Breath of Corruption (3 page)

On Monday morning Michael Gibbon was standing in the middle of the clerks’ room, perusing the pages of
The
Guardian
and creating something of an obstruction. Bloody hell, thought Felicity, as she tried to edge past him with a tray of coffee cups – he was like a daddy-long-legs, all spindly arms and legs. She administered an admonitory little jog with her elbow and he glanced up, giving her an owlish, apologetic look through his glasses.

‘Sorry,’ he murmured, and moved nearer the door, thinking he was out of everyone’s way – until Leo came through the door seconds later. Leo stared at Michael trying to disentangle the newspaper from his glasses.

‘Why on earth,’ he asked, ‘are you lying in wait behind the door?’

‘I was actually trying to read this article,’ said Michael, straightening the newspaper. ‘It might interest you – Sir Dudley Humble’s one of your clients, isn’t he?’

‘That’s right – he’s got a contractual dispute with the
Ukrainian government over a gas pipeline. Why?’

Michael handed the paper to Leo. The headline of the article read ‘Cash For Honours Inquiry Stepped Up’, and had a small picture of Sir Dudley next to it. Leo took the paper from Michael and read the opening paragraph.

‘
Detectives investigating the cash for honours scandal yesterday interviewed the construction magnate Sir Dudley Humble in relation to a £1 million loan to the Labour Party in the run-up to the last election. Sir Dudley said he was “dismayed” by the suggestion that he had been offered any inducement in return for the loan. “I have done nothing wrong and have absolutely nothing to hide,” said Sir Dudley. “It was a straightforward commercial loan to assist the Labour Party with their cash flow.” Sir Dudley said he had fully expected the loan to be repaid
.’

‘Interesting,’ said Leo, skimming the remaining paragraphs. ‘But not surprising. One has the impression of a man on the make.’

‘What’s his background?’

‘Ex-military, Falklands veteran – I think he may have been something to do with special operations. He went into construction when he left the army back in the early nineties. He’s done pretty well for himself, but his company’s run into financial difficulties lately. I reckon he’s running this case to scrape up every last penny he can. He fancies himself as a shrewd operator, but I have the feeling’ – he handed the paper back to Michael – ‘that he may have bitten off more than he can chew with the Ukrainians. They’re a dodgy bunch, to say the least.’

Henry, the senior clerk, came over in his shirtsleeves
bearing a pile of faxes and started to hand them out. Although only thirty-six, Henry’s sparse hair and expression of melancholy resignation gave him an air of careworn middle age. ‘That’s for you, Mr Gibbon … and you, Mr Davies …’ Henry glanced across as a tall, dark young man came into the clerks’ room. ‘Here you go, Mr Cross, this lot’s yours. A weekend’s worth.’

‘Thank you, Henry.’ Anthony began to sift through the faxes. Michael disappeared with his newspaper, and Leo, after a moment’s hesitation, came over to speak to Anthony.

‘I saw Rachel at the weekend.’

Anthony continued to read, almost as though he hadn’t heard, then gave Leo a hostile look. ‘And?’

Leo sighed inwardly. For months now, ever since Anthony had begun seeing Rachel, relations between the two men had been strained. Now that they appeared to have broken up, it seemed sensible to Leo that they should try to regain some of the lost ground in their friendship.

‘She tells me you’re not seeing one another any more.’

‘Her decision, not mine,’ said Anthony curtly. He glanced at his watch. ‘Look, if you don’t mind, I have to be in court in an hour, and I’ve got a few things to do—’

‘Anthony,’ said Leo gently, ‘I’m not the enemy. Whatever has happened between you two, it’s nothing to do with me.’

‘How very true.’

‘So – how about a drink later this evening? It seems a long time since we spent any time together.’

Anthony took a deep breath. His offhand manner was entirely at odds with the way he felt. He hated feeling any kind of estrangement from Leo, but all these months while he
had been seeing Leo’s ex-wife, the idea of behaving towards him with ease and familiarity seemed unnatural, weird. In the distant days when he’d first started as a pupil at Caper Court, Leo had been his mentor and his idol. He’d been entirely captivated by Leo’s charismatic personality, his good looks, charm and professional brilliance – it had been a kind of youthful infatuation. He used to listen for Leo’s laughter and voice around chambers, or his footstep on the stair – the very air in a room seemed to brighten when Leo came into it – and had been thrilled when Leo had taken him under his wing and helped to gain his tenancy at 5 Caper Court. The discovery, however, that Leo was prepared to express his own fondness for Anthony in ways that were more than merely avuncular had led to confusion. To this day, he was darkly perplexed by his own feelings for Leo. He only knew that he didn’t want this tension between them to continue.

He glanced hesitantly at Leo, who was smiling at him as though he knew exactly what was going on in Anthony’s heart and head. Leo could still make him feel like an awkward boy, even at twenty-seven.

‘Fine. OK.’

‘Good,’ said Leo. ‘I’ll come by your room around six.’

Leo went upstairs and sat down at his desk. He surveyed with a heavy heart the memos, reports and documents to which he would have to attend before getting down to his own work. Every aspect of chambers’ business was overseen by a separate committee – the finance committee, the pupillage committee, the management committee, the committee to decide how many loo rolls and teabags they should buy … Really, he could do without it all. Still, as head
of chambers, it was his responsibility. He cast a glance over the billing figures for the month and noticed that Maurice Faber’s figures were down for the third month in succession. Faber was regarded as a high-flier with a healthy practice. Oh well, thought Leo, everyone’s practice went through lean patches now and then – no doubt Maurice’s would pick up again soon. He turned with a sigh to the latest finance report.

