A Hallowed Place (5 page)

Anthony was caught off guard. Where was the cool, assured Sarah that he knew of old, with her self-possessed and faintly mocking smile? ‘You don’t sound too happy,’ he said tentatively, half expecting a rebuff.

But she merely shrugged and laid down her pen. ‘David’s given me this to do.’ She pushed the papers towards Anthony and he picked them up. ‘It’s the first day of my pupillage, and he’s given me something I can barely understand. Bastard.’ She leant her head on one hand.

Anthony sat down opposite and began to go through the papers. As he read, he glanced up once, quickly scanning her
features
, thinking how oddly vulnerable she appeared. Never, in all the few short weeks they had been together, had she been anything but sharp, assured, on top of things. There was something disturbingly new and touching about her. ‘It’s not as complex as it looks. These different forms are just basic contracts. Look—’ he came round to her side of the table and sat down next to her, flipping over the pages of the contract ‘—here’s the relevant clause. Clause 25, the jurisdiction clause. Now—’ he glanced around at the books she had taken off the shelves ‘none of these is going to help you much. We need a copy of the White Book. Hold on.’

Sarah watched as he went to fetch a copy. It had been true, what she had said to Lou that morning. He was just another boring barrister. But still better looking than most of them. And, Leo apart, the best in bed. The sudden recollection of their love-making aroused a faint, surprising flare of desire in her. He was still seeing Camilla - that much she knew. But might it not make life in chambers more amusing if she were to try and seduce him away from her?
That kind of game could be played out slowly, deliriously, over quite a long time. Great fun. Sarah loved games, mind games, flirtations, bluffs, betrayals. It was what had first attracted her to Leo. And vice versa. The odds, of course, would be stacked against her, since the word was that Anthony was quite smitten, but Sarah liked long odds. Well, it was certainly something to think about. If she handled it delicately, there could be no risk of outright rejection or humiliation.

Anthony came back with a large white volume entitled
The Rules and Orders of the Supreme Court of Justice
, and sat down next to Sarah, leafing through it. ‘I think you’ll find you want order eleven. Anyway, it’s a good place to start.’ He was aware, as Sarah leant over to share the book with him, of the subtle smell of her, familiar, sensual. He tried to ignore its effect upon him and moved slightly away to pick up the brief. ‘Let’s have a look at the terms of this clause. ‘This Agreement shall be construed in accordance with and governed by English law. Any dispute or difference which may arise out of or in connection with this Agreement or the services to be performed hereunder shall be referred to the High Court of Justice in London.’

She glanced at him as he read, and smiled to herself.

Two weeks later, Leo received a call at work from Rachel, his ex-wife. It was some time since they had spoken. The relationship had naturally been difficult following the initial break-up, but at least they had communicated. Since she had moved in with Charles Beecham, however, and the divorce proceedings had ground properly into action, a new, bitter element had entered into affairs. As part of the arrangements for custody of Oliver, who was now sixteen months old, Leo had asked to have him every other weekend. Rachel was opposed to the idea. The negotiations of their respective solicitors appeared only to have made the issue more acrimonious. As things stood, Leo was surprised that Rachel should call him.

After a fractional pause, he told Felicity to put her through. ‘Leo?’ Rachel’s voice held its familiar hesitancy. ‘Hello, Rachel,’ said Leo. ‘How are you?’ His tone was
neutral, belying his feelings. It was odd, but a call from her now could arouse more emotion in him than he had ever felt towards her during their brief marriage. All of that was entirely to do with Oliver.

‘I’m well, thank you.’ She was polite, almost chilly. There was a brief pause. Leo waited. ‘I’ve been thinking, perhaps we should meet some time,’ said Rachel at last. ‘I feel it might be useful.’

‘Really?’ Leo’s tone was derisory. He felt instantly annoyed at allowing himself to be provoked into this childish retort, but he couldn’t help it. He thought he heard Rachel sigh faintly, and when she spoke it was as though she was determined not to let him goad her.

‘I don’t think we’re getting very far through the solicitors. I feel it might help if we were to get together and talk some things through.’

Leo resisted his inclination to turn down this overture. In truth, he agreed with her. Besides, this fraud case had left him no time to visit Oliver. Now that it was over, he wanted to arrange to see him. It wouldn’t help if he behaved antagonistically towards Rachel now.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘When do you suggest?’

‘I thought maybe this evening after work - if you’re not too busy.’

‘I suppose I can manage that.’

‘I have to see some clients in the West End later this afternoon. Why don’t we meet at that pub in Knightsbridge that we used to go to?’

‘The Griffin?’ It was a small, tucked-away pub near the mews house in which Leo had once lived.

‘Yes. That’s the one. I don’t really know anywhere else. About six-thirty?’

‘Fine. I’ll see you then.’

