A Hallowed Place (8 page)

‘I’m sorry,’ said Anthony. ‘I’m seeing Camilla this evening.’

Leo nodded. ‘Of course.’ He turned to go.

‘Maybe some other time?’ added Anthony.

‘Yes, maybe some other time.’

The door closed. Anthony sighed and sat down slowly at his desk. A pattern seemed to be emerging where his relationships with other women and Leo were concerned. First there had been Julia, then Rachel, and now Camilla. Not that jealousy could explain what had happened with Rachel, after Leo had taken her away from him, knowing how in love with her Anthony had been. Leo had, after all, married her. But it seemed as though the friendship between himself and Leo could simply not flourish as long as Anthony was involved with any woman. The thing was ridiculous. Anthony stood up and turned to the window, thrusting his hands in his pockets. He saw Leo emerge below and watched him cross Caper Court on his way to his conference: he had waited at this same window just a few years ago in the simple hope of catching a glimpse of Leo, he had loved him so much. There had been a time when Anthony would have done anything for Leo. Almost anything. But that was the difference between them. He was not like Leo. He had never made love to a man in his life, had only once contemplated it … Where would he and Leo be now, if he had allowed that to happen? It didn’t bear thinking about. It hadn’t happened, and his emotional life now was bound up with Camilla. If Leo couldn’t handle that then it was Leo’s problem, and there was nothing Anthony could do about it.

Leo crossed Middle Temple Lane and strode briskly into Essex Court. He had already decided that he would go to the Galleria tonight after all. If there was no room for him in Anthony’s life, then he would find someone
else to amuse him. It had always worked in the past and he saw no reason why it should not do so now.

Joshua was sliding glasses into their racks above the bar when he saw Leo come in. It was a quarter to eleven and customers were thinning out. He gave Leo a half-smile. He hadn’t really expected to see him. Leo hadn’t struck him as the usual type, the type that he and Damien mildly despised, but whose money they would take in exchange for their sexual favours.

He came over to Leo’s table. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’ asked Joshua.

Leo nodded. ‘Thanks.’ Joshua noticed that he wasn’t wearing the pinstripe suit of the night before, but was casually dressed in blue slacks and a lighter blue shirt open at the neck, a straw-coloured jacket slung over his shoulders. He looked younger, and Joshua suddenly realised how good looking he was, for an old guy.

Leo watched as Joshua moved away to get his coffee, aware that his heart had begun to thud at the half-forgotten beauty of the young man. Each time, with every encounter, the thrill remained undiminished. Would there come a day when it would be hopeless, when he would be too old, too unattractive to inspire the kind of interest he saw in Joshua’s eyes? Perhaps, but it had not come yet. Tonight, Leo felt, the balance was perfect.

Joshua brought the coffee. ‘When do you finish?’ asked Leo.

‘About another fifteen minutes.’ He hesitated, lingering. ‘Where do you want to go? My place or yours?’
He kept his voice low, but spoke casually.

Leo realised he was more surprised than he should have been by the baldness of the question. What else would Joshua assume Leo wanted? But Leo knew that he wanted more, much more, than merely a casual encounter with this beautiful young stranger.

He sat back, smiling. ‘Joshua, when I said I wanted to talk to you, I meant it. Do you find that hard to believe?’

Something in Leo’s eyes puzzled Joshua. Damien had said they were all the same, but this one was different. He had none of the pathetic, hopeful, predatory characteristics of the men who usually propositioned him. He was good-looking and assured, and he looked at Joshua with a mild, curious kindness which was new to Joshua.

Joshua shrugged. Then he smiled. The smile transformed his serene, rather languid features like cloud passing away from a landscape. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘Yes and no.’

Leo nodded. ‘I shall sit here and drink my coffee. Then, if you like, we can go somewhere and talk. Just talk.’

Joshua moved away from the table.

Twenty minutes later they left the bar together. The proprietor scarcely glanced at Leo. What his bar staff did off duty was none of his business. Leo and Joshua stood on the pavement. A gust of night air made Joshua pull his thin jacket tight around him.

‘My car’s round the corner,’ said Leo. ‘We can go back to my place - or does that concern you?’

Joshua laughed and looked away. Where was this guy coming from? He shook his head, still smiling, and looked at Leo. ‘No, that doesn’t concern me.’

They walked down the darkened street together, not speaking, until they reached Leo’s car.

