An Immoral Code (34 page)

Rachel was too far lost in the familiar passion which Charles now aroused in her to say anything instantly. But the words sank in and, just as Charles was wondering if he was too old to make love over the kitchen table or whether it would put his back out, she replied in a happy murmur, ‘Yes, of course I’ll stay. I love you, too.’ And Charles, as he pushed the plates aside in a clatter and lifted her onto the table, was convinced that this was exactly what he wanted to hear.

It was after eleven when the phone rang. Leo was slumped in an armchair with a book, a glass of Scotch balanced beside him, feet on the coffee table. In the past weeks he had grown accustomed to the unbroken silence of the house, and the sound of the telephone startled him. He stretched out a hand to pick it up.

‘Hello?’ he murmured, hoping like hell that it wasn’t Murray or Fred getting themselves into a lather over some obscure point. That was the trouble with solicitors – always fearing the worst and looking round for trouble.

There was a pause before the voice on the other end spoke, and when it did, it was with a light, breathless catch.

‘Leo?’

‘Yes,’ replied Leo. ‘Who is this?’

‘It’s Francis.’

There was a long pause. Leo wondered for a moment whether he should simply hang up. Francis was the last thing he needed right now. He thought he’d made it clear to the boy months ago that it was all over. How the hell had he got his home number? But after a moment’s hesitation he decided it would be better to speak to him.

‘Francis … What can I do for you?’

Francis laughed, a brief, light sound that Leo had once liked and had entirely forgotten. But his voice, when he spoke, was tired and dull. ‘Not very much, I don’t think … I’m afraid this is a duty call, more than anything. I can imagine that you didn’t much want to hear from me, but I’m afraid I hadn’t much choice. I’m rather unwell, you see.’

For a second Leo was tempted to ask what the hell that had to do with him, and then a small, cold fear struck him. He felt his grip tighten on the receiver. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said evenly, waiting.

‘I’ve got Aids, Leo,’ said Francis tersely, his voice shaking
a little. ‘A few weeks after – after you last came to see me, I had a test, and I was HIV positive. And now it’s something rather worse.’ The chill of fear which Leo had felt now seemed to numb his body like ice. He himself hadn’t been tested for six months. He thought suddenly of Rachel and Oliver. Christ. Oh, sweet Christ. He closed his eyes momentarily, then heard Francis continue. ‘That’s why I had to call you. So that you – so that you know. I—’

‘Yes, yes, I know. God, look – I’m sorry. I’m terribly sorry.’ Was he? Could he care less about Francis? It was himself he was sorry about, himself he was concerned for. He could have himself tested tomorrow, but this couldn’t have come at a worse time, in the middle of this case, when he needed to be at the peak of his form, concentrating on nothing other than the issues. It was a nightmare. Struggling to control the fear he felt, Leo said, ‘Thank you for letting me know.’ It seemed an absurd, trite thing to say. But what else was there to say?

‘I just hope …’ Francis hesitated, then went on, ‘I just hope – you know, that everything is all right for you.’

Oh God, thought Leo, add your prayers to mine, Francis. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I hope so, too.’

Leo replaced the receiver and sat staring unseeingly ahead of him for a long, long time.

Leo left the Harley Street clinic shortly after nine, leaving himself just enough time to get to chambers and pick up a few things before getting to court. As he swung his car away from the meter and into the traffic crawling across Wigmore Street, he could still see in his mind’s eye the enigmatic features of his doctor, whom he had known for fifteen years. The man’s tact, discretion and swiftness of response were worth all the money they cost – but, beyond that, there was nothing more to be bought. Leo was in a situation now where all the money in the world could not buy him the peace of mind he wanted. At least he would not have long to wait – he had been told he could pick up the results of the test at the end of the day. He had slept wretchedly the night before, and was grateful for the fact that at least he did not have to perform today. Underwood would be giving his opening address, which was bound to be short, and would then begin the examination of the expert witnesses. The crux of this case was, for Leo, his cross-examination of Capstall, and that was several days away, by which time, all being well, he should have recovered his equilibrium. If he
could get the man to admit in court that he had had no business writing those risks on behalf of the Names, given the potentially overwhelming liabilities to which he was exposing them, then they were home and dry. But he knew Capstall, had seen and heard him often enough to know that this would be no easy task. He was a slithery type, glib and extremely good at giving oblique answers. Leo’s mind lurched suddenly away from the case and back to his own predicament. What did any of that matter, should the result of this test turn out to be positive? At this thought, Capstall and the Names seemed to shrivel into insignificance. He tried to envisage how it would be … Would he be able to carry on? Would he have to ask Anthony to take over? Even as he contemplated the enormity of the possibility that the result would be positive, Leo could not imagine how he would react. It was one thing to suppose, to conjure up the demon, but until he actually stared that mortal reality in the face, he had simply no idea how he would cope. All he could do was to get through today.