When he put the phone down, he realised how tense the call had left him. God, he was a mess where Rachel was concerned. Would it be different if she were not the mother of his child? He supposed so. After everything that had happened, he should be glad to be rid of her. He had never loved her, had only married her to further his career. He should be feeling relief that she was someone else’s responsibility, and that he could return to his own life. But it hadn’t worked like that. Somehow the knowledge that she was living in a contented threesome with Oliver and Charles Beecham - Beecham, of all people, a man whom he liked, genuinely liked, and with whom he had even once been slightly in love - mocked his own solitary existence, rendering his single life no longer the enviable thing it had once been. People now thought of him as lonely - look at that bloody piece in the
Standard
, a complete stranger making a guess, and guessing right.

He sighed. Time. It was simply a matter of time. Once they got this wretched divorce sorted out, and a sensible arrangement in place for him to see Oliver, then he could start living again. Maybe seeing Rachel this evening would speed up that process.

On his way out at six, Leo bumped into Roderick Hayter, a fellow member of chambers some six years his senior.

‘How did the course go?’ Leo asked Roderick, who had spent the previous seven days closeted in a hotel in Weybridge
with several other lawyers, training to become a recorder, as part of the recognised route to the High Court bench.

‘Very interesting, in fact. I recommend it:’

Leo grinned. ‘I’m not sure that becoming a High Court judge is quite my style.’

‘Leo,’ said Roderick, ‘I gather Cameron asked you to speak to the Lincoln’s Inn people about the lease on that set of chambers?’

‘Yes, he did. He had to see his doctor. Actually, I’ve been wondering where he was. I don’t think I’ve seen him since then.’

Roderick sighed. ‘That’s something I need to speak to you about - that and the business of the chambers in New Square. Have you got a moment?’

‘Sorry - I’m meeting someone.’ He paused. ‘What about lunch tomorrow?’

‘Fine. See you about one-ish.’

Leo left and walked down to where his car was parked near King’s Bench Walk. The Indian summer was fading now, a slight chill touched the early evening air, and the first drift of fallen leaves scuttered across the cobblestones. He found himself brooding over the impending possibility of the move to Lincoln’s Inn. Another thing to add to the uncertainties of his life. He had worked as a barrister in the Temple for twenty-four years, and Caper Court was more of a real home to him than anywhere else he knew. It was his comfort, his haven. The idea of moving now to an entirely new set of chambers at the other end of Chancery Lane was like a threat to the last vestiges of his stability. Cameron Renshaw, he knew, didn’t relish the prospect of change, but
in the end he would probably go along with Roderick and Jeremy Vine, the other two most senior members of chambers, who had originally mooted the idea of moving. Roderick was of the view that in the present building chambers had no room to expand, and Jeremy - well, Jeremy, pompous bastard, just liked the idea of more gracious, spacious surroundings, big rooms, state-of-the-art technology, a smart reception area. If Jeremy had his way, chambers would have all the artifice and pseudo-glamour of a big firm of City solicitors. That was the last thing Leo wanted. He liked the cosy, old-fashioned rooms of 5 Caper Court, the narrow wooden staircases, the old oak doors. Certainly it had its inconveniences, and even he had to admit that the old building wouldn’t be able to contain them in a few years’ time, but still the idea of moving to Lincoln’s Inn was anathema. There must, Leo decided, as he drove towards Knightsbridge, be some way round the problem. And he was determined to find it.

Rachel sat in a corner of the little pub, watching the door. On her knee rested a copy of the tabloid which she had picked up from the bar. She had scarcely read a line of it. Each time the door opened she looked up, her heart ready to contract at the sight of Leo. The arrival of every newcomer confounded her prepared expectation of him; she had seen him come through that door often before, was ready for the look of him, the quick movements, the light glancing off his silver hair, the restless, handsome features. When she had first met him, she had always thought how Leo’s presence seemed to fill a room, eclipsing everyone else in it.

Five minutes later he arrived. He looked a little older than
when she had last seen him, his face tired and drawn, his expression restless, impatient. But still Leo. Enough to make her forget momentarily about everything else in her life.

He glanced over to the corner and saw her, nodded in acknowledgement. The sight of her was wearyingly familiar, the pale, beautiful face, the dark hair drawn smoothly back, slim hands cupped nervously round whatever drink she had bought herself. How was it that those features, whose delicacy he had once found touching, now possessed the power to irritate him so? She was the least smug person he knew, yet there was about her a complacency, a patient rectitude which could madden him.

‘What are you drinking?’ he asked, standing before her, hands in pockets. She could see a small muscle working in his jaw.

‘Oh—’ she glanced down at her glass ‘this is just a tonic water. I’ll have some white wine, thanks.’ He nodded and went to the bar.

When he brought the drinks over, she had put the newspaper to one side. He sat down opposite, lifted his glass and murmured, ‘Cheers.’

They drank, then a brief silence ensued.

‘How’s Oliver?’ said Leo at last.

‘He’s well.’ Rachel nodded. Then she smiled, enthusiasm melting the tension in her expression. ‘Wonderful, in fact. I got him some new shoes last weekend and he talks about them all the time.’

Leo gave a little smile. ‘What does he say?’

‘Oh, you know … “Shoes. My shoes.” Things like that. Nothing … nothing complicated.’ Her smile faded.

