first. Fliss had worked as a secretary – probably the world’s worst – while Sandy alternated between various casual jobs and long bouts of idleness and dope-smoking. She’d met Vince through Sandy, when he and Vince were working on the same building site. Hadn’t taken long for the set-up to turn sour, though. Too many drugs, too little to do, that was Sandy’s problem. It got to the point where she couldn’t stand coming home each evening to the mess of beer cans and fag ends and idle young men. So she’d moved out to Clapham with Vince, and left Sandy to his own devices. Mistake, big mistake. But how long could you remain responsible for your grown-up brother? She studied his thin, grimy face.

‘How long have you been sleeping rough?’

‘Not that long. Just over a week.’

‘Why didn’t you ring me before now?’

‘Dunno.’ He shrugged again, ate his roll. ‘It wasn’t that bad at first. Weather’s been all right. I dossed in a doorway back up there the first few nights. Then I went down to Waterloo when there was that rain. Had my coat nicked. Nearly got beaten up by some madman.’

‘What have you been living on?’

‘I’ve begged a bit. Some of the restaurants give you stuff at the end of the day.’

‘Well, you can’t carry on like this. What would Mum say? Why haven’t you been back home?’

‘Didn’t fancy seeing the old man. I’d rather sleep on the streets than get messed about by him again.’

Felicity plucked at the grass for a few moments. She couldn’t help feeling that all this was her fault. But then, she’d never stopped feeling guilty about Sandy. While they were sharing the flat, she’d been the one who’d held things together, held
him
together. Every time they met up after she’d moved out, he seemed to have gone further downhill. There had been that time eighteen months ago, when he’d landed a job with some office suppliers and things looked as though they might improve, but that had been a one-week wonder. Sandy had simply been incapable of getting up in the mornings. The last time Felicity had visited the Brixton flat, it had been worse than a tip. Grey sheets on the unmade beds, rubbish spilling out of bags in the kitchen, dust and mess everywhere, unwashed dishes, crumpled beer cans, a broken pane in
one of the windows. And Sandy hadn’t seemed to care. A couple of joints, a few pills, and he just let the world go away.

Felicity glanced at her watch. Two forty-five. She’d better be getting back. ‘Look, you’d better stop with me for a while till we get you sorted out. Nothing permanent, mind – I’m not going to let you sponge off me again.’ Sandy looked at her warily, saying nothing. ‘Well, it’s why you rang, isn’t it?’ She didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but frankly the thought of looking after Sandy depressed her. She had to help him – he was her brother. But she couldn’t help wishing he could do more to make sense of his own life. ‘I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll meet you here at six. Okay?’

Sandy merely nodded. Felicity got to her feet and picked up the roll wrappers to put in the bin. As she reached the gate to Villiers Street she glanced back at the figure sitting alone on the grass in the sunshine, among the rest of humanity, and felt a pang of pity mixed with irritation. She supposed she was glad he’d rung her. She’d rather he stayed with her than dossed on the streets.

Hurrying through the door to the clerks’ room, Felicity bumped into an irate Maurice Faber.

‘I hope you’ve arranged to have something done about my lighting.’

‘The earliest I can get someone to look at it is Wednesday morning.’

Maurice glanced at Felicity’s bag and realised she had
only just returned to chambers. ‘Have you been out to lunch till this hour?’

‘I went out at ten to two, actually.’

‘I suggest you try to take lunch at the conventional time.’ Maurice turned to retrieve some papers from his pigeonhole and Felicity made a face at his back.

When Maurice had gone out, Henry wandered over to Felicity’s desk. ‘Those bundles came over from Freshfields while you were out – the ones Mr Vane needs for his arbitration tomorrow.’

‘Oh, thanks. I was just about to chase them up,’ said Felicity.

Henry picked up the cheesed-off note in Felicity’s voice and glanced with concern at her dispirited face. ‘Some problem? Anything I can help with?’

Henry shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t relish having my sister descend on me out of the blue. But when it’s family – well, what can you do?’

‘Quite.’

Not quite sure what further consolation to offer, Henry changed the subject. ‘By the way, we’ve got a date fixed for the chambers’ party.’

‘What party?’

‘They’ve decided to have a bash to celebrate the expansion of chambers. The usual PR job. Invite along every commercial solicitor in the City who likes a drink – which is most of them – get them nicely tanked up, and hope the work floods in.’

‘When is it?’

‘July the twentieth. Not the handiest time of year to be throwing a junket, given that some people will be away on holiday, but then again, it saves on the champagne. Mr Hayter suggests having a marquee in Inner Temple Garden, so I’ll have to get busy arranging that. Then there’s the food and drink. You, me, Peter and Robert will have to sit down and sort it all out.’

‘Not a prospect I relish,’ muttered Felicity, as Henry went to answer his phone. Despite what Henry had said about keeping everything harmonious, so far she was doing her best to avoid contact with Peter. The worst of it was, despite having been deceived and strung along by him, she still felt a little pang every time she set eyes on him. But that was love for you. She seemed fated to get it wrong every time.

In Court 17, the afternoon’s proceedings in the case of
Rotterdam Diamonds B VBA v. Air Italia
had been underway for a little over an hour. Camilla, acting as a junior in the case, had endeavoured to listen attentively to her leader, Adrian Eder QC, but now she found her attention wandering. It drifted, as it did about twenty times an hour, to Leo. The past six days had been sheer torment, possibly the most wretched of her life. Leo hadn’t been in chambers, he hadn’t called her, and she had been forced to endure the past weekend in the company of her charmless flatmate, Jane, who was evidently dying to know what had gone wrong between her and Leo, but was behaving like the soul of discretion. The unasked
questions hung heavy in the air, and Camilla felt she would have preferred an outright interrogation to Jane’s sympathetic, silent glances of concern. She’d thought of going to her parents for the weekend, but didn’t dare, in case Leo should ring while she was away. He hadn’t. Camilla had come to the inescapable conclusion that he wasn’t at all bothered by what had happened. She still felt she’d been right to be upset by the way he concealed things from her, and that he should be the one to make the first move, but he evidently didn’t care enough. So much for loving her.