‘Wow. An Aston Martin DB7,’ said Joshua in admiration. He nodded, surveying the lines of the car. ‘Very nice.’

Leo unlocked the car and Joshua slid into the passenger seat. Leather interior, walnut dash. He’d never been in a car like this before. It had that special, subtle smell that belonged to expensive things. Joshua loved that smell. He loved the squashy, cop-a-load-of-this feel of the seat as he moved to buckle his belt. This thing was a dream. God, to drive this. He bet it did nought to sixty in about five seconds.

As they drew away from the kerb, Joshua said, ‘So it’s true what they say about barristers, then? That they earn a fortune?’

Leo smiled. ‘Not all of us.’ He pressed a button on the CD player and the gentle tones of Mahler filled the car.

Joshua gazed at Leo’s lean profile, noticing the way the street lights silvered his hair. Yet he wasn’t that old. ‘But
you
do.’

Leo chuckled. ‘Yes, I do.’ He glanced at Joshua. In the half-light the boy’s face was astonishingly beautiful, his expression open, interested.

‘What kind of law do you do?’

‘Commercial law. Shipping. Other people’s money.’

‘Doesn’t sound very interesting.’

‘You’d be surprised.’ Leo drove smoothly through the traffic and into Sloane Street. ‘Law is quite fascinating,’ he remarked. ‘It’s part of every single person’s life. It brings drama to everyone it touches, whether it’s in the form of jury service, or a murder charge, or simply
selling a house, or getting a parking ticket.’

‘Or getting done for speeding. You ever been caught for that in this?’

‘No. I’m very careful about that kind of thing.’

‘Yeah, I suppose you have to be.’ Joshua craned to look at the speedometer. ‘What does it do?’

‘A hundred and fifty-seven, if I recall rightly.’

‘That’s silly,’ said Joshua.

‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’ They drew up outside the mansion block of flats. ‘This is where I live,’ said Leo.

‘Right,’ said Joshua, scanning the building.

They went upstairs to Leo’s first-floor apartment in silence. Leo unlocked the door, and he and Joshua went in.

‘This is beautiful,’ said Joshua, following Leo through the flat, gazing around him. ‘You’ve got so much space. I wish I had this much space.’

‘Would you like a drink?’ asked Leo, going into the kitchen.

‘Have you got any beer?’

‘Beer,’ said Leo. ‘No. No, I’m afraid I don’t.’

‘I won’t bother, then, thanks.’

Leo poured himself a Scotch and Joshua watched, fascinated, as Leo pressed the button on the ice dispenser on the fridge and chunks of ice fell into his glass.

‘That’s so cool,’ said Joshua, admiring the dispenser. ‘Wow, look, you can set it for crushed ice, too.’

‘Or iced water.’ Leo smiled, watching Joshua’s face. He was a delight.

‘Yeah.’ Joshua gazed at the dispenser, then left the kitchen and went into the spacious drawing room, turning
his attention to the pictures on the walls. He studied them one by one, moving round the room, his fists still rammed into the pockets of his jacket. Leo sat down in an armchair, sipping his drink and watching Joshua, glad of the leisure to be able to follow the rhythms and movements of the boy’s body while Joshua gazed at the pictures, unaware. He watched the way the light caught the reddish-gold glints in Joshua’s hair, then wondered whether the boy had combed it since he had last seen him. It didn’t look like it.

‘You’ve got some nice stuff,’ said Joshua approvingly. He pointed to a picture made up of a series of swathes of blue dissolving into one another. ‘That’s a Patrick Heron, isn’t it?’ He indicated another, larger canvas. ‘And I recognise that style, but I don’t know who it is.’

Leo got up and strolled over to look at the picture. ‘That’s by Martin Fuller. He was very big in the eighties. I bought that picture from the Austin Desmond Gallery before it collapsed.’ He sipped his Scotch, letting his sleeve brush Joshua’s, fiercely conscious of the proximity of the younger man, the physicality of him.

Joshua tilted his head, gazing at the picture. ‘It’s got a sort of sixties feeling about it.’

Leo gave a little smile, wondering what Joshua knew of the sixties. ‘It should do. His work’s very representative of ways of working in that era.’

‘How do you mean?’ asked Joshua, turning to look questioningly at him.

Leo wondered if the boy had any idea at all how his gaze stopped Leo’s heart. The effect was such that he took a few seconds to answer. He looked back at the picture. ‘Well, this
way of building up his canvases with big blocks of brush work. A bit reminiscent of de Kooning. He deals with the space before attempting to occupy it with figures. Formal structure first, emotional accent second. Characteristically sixties.’

