A Hallowed Place (16 page)

And from the couple of months she had spent at 5 Caper Court, Sarah wasn’t sure that it was a life which she wished to lead. Still, she would wait out her six months and then see what happened. In the meantime, she could while away the time in considering how to play her hand this evening. If she got the chance, that was.

By four o’clock, Anthony had still not completed his submissions and Lord Justice Youell interrupted him to confabulate briefly with his brethren. ‘Mr Cross,’ he said at last, ‘I think we are all agreed that it would be desirable to dispose of this matter within two days, if possible, as Lord Justice Mildon has other commitments on Thursday. You are, as I take it, close to completing your submissions. May I suggest then, if everyone is agreeable, that we sit late this
afternoon - say, until five o’clock, so that you may finish and we may then hear Mrs Shepherd first thing tomorrow morning?’

There was a general murmuring of agreement and Anthony ploughed on. Excellent, thought Sarah. More chance of having a drink with Anthony than if they were to finish at four, as usual.

By the end of the afternoon, as he gathered up his papers, Anthony felt exhausted. He had been on his feet for most of the day, but at least he had finished his submissions. Tomorrow he could just sit back and listen.

‘Well done,’ said Sarah. ‘I think you deserve a drink after all that hard work. Let me buy you one.’

Anthony hesitated, glancing at his watch. There probably wasn’t much point in going back to chambers now. ‘All right. I’ll see you downstairs in ten minutes.’

The wine bar in Chancery Lane was still relatively empty when they got there. Sarah, despite Anthony’s gentlemanly protests, insisted on buying the wine. ‘Let’s sit in here,’ she said, indicating a snug booth. ‘It’s going to be busy in half an hour and we won’t be able to hear ourselves talk if we sit at a table.’

Anthony poured them each a glass of wine. Sarah unfastened her hair and gave her head a little shake to let it fall free around her shoulders. Then she took off her dark jacket and put it to one side, and began to unbutton the top few buttons of her high-necked blouse. She did all these things in the leisurely, detached fashion of someone merely relaxing after a long day, but the sensuality of every little movement was not lost on Anthony. He handed Sarah her glass, and she sighed and pushed her collar back, rubbing
her fingers gently across her throat, aware that Anthony was watching as she did this.

‘God, I hate this uniform. Anyway - cheers.’ She took a sip of wine. ‘Here’s to victory in the Court of Appeal.’

‘Yes - well, it went better than I’d expected.’ Anthony drank his wine, wondering why he felt faintly awkward with Sarah. He couldn’t really think of anything to talk about. There was something about sitting in this booth with her which reminded him of the first time they had gone out together, and recollections of that evening seemed to be crowding into his mind. He decided the safest topic was the case and so they talked about that for a while, then gossiped briefly about other members of chambers.

‘How’s Camilla getting on in Bermuda?’ asked Sarah eventually.

‘Fine, I think,’ replied Anthony. ‘I spoke to her last night. Though I suspect she’s finding it quite stressful. But, then, working in foreign surroundings must be.’

‘Mm she’s very good, isn’t she? Seems to get tons of work. I’m sure she’ll do very well. She was always very conscientious when we were at Oxford together, as I recall. I was one of those people who spent all their time at parties, not turning up for tutorials, handing essays in late, but Camilla wasn’t like that. She was very studious and it’s paid off.’ There was a pause, then Sarah added reflectively, ‘I’m glad you’re seeing one another. I mean, you and she are so well suited. You’re the same kind of people.’ She laughed, finished her wine and poured them both some more. ‘Unlike you and I - God, we were disastrous!’

‘Were we?’ Anthony found the picture which Sarah was
painting faintly disturbing. It made Camilla and himself sound like a couple of stuffy young fogeys, set apart from the exciting and irresponsible world which Sarah inhabited.

Sarah smiled and gazed directly at Anthony. She looked very pretty, he thought, with her hair round her face, her eyes very bright and mischievous. The look spurred him to recollections of being with her, of how tantalising and sexy she could be, when she wasn’t being bad-tempered and argumentative. ‘A total disaster,’ said Sarah firmly. ‘As I recall, I was always trying to persuade you to stay at my place when all you wanted to do was go home and get a good night’s sleep before work the next day. I wasn’t good for you in the slightest. Unlike Camilla. I’ll bet she always puts work before pleasure. Sensible girl.’

