A Hallowed Place (21 page)

‘Oh, don’t you? Well, it’s not a chance that I’m prepared to take.’

‘Oh, come on, Rachel, be fair. For all you know, Leo could be leading the life of a monk. And anyway, he has Oliver’s best interests at heart. He loves him. You know
that. You only have to see the way he behaves when he’s with him. I don’t know why you hold it against him, all this stuff in his past. What’s it got to do with the amount of time he’s allowed to see his son?’

‘Everything, Charles. It has everything to do with it.’

‘Well, I think you’re being unfair. And by the way, if you mention any of it to the welfare people when they come round, I think it’ll be a pretty poor show.’

At this, Rachel said nothing. Charles had hit a raw nerve. She was still in two minds about what she would say to the welfare officers about Leo. Part of her knew that everything Charles said was probably right, but another small, fearful part told her that she must take every advantage she could, unfair or otherwise, when it came to fighting Leo’s custody application. She was still undecided.

Charles tried to read the expression on her face. ‘You’re not going to do that, are you? Not when you don’t even know how things are with him these days?’

‘I’m not sure. But one thing I am sure about is that Leo’s not going to have Oliver on Saturday night. It’s the thin end of the wedge.’ She crossed the room and picked up the telephone.

When the phone rang in the Belgravia flat, Joshua was sitting idly on the sofa, flicking through the TV channels with the remote, wondering whether he hadn’t been a good boy for long enough and whether he might not go out that evening with Damien. He stretched out a hand for the phone, turning the sound on the TV to mute. ‘Hello?’ He flicked the remote. The MTV channel came up and Joshua watched as Bjork sang and pranced soundlessly. ‘No, sorry.
He’s not in yet. He’s usually back around seven. Can I take a message?’

Bjork faded out and gave way to Prefab Sprout. ‘Yeah, okay. I’ll tell him when he comes in.’ Joshua put down the phone and pressed the mute button to bring the volume back up.

Leo came into the flat and set down his briefcase. He picked up the mail from the hall table then went into the drawing room.

Joshua glanced up. ‘Someone rang for you just a moment ago. Rachel. Said could you call her back when you got in.’

Leo said nothing for a moment, wondering what Rachel had made of Joshua answering the phone. Damn, if only he’d been just five minutes earlier. He chucked his coat on a chair and went to pour himself a drink. Then he noticed the brief from Sinclair’s sticking out from a pile of magazines. They were mainly Joshua’s. Why couldn’t the boy ever tidy up? Still, at least he had the brief. He’d look at it first thing in the morning. Leo pulled it out and went to put it in his briefcase.

Rachel put the phone down and went into the kitchen, where Charles, in his Wallace and Gromit apron, was attending to supper. She leant against the door frame, her arms folded.

When Charles glanced at her he saw that her expression was oddly cold and triumphant. ‘What? Why are you looking like that?’ he asked.

‘I just rang Leo’s flat. And guess who answered?’

‘Who?’

‘Some young man. He said that Leo wasn’t home yet, but that he usually got back about seven. Doesn’t that imply more than just a passing acquaintance? It’s obvious that Leo’s got someone living with him. He had affairs with men when he was married to me and I don’t see why he should change. Now do you believe me when I say I’m right to be concerned about the kind of life Leo leads and how it might affect Oliver?’

Charles gave a heavy sigh and shoved his casserole back into the oven. ‘I suppose so.’ The phone rang and Rachel turned and disappeared into the living room to answer it. Charles could hear cold, clipped snatches of Rachel’s voice and knew she was talking to Leo. Bang went Saturday night. Charles closed the oven. He felt fed up with the whole thing. After this, he decided, he was going to keep well out of it. No more trying to act as helpful intermediary. From now on, this was up to Leo and Rachel.

Leo slammed down the phone in his bedroom, infuriated by his brief conversation with Rachel. The main thrust of it had been that he couldn’t have Oliver on Saturday night, but she hadn’t been able to resist referring to Joshua as ‘the young man of yours who answered the phone’. And she had been angry. Very angry. There was no hope now that she wouldn’t say something to the welfare people.

He went back through to the drawing room and poured himself another Scotch. Joshua, sensing Leo’s mood, switched off the television. After a few seconds’ silence he asked, ‘Something up?’ He didn’t particularly want to know what had been said between Leo and Rachel to make Leo
so upset, but he felt he should be doing his caring, sharing bit.