The hours in court that day were long and slow and painful for Leo, but perhaps the worst part was having to behave normally, to smile and talk, to appear responsive and attentive to the day’s proceedings, when all he wanted to do was to creep into a quiet lair of introspection. It was not true, he thought, struggling to pay attention to Underwood’s words, that activity helped time to pass. When the ticking was that of one’s own mortal clock, no amount of talk or action served to distract one from its dull, endless stroke. The unsettling rumour concerning himself and Anthony seemed trite now, a groundless piece of gossip which had, for Leo, now paled into an ironic insignificance.

‘… of course, my Lord, no doubt my learned friend Mr Davies would be quick to say that this matter is one of Lilliputian proportions when compared to the larger issue of
the run-off contracts …’ Underwood turned slightly to glance smilingly in Leo’s direction, but the faint grin with which Leo responded was no more than a muscular response, for his concentration was so destroyed that he was incapable of feeling the slightest glimmer of amusement.

At one point he glanced round towards the back of the court, wondering, as he had wondered each day so far, whether Charles would look in. But the public benches contained only the solitary figure of the loyal Freddie, blinking in a mystified fashion, and a couple of bored journalists. The thought of Charles now seemed a hollow, bleak one. How, in these circumstances, could he ever contemplate the possibility of another lover? What was it one said to placate the fates? Make everything all right, God, and I won’t ever be a bad boy again, I promise. How untrue. If everything did turn out to be all right, he knew that his passion for Charles would be undiminished, and he would remain undismayed by any threat such as that which now hung over him. But if only all might be well … The sound of Sir Basil’s voice and the realisation that he was being addressed brought Leo round with a start.

‘Do I take it that you agree with that, Mr Davies?’ There was a pause, and Sir Basil frowned slightly, aware that Leo’s mind had been elsewhere. ‘That the 1984 consultative document should be read in conjunction with page 104, paragraph 7?’

Leo hesitated momentarily, glancing to where Anthony’s finger had flicked to the relevant page of the bundle and was indicating the paragraph in question. ‘Yes, my Lord,’ replied Leo after an instant’s furiously concentrated thought, ‘I quite accept that reading of the document.’

‘Good.’ Sir Basil nodded. ‘We appear to be achieving some degree of consensus.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘Well, I think that this might be a convenient moment to stop for lunch.’

Anthony rose and began to tidy his papers together, the
bustle and hum of the court rising around them, then stopped and glanced curiously at Leo, who was still seated, the fingers of one hand touching his lips, his gaze vacant and steady.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked in a low voice. He had noticed all morning that Leo seemed exceptionally subdued, as though his mind were not properly focused on the proceedings.

Leo took a slow breath and glanced up at him. ‘Yes, yes I’m fine.’

‘Fred and Walter are going to go over the deficiency figures. Do you want to come and have a bite of lunch? You look as though you could do with an hour spent away from all this.’

Leo regarded Anthony for a moment. Could he tell him? God, he longed to talk to someone, longed to unburden himself and share the suspenseful waiting. Anthony would understand. He felt a sudden, sharp surge of affection as he looked at Anthony’s candid, anxious features. Whatever happened, Anthony would always be someone he could talk to. And then, if it came to the worst, he would be there … Leo nodded. ‘Good idea.’

‘Good, I’ll just—’ He broke off, glancing round at Camilla, who was sorting through stacks of bundles with an exasperated Walter. ‘Leo and I are just going round the corner for some lunch. D’you want to join us?’ he asked her.

‘Yes, I’ll be with you in a minute …’ She turned back to Walter. ‘No – it’s the other one, with the yellow tabs …’

Leo glanced at Camilla and then back to Anthony, and after a second’s delay, said suddenly, ‘On second thoughts, there are one or two things I have to attend to in chambers. You two go on without me.’

He felt an unreasonable anger as he left the court. Why did that bloody girl have to come between them? After what he had told her at dinner a couple of weeks ago, he hadn’t expected the relationship with Anthony still to exist. But it would appear that she hadn’t yet ended it. As he crossed through the Strand traffic,
Leo tried to assure himself that it was only a matter of time before Camilla and Anthony had ceased to be an item, and he could be assured of the younger man’s exclusive attention and friendship. At that moment he felt it was something he badly needed. But it was not, he reflected darkly, a day for feeling sure of anything. On his way into chambers he bumped into Cameron’s portly figure. ‘By the way,’ Leo said to him, ‘I think it’s about time we called that chambers meeting to discuss the new tenants, don’t you?’ The sooner Camilla had to make her choice – and Leo was pretty sure he knew which way she would choose – the better for everyone.

By the time Leo mounted the broad carpeted staircase to the Harley Street consulting rooms where his fate awaited him, the sense of dread which he had carried about with him all day was so much a part of him that he was scarcely aware of it as a separate emotion. It was by now a permanent state of mind, woven into his consciousness. The doctor’s receptionist smiled her cold, bright smile and asked Leo to take a seat. The minutes ticked by. Leo tried to fill his mind with thoughts of Davenport’s examination that afternoon of one of the underwriting experts, but they trickled away from his mental grasp like so many grains of sand. He sat, utterly blank, waiting.

After five minutes that seemed like eternity, the doctor put his head round the door and looked in Leo’s direction, his smile sufficiently affable to give Leo a faint hope. When the door closed behind them both and he saw the man seat himself at his desk and then look up with the same smile, he knew in an instant that it was all right.

