A Hallowed Place (28 page)

‘It mustn’t. You mustn’t let it. That’s the last thing I want. That is what I’m afraid of more than anything else. Please. I love you. I’m asking you to forgive me.’

Camilla didn’t speak for a few minutes. Then at last she said, ‘I don’t know. I’m feeling very tired and upset, and a bit confused. What you’ve done has really hurt me. I don’t think you realise that.’

‘I do. Of course I do.’

‘Well, anyway, I’ve got a lot on tomorrow, so I’m going to bed early.’

‘Will I see you tomorrow evening?’

‘I don’t know. Let’s just leave it for now, shall we?’

It wasn’t entirely satisfactory, thought Anthony when he hung up. But he had a feeling that, with a little time, it could be made all right again. Okay, so he hadn’t been entirely honest with her. But how could he possibly tell her the whole truth? She might overlook one single act of infidelity, but a whole series, night after night? He doubted it. And he didn’t blame her. He could look back on his brief fling with Sarah and know it was unforgivable, but on the other hand he knew exactly why he had done it. Because Sarah had been there, on offer. Not that it was any excuse. He just had a weak character where sex was concerned. He sat pondering the deep and contradictory mysteries of sexuality and morality for some time.

A week later, Charles announced that he was going to Romania to film some footage for his latest documentary.

‘How long will you be gone?’ asked Rachel.

‘Only a couple of weeks. Though why an entire television crew has to be transported all the way to the foothills of the Transylvanian Alps just to film me talking about the formation of the anti-Ottoman coalition is beyond me. I could as well do it from the bottom of our back garden. Still—’ he embraced Rachel and kissed her nose ‘—tell me you’ll miss me.’

‘I shall.’ It was true. She felt a hollow pang at the thought of being without his steady, loving, cheerful company even
for a couple of weeks. The whole custody business seemed to keep her nerves in a constant brittle state and Charles was important to her sanity. She wanted it all settled, finished, so that she could sort out her contradictory feelings about Leo, relegate him to his proper place in her life. Then she would feel that she and Charles and Oliver were a safe unit. ‘Oliver will miss you most, I suspect. He has you around all day.’

‘I’ll bring him back a Vlad the Impaler doll. I’ll bet the shops in Bucharest are bursting with them.’

Rachel laughed helplessly. ‘Don’t you dare!’ She hugged him. ‘When do you leave?’

‘Tomorrow afternoon. I wish I could take you with me.’ He paused, then looked suddenly inspired. ‘In fact, why don’t you come? I’ll bet if we slip apple-cheeked Margaret a serious wad of money she’d be prepared to move in for the duration. Then Oliver would be regularly fed and watered, and all would be hunky-dory. What do you think?’ The idea was growing in attraction at top speed in Charles’s mind. Oliver took up so much of Rachel’s time and attention when she was at home - which, given her work, was not as much as Charles would like. He longed to have her to himself, without all the responsibilities and distractions that Oliver involved. Sometimes just having a sustained conversation seemed like hard work with Oliver around. He was, without question, the number one man in Rachel’s life, a position which Charles very much wanted to occupy, even if only for two weeks.

But Charles could tell from her expression that she didn’t feel the same enthusiasm as he did for the idea. ‘Oh,
Charles, it’s a lovely idea … But two weeks is a long time. I couldn’t just leave Oliver. He’d miss me dreadfully. He’s too little to understand, and he might think I was never coming back, or something awful like that.’

‘Well, a week then,’ urged Charles, feeling the impetus slipping away. ‘One week’s not long.’

‘It would be to him. And there’s my work, you know. It’s not that easy just to drop things.’

‘What if you were suddenly taken ill, or something? You’d have to drop it then. And the world wouldn’t come to an end because of it. Someone else would hold the fort. Come on - live a little. Come with me. Just for a few days. We could have a great time, just the two of us.’

The last five words were the wrong ones. Although Rachel trusted Charles’s affection for Oliver, she harboured a subconscious feeling that he might prefer it if Oliver did not exist. It made her react defensively, as she did now, grabbing at an excuse. ‘Charles, it’s not that easy. Frankly, I don’t think I have any holiday time left, not after the three weeks I took over the summer and the time that I want to take off at Christmas.’ She made a rueful face. ‘I’m sorry, darling. It’s a nice idea, but for all those reasons, I really don’t see that it’s possible.’