The truth of this rankled momentarily with Anthony. ‘Oh, I don’t know …’ He tried to think with affection of Camilla’s dependable, reserved personality. She wasn’t at all as dull as Sarah was implying.

‘I wish I could be like her,’ sighed Sarah. There was something in the words which suggested that the last thing in the world Sarah wanted was to be like Camilla. ‘But I’m not. So I might as well be happy with who I am.’ She glanced at Anthony’s glass. ‘Drink up.’ Anthony obediently finished his wine, and Sarah poured some more. ‘I remember when I first realised that she was the one for you, actually.’

‘Oh?’ Anthony wasn’t quite sure how they’d fallen into this line of conversation and wanted to change it, but didn’t know how.

‘It was at a party we went to. We’d had an argument before coming out - I don’t think you wanted to go.
Something like that. Anyway, Camilla arrived late, and I saw the way you looked at her.’ Sarah smiled a little wistfully.

‘Rubbish,’ said Anthony. ‘We didn’t start going out together for months after that.’

Sarah smiled. ‘I’m more perceptive than you think. Not that it matters. Even then I think it was becoming obvious that you and I were particularly bad news for one another.’

There was a pause, and Anthony found himself saying, ‘Not in all respects.’

‘No?’

Their eyes met, and suddenly Anthony was dizzyingly overwhelmed by memories of making love to Sarah, quite without wanting to be. He said nothing, dropping his glance to her parted lips.

‘Anthony,’ said Sarah softly, drawing on the intensity, the closeness of this moment of shared recollection, ‘this has nothing to do with Camilla, or anything else.’

‘What hasn’t?’

She leant forward and put her hand on the nape of his neck, drawing his head towards hers. He let her kiss him, his hand loosening its grip on the wine glass, his senses drowning in the pleasure of it.

He drew away. It had everything to with Camilla. He was serious about her. He couldn’t just sit in wine bars and let Sarah do this, much as he might like it. The last thing he had expected at the end of a hard day in court was to find Sarah seducing him. ‘That wasn’t a good idea,’ he said, his voice a little unsteady.

‘No? You just said we weren’t bad news for each other
in all respects. And that was where we were very, very good … weren’t we?’ The table in the booth was narrow, and Sarah slipped a hand beneath it, running it swiftly along Anthony’s thigh and up to his crotch.

‘Jesus, Sarah—’ Anthony glanced quickly round, and put his own hand beneath the table to pull Sarah’s away, but instead, despite every good intention, found himself pressing her hand against his body and leaning forward to kiss her again urgently. They were almost entirely hidden from view in the booth.

Sarah pulled her mouth away from his for a moment, slightly breathless. ‘I don’t want to spoil anything between you and Camilla. I don’t care about you and Camilla. She’s a long way away and what we do isn’t going to hurt anybody. I promise. I just want you. I just want you inside me again.’ Anthony let out a small groan and searched for her mouth with his. What this woman could do to him … He felt totally irresponsible, overwhelmed by the feel of her, the taste of her. But she leant away again, her voice no more than a whisper. ‘Remember fucking me, Anthony? Remember …?’ Their mouths met again.

After a moment Anthony sat back. He felt as though he was going to explode. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ They left the wine bar, found a taxi and went back to Sarah’s.

A few hours later, Sarah lifted her head from the pillow. ‘You’ve got a long day in court tomorrow. You should be going.’ She smiled at Anthony and he stared expressionlessly into her eyes, then kissed her.

‘This is a one-off. It’s not going to happen again.’

Sarah laughed. ‘What? Because of Camilla? Don’t worry. I understand all about that.’ She turned over, lifting one arm behind her head, watching as he dressed. ‘Let’s say it was just for old times’ sake.’

Anthony buckled his belt and slipped on his jacket. ‘I have to be going.’

Sarah rolled on to her stomach again and blew him a kiss. ‘See you in court,’ she said.

Just a one-off, Anthony assured himself, as he left Sarah’s flat and began the short walk to the underground station. He knew he should never have gone back with her in the first place, but at the time he hadn’t been able to help himself. God, it had been good. He went downstairs and stood on the gusty platform. But it had been madness, too. Madness.