‘I’d like to see him,’ said Leo. ‘I’ve been involved in something of a heavy case, so I haven’t had much time.’

‘I know. The fraud thing. I saw the piece about you in the
Standard
.’

‘Oh?’
his heart dropped slightly. He didn’t want to think about the nuggets of truth contained within that article, and what impression they had made on her.

‘It made you appear—’

‘What?’

Rachel looked down at her drink, twisting it between her fingers. ‘Dashing, for want of a better word. I can see why they ran the piece. I suppose sex appeal is a commodity that’s in short supply at the commercial Bar.’ She looked up at him, and with a pang of feeling realised that she would never stop wanting him. She was conditioned to want him, to respond to the look in his eyes, his smile, that restless way of drumming his fingers when mildly embarrassed. He was doing it now. Her mind moved to Charles. Dear, kind, loving, exasperating Charles. Charles made her feel safe, which was more than she could ever have said of Leo. Was it a kind of betrayal, to feel this way about someone who had deceived you, mistreated you, broken your miserable heart? Perhaps, but there was some dark, inner part of her that belonged to Leo, no matter what he did. In the end, it had only been an instinct for survival, the practical, reasoning part of her nature, which had made her leave him. Love had many different faces. There was the uncomplicated, grateful love she felt for Charles. And then there was Leo.

‘Anyway,’ said Leo, ‘we didn’t come here to talk about me. Tell me what it is you want to say.’

She glanced down at her hands. ‘I wanted to see if we couldn’t come to some agreement about Oliver. You know that what you suggested in terms of access is completely impracticable—’

‘Why? Why shouldn’t I have him every other weekend? He’s my son, for God’s sake.’

Rachel sighed. ‘He’s too little. He’s still too little. He hasn’t seen you for four weeks—’

‘That’s not my fault. I told you I’ve been tied up with this case.’

‘Leo, I know that. All I’m trying to say is that it would be very disruptive for him to be taken away from me for two days every fortnight. He’s too young to understand what’s going on. He’d miss me.’

‘It’s not as though he doesn’t know me. I am his father. And how am I supposed to build any kind of a relationship with him unless I see him regularly?’

‘No one’s saying you shouldn’t see him regularly. I want that, too. It just seems more sensible if you were to come to Bath to see him. You could take him out—’

‘Rachel, you’re missing the point. I want him with me. I want him to have his own room, to have breakfast with me, to do things together. I don’t just want to visit him in Charles Beecham’s house—’

‘That’s what this is about, isn’t it?’ Rachel interrupted.

‘What?’

‘It’s about Charles. You’re jealous of him, whether because of me or because of Oliver, I don’t know, but—’

Leo threw back his head and laughed. ‘Christ, Rachel, you can’t get anything right, can you?’ She gazed at him.
‘I’m not jealous of Charles Beecham. If I’m jealous of anyone, it’s of you. This may surprise you - though God knows it shouldn’t, given what you know of me - but I was in love with dear Charles for some months before I discovered that I was quite mistaken about his proclivities. So please don’t imagine that I wish I were in his bed. Not with you in it, at any rate.’

He had seen it before, the way the blood drained from her cheeks, leaving her looking even paler than usual. But never before had he seen this much coldness and pain in her eyes. When she spoke, her breathing was rapid, her voice little above a hard whisper. ‘You are an out-and-out bastard, Leo, did you know that?’

Leo drained the remains of his Scotch. ‘I think I recall telling you something along those lines before you married me.’

There was a silence. When Rachel spoke again, she managed to keep her tone even and controlled. ‘I suppose I should thank you for reminding me of one very good reason why I shouldn’t let Oliver come and stay with you. I don’t really want him being exposed to your various boyfriends, or your unpleasant lifestyle.’

This threw Leo momentarily. ‘That’s rubbish, Rachel, and you know it. Oliver is more important to me than anyone else in the world. Do you really think I would be so stupid? I just want to have him with me, to be a father to him, to give him a home he can come to.’

‘I don’t think I want him coming to your kind of home, Leo. And if your solicitor tries to push this one, I may just find myself having to dredge up a few unpleasant truths
about your past to show how unfit you would be to have custody of any child.’

‘Stop it, Rachel,’ muttered Leo. He wished he’d never said anything about Charles. Why did he have this need to wound her, when it only went against his own interests? ‘You’re being utterly bloody unreasonable.’

‘Really? Frankly, I hoped we might be able to have a civilised conversation about our son and what’s best for him. You don’t seem to care about that.’

‘Christ, Rachel, I do care.’ He leant forward suddenly. ‘Don’t punish me. I just want to be with him.’

Rachel dropped her gaze from his. Why did he have this effect on her? Hating him only seemed to make it worse. And how passionately he felt about this - much more than he ever had about her. ‘Leo, we can’t resolve this. Not now. I thought we could. But we can’t.’

‘I want to see him.’ His blue eyes looked steadily into hers.

‘Then come down on Sunday. You can take him out for the day.’

‘What about the rest? What about having him at weekends?’

She shook her head. ‘You know I won’t agree to that. Not until he’s older.’