Charles sighed. He was fighting a losing battle here. It happened whenever he suggested that they should spend some time away from Oliver, even if it was just dinner together in Bath. Rachel was always reluctant. And on the odd occasions when they were apart from the child - such as the times when Leo took him for the day - she was on edge, constantly thinking about him, waiting for the
hours to pass until she was with him again. Charles had to admit to himself that he very strongly hoped that the court would decide in Leo’s favour in the matter of contact with Oliver. Not just for Oliver’s sake, or for Leo’s, but for his own.

‘Okay,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘It was just a thought.’

The week after Charles’s departure went by in a humdrum fashion. Rachel made sure that she left work promptly every night so that she would be home in time to bath Oliver and read to him before he went to bed. Margaret, the nanny from the village, had to come in earlier than usual in the mornings to be there when Rachel went to work. Often Oliver was still asleep when she left. Guy Fawkes Night fell in the middle of that first week, and Rachel wheeled Oliver in his pushchair down to the village green to watch the fireworks in the evening and wished that Charles could be there. She realised then, as she stood watching the rockets explode into crystalline stars against the black night, how much she loved and relied upon Charles as a part of her peace and order and security. He was her bedrock. The feelings she had for Leo were something much darker, to do with pain and rejection, and experiences she did not care to revisit. Still he persisted in her thoughts, and in her love, despite every effort she made to excise him.

Thoughts of Leo were still in her mind next morning at work and, when the switchboard put through a call from him, the coincidence of it startled her. ‘Leo,’ she said, ‘I was just thinking about you.’

‘Were you?’ His voice sounded tired.

He said nothing more, and after a pause she asked, ‘Are you all right? You sound a bit low.’

‘Yes - no - I’m fine. I just wondered if I could see Oliver this weekend, maybe on Saturday. If that’s all right with you. And Charles, of course.’

‘Well, the thing is, Charles is away at the moment, and—’ She stopped, realising that she was letting herself be panicked by the idea of being on her own for a day at the weekend. Absurd. Unhealthy. ‘Still,’ she went on, ‘I don’t suppose that makes any difference. Yes, if you like. Saturday’s fine.’ She could get a few chores done while Oliver was away, things which always got slowed down when he was around, and perhaps go into Bath to do some shopping. It would fill in the time. Better than Sunday, when the hours would just drag. ‘What time will you pick him up?’

‘About ten. I’ll have him back by six.’

There was an odd lifelessness in Leo’s voice, as though some subtle strength had faded from his personality. The change left Rachel at a loss. All their recent exchanges had been charged, often vitriolic, but there had always been life in them.

‘That’s fine. I’ll have his things ready.’ She hesitated. ‘Leo, are you sure you’re all right? You don’t sound yourself.’

‘Yes,’ snapped Leo. ‘I’m absolutely fine. Just tired.’

That was marginally better, to hear him get tetchy. ‘Okay, okay. I’ll see you on Saturday, then. Bye.’

Leo said nothing, just hung up. Rachel put the phone down slowly. She thought of Leo coming to fetch Oliver on Saturday, of seeing him on her own, without Charles there.
Charles’s presence always kept the atmosphere nice and even. Without him there, Leo might take the opportunity to go on the offensive. She hoped not. She didn’t think she could stand that. If the temperature rose, she might find herself giving way to feelings she hardly wished to acknowledge. She just wanted relations with Leo to stay neutral and safe. And then she realised that the thought of seeing him on her own made her a little afraid. Afraid and excited.

‘Good heavens!’ said Rachel. Then she laughed, putting her hand to her mouth. ‘I didn’t realise you were growing a beard.’

‘I’m not,’ said Leo. ‘I just can’t be bothered to shave.’ He stood in the doorway on Saturday morning in his battered leather jacket and old trousers, his shirt unbuttoned at the neck. After the initial shock of his week-old beard, Rachel realised that his hair was longer too. That, and the contrasting darkness of his beard, made him look younger and slightly sinister. His appearance sat at odds with his air of weary carelessness.

Oliver toddled towards Leo and clung to his trouser leg, waiting to be picked up. Leo hoisted him up to his shoulder and Oliver laughed and passed a small, fat hand over the dark bristles of Leo’s beard.

‘What do your clients think?’ asked Rachel, folding her arms.