Absolutely the first and last time. At the thought of Camilla, and his betrayal, he felt a horrible, sliding sense of guilt. Why hadn’t he felt it two hours ago? Then, it had seemed the furthest thing from his mind. The train came in and Anthony got on and sat down. At least he could reassure himself that it was never going to happen again.

The next morning, just after eleven o’clock, the computer system at 5 Caper Court decided to crash. Henry rang the engineers, who came round, inspected things, and said that it would take them three or four hours to get the system up and running again. At this, Felicity burst into tears.

‘Hey, come on,’ said Henry, gently leading her out of the clerks’ room. A telephone began to ring. ‘Answer that, will you, please, Robert?’ called Henry to the post boy. He sat Felicity down in one of the armchairs in the waiting room and gave her a tissue. She sobbed for a few seconds, then stopped, sniffed and wiped her eyes, streaking the tissue with mascara.

‘It’s not that bad,’ said Henry consolingly. ‘I know you’ve got a lot of work to catch up on, but it’ll wait.’

Felicity blew her nose. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I’m in a bit of a state at the moment. I’ve a lot on my mind. That bloody system breaking down is the last thing I need.’

Henry put an awkward arm around her shoulders. ‘There, there.’ He thought for a moment, as Felicity carefully dabbed wet mascara from beneath her eyes. ‘Listen, there’s nothing much we can do around here till they’ve fixed the thing. Why don’t you let me take you to lunch? That lot upstairs are always at it. We’ll go out somewhere decent, then you can tell me all your troubles. Robert can answer the phones, or one of the girls.’

Felicity looked up miserably at Henry. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘That would be nice. To tell you the truth, I’m starving.’ But then, she was always starving these days.

Henry rang up and booked a table for two at a little Italian restaurant near Waterloo Bridge. He had never taken Felicity to lunch before. The sight of her in tears had made him feel protective and assertive all at once. He was accustomed to feeling something of a diminished personality in Felicity’s company, especially when she was in either her customary high spirits or bad temper, but today he saw a new and vulnerable side to her, and it made him want to take charge. So he did.

‘It was really nice of you to take me out like this,’ said Felicity, after she had demolished a plate of spaghetti alle vongole and drunk a large glass of the house red wine. ‘Though I probably shouldn’t have had that wine.’

‘Why not? Look at the state some of our lot come back in, if they’ve settled or won a case. Lunch till four, then straight off home in a taxi. Who says the Perrier brigade’s taken over the City? No evidence of it in Caper Court. Anyway, red wine’s meant to be good for you.’

Felicity smiled. ‘Yeah, I know. Remember how chuffed
Mr Renshaw was when he read that? He seemed to think that the more red wine he drank, the healthier he’d be.’

Henry began to laugh, then stopped when he saw that Felicity had, unexpectedly, begun to cry again. ‘Hey,’ he said gently. ‘Come on, don’t start that again. I thought you’d cheered up?’

‘I had,’ sniffed Felicity. ‘But just thinking about poor Mr Renshaw and how ill he is … I’m really going to miss him. And I’m going to miss all of you!’ This trailed off into a small, subdued wail and more crying.

Henry stretched out his hand and Felicity gripped it, struggling to control her tears. ‘What do you mean?’ asked Henry, beginning to feel a little hollow inside. The idea of Felicity leaving 5 Caper Court was dreadful and unexpected. He’d resigned himself some time ago to the fact that he would never get anywhere with her, but at least he had the consolation that she would always be around, that he would see her and be with her every day in chambers. And now she was talking about missing everyone.

Felicity overcame her tears and once again resorted to dabbing and sniffing and nose blowing. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I must look a complete mess. I don’t seem to be able to stop myself crying these days. Anything brings it on. I suppose it’s just my hormones.’

‘What do you mean about missing everyone?’ His hand still held hers.

Felicity heaved a deep, shaking sigh. ‘I’ve got to tell you some time, Henry, I suppose. I’m pregnant. I’ll have to give up my job at Caper Court in a few months.’

Henry drew his hand away and sat back, not sure what to
say to this news. It wasn’t something he’d ever anticipated. He knew she lived with Vince but, like a nicely brought up boy from Chigwell, he tended to the view that people should get married before they had children.