‘It was my ex-wife,’ said Leo. ‘Just something to do with Oliver.’ He sipped his drink. ‘By the way, I won’t be here on Saturday. I’m going to take Oliver out for the day. I’ll probably spend Saturday night at Stanton.’

That was cool, thought Joshua. A night of freedom. ‘Okay.’

Leo glanced at his watch. ‘That’s another thing - sorry, I should have rung to tell you - we’re going to look at the collection that this woman Cole is letting the museum have this evening. Chay’s arranged it. I thought I would take you along, introduce you to some people, see about getting you some work.’

Thanks for asking, thought Joshua, feeling a prickle of resentment. He debated briefly whether he should say to Leo that he was going out, sorry and all that, but decided against it. After all, he had agreed to do some work for the museum if it could be arranged, and it would just piss Leo off if he didn’t go along this evening. Wouldn’t do to piss off the old golden goose. There was always Saturday night. He would have the flat all to himself. That was worth flunking about. Anyway, if this thing didn’t go on for too long this evening, maybe he could still go out. Leo couldn’t expect him to stay in all the time. So he nodded and said, ‘Fine.’ He glanced at the glass in Leo’s hand. ‘That’s the second drink you’ve had in ten minutes. You’d better let me drive us there.’

Leo put down the glass and smiled. He liked Joshua’s rare flashes of concern, reproof. They made Leo feel
wanted, protected. Every token of a balanced domestic arrangement, where each looked out for the other and the interests of both, was precious to him. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You drive.’ Whatever the outcome of the custody dispute, there was still the consolation of Joshua. After a couple of Scotches, it was easy to feel completely secure and happy about all that.

It took Leo and Joshua some time to find the warehouse in Whitechapel and, when they arrived, Chay, Melissa and Derek Harvey were already waiting in the office with Mrs Cole, a diminutive figure dressed in black, wearing a vast, swirling cape and a close-fitting hat pulled down over her head. She gave an imperious, unsrniling little nod as Chay introduced them.

‘We have to sign in,’ said Chay, and handed Leo and Joshua name tags. A member of staff led the little party down through the warehouse. The air was cool and still from the climate control, and vast numbers of works of art were ranged round the storage space. They passed through a series of bolted doors, opened by pass keys, and eventually reached the viewing area. It was completely bare and starkly lit, the size of a small gallery. At Mrs Cole’s clipped request, two white-gloved technicians lifted the first of the exhibits on to foam blocks and the viewing began.

Even as some of the finest pieces of contemporary art passed before her eyes, Melissa found she could barely concentrate. She had been keyed up to Leo’s arrival, but the sight of Joshua had entirely thrown her. Why should he have some young man in tow? She had hoped that she
might be able to persuade Leo to go for a drink with her after the viewing was over, to find some way of spending time alone with him. She had thought about him on and off for the past few weeks, hoping to devise some scheme for seeing him, but without success. Tonight had seemed to present the best possibility, but this Joshua person was - well, what was he? Covertly Melissa studied him as he stood, arms folded, close to Leo, watching as the paintings were put on view, remaining silent while Chay, Leo and Derek Harvey murmuringly discussed each one. He was very young, she saw, and quite beautiful. The realisation of what Joshua might be to Leo suddenly hit her and she felt a pang of sheer disbelief. This could not possibly be Leo’s lover. Every sense had told her, on the night he had driven her home, that he was a woman’s man, nothing else. Joshua suddenly turned his head in her direction, possibly sensing her scrutiny, and she looked away, picking up the thread of the conversation, trying to concentrate on the works before her and offer her own views.

When the viewing was over, the party went back to the office to sign out. On the way up, Chay chatted to Joshua. ‘Leo tells me you’re interested in helping out at the museum. Says you know a bit about the kind of work we’ll be exhibiting.’

Joshua nodded. ‘Yes, I’m not working at the moment. Well, only on my paintings.’

‘Okay. We’re a bit short-staffed on the publicity side. Why don’t you give my assistant at the museum a ring in the morning? Her name’s Sandra. Here’s her number. Then
you can go along at the beginning of next week and see what she can find for you to do.’

‘Thanks.’

Chay scribbled down the number on a piece of paper and Joshua took it.