‘I haven’t got any,’ replied Leo indifferently. He kissed Oliver and smiled at him. It was a smile solely for Oliver, clearly unrelated to anything else in life.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Rachel.

Leo turned to look at her again, as though seeing her properly for the first time. ‘I’m having a few days off. That’s all.’ He spoke calmly, as if in reassurance.

Rachel was still puzzled. ‘Your clerk can’t be very happy about that. Or was it planned?’

To this Leo made no answer, but wandered towards the kitchen table, Oliver still in his arms, and picked up the bag of Oliver’s belongings. ‘Six all right?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ replied Rachel, ‘that’s fine.’

‘Come on, mate, let’s hit the road,’ said Leo to Oliver. He walked to the door, then turned. ‘Where is Charles, by the way?’

‘He’s in Romania, filming.’

Leo nodded, then walked out to the car. Rachel stood in the doorway and watched them drive away. It was only when they were out of sight that it occurred to her that never for one moment had there been the slightest suggestion of tension or animosity between them. Whatever apprehension she might have had about betraying her perplexed feelings for him had been entirely unfounded. There had been simply nothing to which to respond. In fact, he had arrived and departed in what she could only think of as a kind of emotional vacuum. She thought about it for a while, about his altered appearance and manner, and wondered if she should have let Oliver go with him. Telling herself this was absurd, she went back into the house and set about filling the emptiness with domestic activity.

She had got a mere half an hour’s work done when the
phone rang. The voice at the other end was a woman’s, one Rachel did not recognise.

‘Is that Rachel Davies?’ asked the voice uncertainly.

‘Yes.’

For a few seconds there was nothing but concerned, elderly breathing, then the woman went on, ‘My name’s Mrs Munby. I’m a neighbour of your mother’s.’

‘Oh … Mrs Munby.’ Rachel’s gathering recollection of a taciturn, large-bosomed woman from the house next door to her mother’s was almost instantly replaced with a sense of foreboding. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked. ‘Is my mother all right?’

‘Well, that’s why I’m calling. They took her into the hospital this morning, about half an hour ago. St Mary’s. I went outside when I saw the ambulance, and the ambulance people said did I know who her nearest relative was, and I said, well, she has a daughter, and I had a look in your mother’s address book and found your number. They said would I call you, and I said I would.’

‘What’s wrong with her?’ Rachel felt oppressed by a sense of guilt and dread.

‘I don’t know, to be honest, dear, but I think it must be her heart. I thought I’d better find out how she was before I called you, but when I spoke to the hospital all they would say was that you should get there as soon as you could. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings.’ She waited, breathing stertorously, for Rachel to speak.

Rachel managed to keep her voice calm. ‘Thank you for calling me, Mrs Munby. I’ll go to the hospital straight away.’

‘Is there anything you want me to do? I’ve locked the house up for her, taken the keys and so forth.’

‘No, no, thanks. You’ve been very kind. I might call round later, depending on how my mother is. Goodbye.’

Rachel hung up and glanced at her watch; her immediate thoughts were for Oliver. Damn, Leo wouldn’t be at Stanton yet. She could try his mobile … But when she tried, the maddeningly sweet voice of a female automaton informed her that the mobile phone she was ringing was switched off. When she called the house at Stanton and tried to leave a message, the phone at the other end merely rang and rang. Had Leo suddenly taken against modern technology? Rachel wondered, as she replaced the receiver. Anyway, she would just have to go to her mother and try Leo later. She grabbed her coat and her keys, locked up the house and hurried to the car.

‘So, baby boy, where shall it be?’ murmured Leo as he drove, glancing at Oliver in the car seat next to him. ‘South America? France? Where can we bury ourselves out of sight? Just think of all the people Daddy knows, all the lawyers and the business men and the wheelers and dealers … do you think they’d help us?’ Oliver glanced up at his father, following the sound of the words with brief wonder, then became absorbed once more in the little plastic plane he was playing with. ‘But what would I do with you? What kind of a time would we have, and what would become of us both?’ Leo sighed, turning off the motorway on to the road to Stanton. ‘And what would your poor mother do if I were to spirit you off somewhere? Go demented, no doubt,
and turn into a hysterical wreck for the rest of her life. I couldn’t do that to old Charles, now could I? No, nor to Mummy, I suppose. So we’ll all go on as we are …’