‘I see,’ he said at last. ‘Well, congratulations. It’s a pity about your job. You were getting on so well. Really well. You’ve got Gerald Wren eating out of your hand.’ Henry was referring to the clerk of the Commercial Court, a difficult and exasperating individual whom Felicity charmed with an ease envied by clerks from other chambers. She could wheedle the hearing dates she wanted from him with the merest smile. But Henry’s remarks now had the effect of setting Felicity off again.

‘Don’t!’ she implored Henry, her eyes brimming. This time she reached out and took Henry’s hand, and Henry felt a hot little flush creeping up from below his collar and into his face. ‘You don’t understand. The last thing in the world I want is to give up my job,’ she said passionately.

‘But you must be happy about the baby?’

‘No!’ Felicity astonished herself as well as Henry. All the pent-up feelings of the last few weeks came spilling out. ‘No, I’m not! I don’t want a baby right now, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Vince knows, and he’s pleased, he wants to be a dad, and that’s all there is to it.’

‘You have choices, you know,’ said Henry quietly. He wasn’t in favour of abortion in principle, but he felt it was really up to women to make their own decisions.

‘No, I don’t, Henry. You don’t understand. Now Vince knows all the options are closed. If I had an abortion he’d kill me. Or he’d try,’ she added. She remembered suddenly
the time when Vince had hit her. He’d been drunk, which she supposed made a difference, but he hadn’t even said he was sorry. He hadn’t
been
sorry.

Henry stroked her fingers absently as he listened to this. ‘I know you love him. But we’re all capable of loving the wrong people for the wrong reasons. Is he really the fellow you want to have children with?’

Felicity stared at Henry. She suddenly imagined how it would be if she did go ahead and have an abortion. She would lie, she would try to tell Vince that she’d had a miscarriage, but he would know. In the way that Vince always found things out, he would find out. And he wouldn’t just be angry. He’d go berserk. Yes, of course he would take it out on her physically, if he had a mind to. She could see it all too clearly. It was something she had shut out of her mind until this moment, until she looked into Henry’s kind, earnest face and listened to what he was saying. Vince was capable of anything. Yet she loved him.

‘I don’t know,’ said Felicity sadly. ‘I just know that there’s nothing I can do about the situation.’

‘No, well … It’s not up to me to offer you advice. I wouldn’t know, anyhow. But if I can help in any way, I mean, well … I am your friend. I think you know how—’ He hesitated, filled with embarrassment, wishing he could say these things smoothly. ‘—Well, that I care about you.’

Felicity gazed into his anxious brown eyes and couldn’t help smiling. Oh, God, if he kept on being so sweet and nice to her, she was going to be off again. ‘Henry, you
are
a real friend. I know that. Thank you. I know I can always count on you to look out for me.’

‘Look,’ said Henry suddenly. ‘I may not be a hard man, your Vince could probably turn me inside out without getting his hair messed, but there’s a lot to me. A lot more than you think.’ His brief, desperate outburst came to a halt. Felicity glanced away, embarrassed. ‘What I mean is—’ Henry faltered. ‘Vince should care more. About what you want. Any man should. I would.’

‘Yeah. Well, not everyone sees things your way, Henry. Unfortunately.’ She looked at him again and it suddenly struck her that Henry was a lot of things she wished Vince would be. The things about Vince that she’d fallen for in the first place, his irrepressible optimism and carefree attitude, his masculine ego and his laddish irresponsibility, began to lose their charm when the realities of life pressed in. Still, that was the way things were. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘we’d better be getting back, see if everything’s up and running yet.’

‘Right,’ sighed Henry. The idea of Felicity leaving in a few months left him feeling blank and depressed, and the realisation that he was powerless to prevent it made it even worse. He paid the bill and they left.

All the computers were blinking and humming away happily when Felicity and Henry got back to chambers. Leo was on his way out, putting on his overcoat as he came downstairs.

‘I’m going to Tunbridge Wells for the afternoon to see Cameron,’ he told Henry. ‘Don’t expect me back. If Donoghue calls about that vessel under arrest at Manila, put him through to Simon. He knows all about it.’

‘Righto,’ said Henry.