‘Your tests, I’m glad to say, were negative, Mr Davies.’

The next few moments, whatever else passed between them, Leo was almost unaware of. He spoke and smiled mechanically, and left the consulting rooms with a sense of
total unreality. Only when he reached the cold air outside on the pavement did he begin to feel human again, receptive to external influences. Rarely, he thought, had he been so consciously thankful for that physical well-being which he had always taken for granted. He thought with fleeting guilt of Francis, but the thought was eclipsed almost instantly by his own vast sense of relief, and after that he did not think of him again.

Freddie was nothing if not diligent. Over the next few weeks he attended the court every day, sitting for long, uncomfortable hours through the examination and cross-examination of streams of expert witnesses – auditors, actuaries, claims handlers, underwriters, American lawyers. In Freddie’s consciousness they blended into one amorphous middle-aged being of indeterminate height, usually balding, with glasses and a droning voice. What the lawyers said to this creature, and what he replied, made little or no sense to Freddie most of the time, although there were occasional spells where he could follow the gist of the thing. But each day seemed to consist largely of a dreary trawl through endless bundles of documents and lists of figures, with references to people and things of which Freddie had never heard. When, he wondered, was Leo going to get that man Capstall on the stand and demand of him why he had perpetrated his gross acts of folly in Freddie’s name, and the names of countless others? That was what this case was all about. The rest of it was just so much padding. He rubbed his eyes with dry, cold fingers and tried to concentrate on what was going on, longing for the luncheon recess so that he could go and have his sandwich and cup of coffee at the tea bar round the corner on the Aldwych. Sir Basil was poring over some document in front of him, a copy of which Anthony, conducting the cross-examination, was quoting from aloud. The man on
the witness stand was staring at his own copy of the document with a bored and weary air.

‘This item is obviously a crucial document, Mr Cross,’ said Sir Basil.

‘Indeed, my Lord, it speaks for itself. If I may continue—’

‘I confess to having a little difficulty with the manuscript. Can we go over that part again slowly?’

‘Indeed. If I can go back to page 177, under “asbestos”, the document continues as follows: “There was a review of the movement of incurreds during calendar year 1986. The assumption had been made that this group represented twenty per cent of total deterioration …”’

It was no use, thought Freddie, he didn’t have a clue what they were on about. He sighed and eyed Sir Basil, envying him his apparent ability to follow all this complex evidence so thoroughly, entirely unaware that each evening Sir Basil had to go home and ring up an amenable friend from the Court of Appeal and get him to explain the knottier points to him.

‘I’m going up to town to see my agent this morning,’ Charles told Rachel over breakfast. ‘We can catch the train together.’

‘You’d better hurry,’ remarked Rachel. Charles hadn’t yet shaved and was still in his dressing gown, and she couldn’t see him getting ready to leave the house in twenty minutes. She sometimes wished that Charles wasn’t quite so sloppy about things. He must be the worst timekeeper in the world, and if there was one thing she couldn’t stand, it was having to wait while someone else dawdled around.

He got up from the table, but not with any particular briskness. ‘Bags of time,’ he said cheerfully, rubbing a hand over his chin and smiling at Oliver. Then he went off whistling to run the hot water. Rachel picked up the plates from the table and suppressed a sigh, convinced that he was going to make
her late for the train. She particularly wanted to get to work on time, because she had a mass of paperwork to sort through before lunchtime, when she would be seeing Leo. She had rung him yesterday and arranged to see him briefly today. Now that she and Charles were living together, she wanted to sort things out, arrange for a divorce as soon as possible, and set herself entirely free from the past eighteen months and the misery of loving someone like Leo. She thought fondly of Charles as she picked Oliver up from his high chair, reflecting on how much pleasanter he was to live with than Leo. Not quite so tidy, of course, nor so personally fastidious, but she was pretty sure, given time, that she could change all that.

Charles had found that he generally came up with some of his most inspirational thoughts whilst shaving. The task was so boring that it usually generated a free flow of creative ideas. This morning, however, he found himself preoccupied with thoughts of himself and Rachel. It was over a month since he had asked her to come and live with him, and everything had been very pleasant since. But he had begun to wonder whether she was quite in tune with his way of living. She was terribly tidy. In one way that was a good thing – at least he didn’t have to scour the house for the
Radio Times
or waste time swearing and hunting for the car keys. She made sure everything was always in its proper place, the rooms were always tidy, cushions on the sofas, no newspapers littering chairs and tables. But in another way it was incredibly irritating. Charles had not realised until now that swearing and hunting for the car keys were part of a ritual for him, something almost therapeutic, and ultimately rewarding in a small way. It was a little dull to know that from now on they would always, always be in that ceramic pot on the kitchen dresser. He sighed and plunged his razor into the water, then scraped mechanically at his chin. Still, everyone had their own ways, and adoring her as he did, it must all be worth it. He
just wished that he could put from his mind the casual remark which she had uttered last night, about how he should perhaps cut down on his drinking. Now that
had
worried him.