Joshua nodded. ‘You know a lot about it.’

‘What about your painting?’ asked Leo, going back to his chair. He felt that if he remained close to Joshua for much longer he would be unable to control the strength of his desire to reach out and touch him. ‘Tell me about that. Tell me about yourself.’

Joshua left the pictures and sat down on a long sofa opposite Leo. ‘My painting.’ He laughed. ‘It’s a con, really. I can’t paint. I did a year’s foundation course at Goldsmiths’ and that’s about it.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not saying I don’t enjoy it. I’ve always liked painting and drawing, ever since I was a kid, but I don’t rate myself. Still, since any old shit seems to sell these days, I keep on hoping. Look at Gilbert and George. They make a fortune. Maybe someday someone will look at my stuff and decide it’s flavour of the month. That’s the way it seems to happen. Talent doesn’t seem to matter much these days.’

‘That’s a remarkably cynical point of view for someone of your age,’ said Leo, dipping into his pocket for his cigar case. ‘Still, you may have a point. What I think you’re talking about is placement.’ He took a small cigar from his pocket and lit it reflectively.

‘Am I?’ Joshua watched Leo, wondering. Here they were, the two of them, all cosy in his big Belgravia pad, talking away about art as though there was nothing else on
the agenda. But there was, Joshua knew. He could tell, he could feel it, just something in the atmosphere when Leo had stood next to him. Your senses became attuned to it. So what was it to be? Just a one night stand? There was something about Leo that told him things could be more worthwhile than that. The odd fifty quid here and there, you sometimes wondered if it was worth it. But this one. This one had serious money, and he seemed to be all alone. Everyone gets lonely, Joshua told himself. He glanced round the room again, waiting for Leo to speak. He thought of his bedsit in Earl’s Court, the crummy toilet he shared with the two Australians across the landing, the racket from the street keeping everyone awake half the night, and compared it with the lovely silence of this apartment, the pictures, the furniture. Maybe he was wrong, but he had the feeling Leo was interested in him in more ways than one. There was a look in his eyes, a sort of - Joshua couldn’t think of the word. A sort of look of understanding.

Leo’s voice broke across his thoughts. ‘Placement. Being exhibited in the right places, the good galleries. There’s nothing like context to enhance the value of an artist’s work.’

‘You’re right. It’s how to get into those places. How do you do it?’

‘There are ways.’ Leo tipped the ash off his cigar into a large glass ashtray on the table at his side. ‘Don’t underrate yourself. Those paintings of yours that I saw are every bit as good as stuff that goes for thousands at galleries in Bruton Street and Bond Street.’

‘Sure, tell me about it.’ Joshua laughed.

There was a silence. Leo smoked. Joshua drummed one
heel absently, staring round the room again.

‘I could help you,’ said Leo at last.

‘Yeah?’ Joshua glanced at him. ‘Why would you want to do that?’

‘Because I like you.’ Their eyes met. ‘But you know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ replied Joshua.

Leo lifted his cigar to his lips. ‘Do you do this kind of thing often? Come to men’s flats, I mean, men whom you’ve only just met, whom you don’t know well?’

Joshua began to drum his heel again and looked away. ‘Now and then.’

‘What for?’

Was this some kind of game? Joshua wondered. He laughed uneasily, without humour. ‘You know what for.’

‘To talk?’

‘Yeah, sure, to talk.’ Joshua got up and began to pace around, looking again at the pictures.

‘Joshua,’ said Leo softly. Joshua turned and stared at him. ‘Come here.’

There was silence for a few seconds. Joshua turned round. ‘No,’ he said, his voice thoughtful. ‘You come here.’

Leo stubbed out his cigar, put down his glass and rose. He felt vulnerable, awkward, but he obeyed without hesitation. He came and stood before Joshua. When Joshua kissed him, Leo found it extraordinary. In most encounters it was he who had made the first move. But Joshua simply embraced him and kissed him for a long and exquisite moment.

For Joshua, Leo tasted of whisky and cigars. With a little slipping sensation in his heart, Joshua suddenly realised
that he liked it. For the first time ever, he was enjoying what he was doing with another man. After a moment he drew away.

‘That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’ There was no trace of anger in Joshua’s voice. His eyes were fastened on Leo’s, their faces close together. ‘All this crap about wanting to talk.’