As he drove out to Tunbridge Wells, Leo pondered the
phone call which he had received that morning from Alison, his solicitor. She had told him that now that she had lodged the application for residence and contact in respect of Oliver, the next step would be an interview with the court welfare officers and a visit by them to inspect the Belgravia flat. That in itself wasn’t a problem. There was a third small bedroom, which had been set aside for Oliver ever since Leo had taken the flat, and which was already furnished with a cot, a chest of drawers and some toys and books. What exception could any welfare worker take to the Belgravia flat of a QC who was pulling in several hundred grand a year? He felt confident that the court would grant his application and Alison shared that confidence. But, then, Alison didn’t know about Joshua. Perhaps she ought to, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. It gnawed at Leo’s conscience. There was enough stuff in the papers about lesbians adopting children and gays fostering them - why should it make any difference to the court welfare people if he was living with another man? But Leo knew in his heart that it mattered. Which was why he hadn’t told Alison and why he was afraid that Rachel might, without even knowing about Joshua, try to use Leo’s past affairs with men to affect the court’s decision. He was going to have to make very sure that Joshua was well out of the way when the welfare officers came to call, that there was no evidence of his presence in the flat.

And what then? If his application were to be granted, if Oliver came to stay every other weekend? How would that affect things with Joshua? So far he hadn’t even mentioned anything of this to Joshua. Leo decided he would have to cross that bridge if and when he came to it, explain to Joshua
that every other weekend he would be devoting all his time to Oliver. He had no idea how Joshua would react to that. What Leo feared most was indifference. He had not dared to look too far ahead where his relationship with Joshua was concerned. A small voice at the back of his mind told him that it couldn’t last, that a twenty-year-old was bound to get bored, to take things for granted, to want other things to stimulate him. Fears such as these, in the face of the helpless love he felt for Joshua, prevented him from worrying about the situation with Oliver in two or three years’ time. There might be no Joshua. The dreadfulness of that thought made Leo’s heart tighten in his chest. He would do anything to keep him. Anything. But the most important thing was to conceal that fact from Joshua, to preserve the balance.

Cameron lived in a large, comfortable house on the fringes of Tunbridge Wells, set in a couple of acres of well-tended garden fringed with mature trees. As he got out of his car, Leo was struck by the peacefulness of the bright autumn afternoon, the soft light spilling across the lawns and flowerbeds and the neat gravel driveway. Hilary Renshaw, who was weeding the borders around the front of the house, put down her tools, took off her gardening gloves and came across the lawn to greet Leo. She was wearing a tweed skirt and a twinset, and as he kissed her, Leo felt himself touched with melancholy. There was something so essentially English about it all, about Hilary’s gardening gloves and her trug, the house set in its pleasant grounds, which brought home to Leo the loss of a normality which he would never know again, and had tasted only briefly with Rachel and Oliver. Even though he
was dying, Cameron was doing it in the tranquillity of a life harmlessly spent, with his wife and family at hand. What could he, Leo, hope for in the years ahead? This sudden rush of feeling, knitted in with his earlier thoughts about Joshua, left him momentarily confused and unhappy.

‘Cameron has been so looking forward to your visit, Leo,’ said Hilary, leading him into the house. ‘You’re his first visitor this week. He can’t see too many people, you know - he gets tired very quickly.’

‘How is he?’

Hilary Renshaw sighed. ‘There’s no pretending about these things. I can’t say - oh, Cameron’s fine, he’s doing very well. Not the usual things you would say. The fact is, Leo, he’s dying. But—’ she looked up at him, her eyes bright, tranquil ‘he’s not in any pain, and he manages to read a great deal. So - that’s how Cameron is.’ She led the way upstairs to Cameron’s room.

As he followed her, Leo realised that the prospect of seeing Cameron made him uneasy, almost afraid. How did you sit and talk with someone when that knowledge hung there between you - that one of you was dying? How could anyone chat away normally in the face of that?

But the fear fell away as he went into the room and saw Cameron lying in bed, propped up against his pillows. His skin had a yellowish tinge and his big body had shrunk horribly since Leo had last seen him, but it was still Cameron and he looked cheerful, even delighted, at the sight of Leo. He put down the book he was reading and put up a bony, slow hand for Leo to shake.

‘Good to see you. How’s everyone getting along at
number five? Give me all the gossip.’

‘Would you like some tea, Leo?’ asked Hilary.

‘Please,’ said Leo.

Hilary brought them both tea and biscuits, and Leo gave Cameron an account of the goings-on in chambers, making it as amusing as he possibly could.

‘And what about the place in New Square? Any further developments?’