Chay turned to speak to Mrs Cole and Joshua went over to Leo. ‘Listen, I’ve talked to Chay and he thinks he can find some work for me. I’m going along to the museum next week.’

‘Good.’ Leo smiled warmly at Joshua. As soon as this was over they could drive back to Belgravia and spend the evening together. Evenings were the happiest, most complete times in Leo’s day, when he could be with Joshua, eat with him, talk to him and make love to him. At such times he wanted nothing more from life.

‘The thing is,’ went on Joshua, ‘I did tell Damien I’d see him for a drink tonight. Would you mind if I went off now? I’ve done the stuff with Chay and I don’t really know these other people.’

For a few seconds Leo said nothing. Why, when Joshua made such an innocent request, did he feel as though his insides had been washed down with ice? Because he didn’t want Joshua to need other people, or other interests. He wanted to be everything to Joshua. That was the reality. Masking all that he felt, Leo gave a shrug and said, ‘Sure. I can get a cab back. I’ll probably go for a drink with the rest of them, anyway.’

Joshua’s relief was palpable. ‘Great. I won’t be late. See you.’ He wondered whether he should kiss Leo goodbye, but decided against it.

Leo watched from the office window as Joshua went out into the night, pulling his car keys and his mobile phone from his pocket, already in another world where Leo did not belong.

Melissa, as she conversed with Anthea Cole about the collection, registered this brief exchange between Leo and Joshua even as she talked. She couldn’t hear what was said, but her heart rose as she saw Joshua leave. She had gathered from Chay that the boy wanted some work at the museum, so that was probably all it was. He was just a friend whom Leo was helping out, probably someone’s son. After a few moments she went over to Leo. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m positively in need of a drink.’

Something in Leo’s system had already kicked into alcoholic gear; he needed a drink, too, more than one to blunt the keen edge of his feelings of insecurity. It was the same every time that Joshua went away. Would he ever come back and, if he did, in what altered frame of mind? Everything was so fragile … Yes, a couple of hours in the pub was just what he needed. Presumably the others would be joining them. ‘Good idea. What about everyone else?’

But it turned out that Chay had other arrangements, and Derek had a deadline to meet and a column to finish. Anthea Cole, bidding them all goodnight, was on her way out to her chauffeur-driven car.

Melissa raised her shoulders in a helpless shrug. ‘Oh dear, just you and me.’

Leo could do nothing. He had already said yes and the fact was, he didn’t much care. The alternative was to go home and brood alone, pretending to fill up the waiting
hours with trivia until Joshua came back. At least Melissa was company, someone to get moderately drunk with. She clearly had a thing about him, too, and that went for something. His self-esteem was such these days that it could do with a bit of shoring up.

They went round the corner to a pub and ordered drinks. Leo ordered doubles. The pub, set in a part of Whitechapel which was an up-and-coming artists’ colony, was lively and noisy. After the first couple of drinks, Leo found he had reached a state of pleasant detachment. Melissa was amusing company, the practised flirtatiousness with which she had previously behaved now replaced by a light, unthreatening, casual tone. The persona was that of a woman with no pretensions about herself, prepared to say what she felt and damn the consequences. She told Leo about the highs and lows of her job in a self-deprecating way, and she had a rich store of gossip about semi-celebrities, which Leo enjoyed. He found it all undemanding stuff, rather like reading a tabloid newspaper while moderately stoned. He told her a little about his marriage and about Oliver. He deliberately tried not to think about Joshua.

Melissa gauged Leo’s behaviour carefully. She was surprised by the amount he was drinking. Still, maybe it helped. The conversation was moving along nicely enough, but what was needed was something to create a climate of intimacy and she knew just the thing. Argument. Nothing like a bit of provocation, a bit of friction, to bring people together. She recalled some remarks he had made driving back on the first evening they had met and decided to capitalise on those. She began to enthuse about a recent
exhibition of work by Serrano which she had seen in New York, describing the works in graphic detail, knowing that the grotesqueries would prove too much for Leo.

After a few moments they did. ‘You’re not seriously suggesting that that kind of studied perversity deserves the name of art, are you?’ Leo put down his glass, banging it slightly harder than he had intended, so that the whisky slopped a little, on to the table. ‘It’s depressing - this urge to outrage, to do anything to win attention, no matter how grotesque and depraved. How many extreme gestures does an artist have to make in order to be noticed, for God’s sake?’