By the time six o’clock came, Leo was ready for his drink with Anthony. He had worked without a break all day, and even with the sash window flung wide open and a fan churning the sluggish air, the stifling summer heat made his room muggy and unpleasant. There had been murmurings from several members of chambers recently about the need for air conditioning, but Leo was pretty sure that the Inns of Court wouldn’t look favourably on the introduction of such systems into the fabric of their ancient buildings – a view with which he largely agreed, though a day such as today did make him wonder.

He made a few more notes for the draft opinion on Sir Dudley Humble’s case, slipped on his jacket, and went upstairs to Anthony’s room. He knocked lightly, and Anthony’s voice murmured to him to come in.

Anthony was sprawled behind his desk reading a brief, his sleeves rolled up, tie off and shirt unbuttoned at the neck, the window wide open behind him.

‘Won’t be a sec,’ said Anthony, without lifting his eyes from the page. Leo paced the room idly, glancing with pleasure at Anthony’s strong, handsome face, which presently wore a deep frown of concentration. He ran one hand distractedly through his dark hair as he read, then gave
a sigh and dropped the papers on his desk. ‘Enough of Greek shipowners and their speed and consumption claims.’

‘Ready for that drink?’

Anthony nodded, and his dark eyes met Leo’s; he smiled and got up, reaching for jacket and tie.

The two men left chambers and strolled down to Middle Temple bar. In the third week of August many of the occupants of the Temple were still on holiday, and without the crowds of law students downing cheap drinks and filling the air with their rowdy chatter, the place had a somewhat abandoned air. Only a handful of people lounged around, reading the papers, or playing quiet games of chess or bridge. Leo bought drinks and he and Anthony went out to the garden. The neatly clipped lawns, the tidy gravel walks and the scent of the rose bushes filled Leo with a sense of repose. There was something supremely soothing about surroundings which had remained largely unchanged down the long decades, and which had seen the passage of so much history. He and Anthony found a secluded bench in a corner of the garden and sipped their drinks, gazing at the late-afternoon light gilding the buildings and the lofty plane trees.

There was silence between them for a few moments, the untouched subject of Rachel creating a slight unease. Then Anthony said, ‘Look, I know I’ve been a bit offhand these past few months. It’s just – well, Rachel and everything—’

‘No need to explain,’ said Leo quickly. ‘I imagine it’s been awkward for you.’

‘It has. I mean, she’s your ex-wife.’ He paused, then leant forward and said earnestly, as though seeking to unburden himself, ‘I think I felt a bit guilty. God knows why.’

‘God knows why indeed. Rachel and I were over a long time ago. The relationship was a mistake from the start.’

‘You can’t regret it entirely – there’s Oliver. He’s a fantastic little chap.’

‘He’s the good part. But the rest—’ Leo took a sip of his drink and met Anthony’s gaze. ‘To be honest, I was pleased when you started seeing her. She needs someone. I’m just sorry it didn’t work out.’ Anthony looked away, nursing his drink and saying nothing, staring down at the grass. ‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I’m curious to know what went wrong. You seemed well-suited.’

Anthony sighed. ‘It was great at first. You know how things are in the beginning, when you’re just getting to know someone, and you think you have plenty in common, you want to be together all the time … That’s how it was. But after a while, when the initial glow had worn off, she became restless. Difficult, even. I’m sure it was just as much my fault … Anyway, we argued a lot. I began to realise’ – Anthony took a reflective swallow of his drink – ‘that she’s not an easy woman to be around. In fact, I think she’s got issues, as the shrinks say.’

Leo nodded. ‘Difficult childhood. She’s never really liked men, I don’t think.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ Anthony turned his gaze on Leo. ‘Certainly as regards to one particular man. You. I think she’s still in love with you.’

‘I hope not.’

‘No,’ agreed Anthony with a wry smile. ‘Not good for her. Not good for anyone.’

Including me
, thought Anthony. He looked away from
Leo, staring at his glass as he let his unspoken thoughts unwind in his head. He was glad to be here, glad to have Leo to himself once more. Any relationship which put distance between himself and Leo had to be a mistake. The strength of his own feelings, appropriate or otherwise, didn’t matter. No one needed to know. Just so long as he could see and be with Leo, the way it always used to be.

‘In that regard,’ said Leo, ‘and considering all the mistakes I’ve made, I’m quite determined never to become emotionally entangled in anyone’s life again.’ He drained his glass. ‘Never, ever.’

‘You said that as though you meant it. But I can’t honestly imagine you leading a monkish existence.’

‘Who said anything about that? I was talking about emotional involvement, remember. I’m presently seeing a young woman, with whom my relationship is as relentlessly superficial as she is, and we’re both quite content. As a matter of fact’ – Leo glanced at his watch – ‘I was thinking of going round to see her this evening. She hasn’t been answering my calls.’

‘That must be something of a novelty for you.’

‘It is. She’s only twenty-eight, so perhaps she’s decided I’m too old and boring to bother with.’

‘I somehow doubt it. Self-deprecation doesn’t become you, by the way. It’s most unconvincing. Time for another drink?’

Leo smiled. It was a pleasure to have resumed the easy intimacy of his friendship with Anthony. ‘Oh, I think so.’

Lucy Wavell kicked off her ballet pumps, slung her A-level art portfolio and her schoolbag onto the sofa, and wandered into Anthea’s kitchen to forage for food. She was starving. She’d had no lunch because the queue in the lunch hall had been ginormous – all those new kids just didn’t know the protocol – and she had to get to the auditions for the school play on time, though to be honest she only went along because the lovely Angus, with the floppy blond hair and drawling voice, was probably going to be in it. She gazed into the fridge, then pulled out a half-eaten tub of taramasalata, the remnants of a wholemeal loaf, and a bottle of vodka. She stuck two slices of bread into the toaster and held the bottle up. Three-quarters full. Ant would never notice if she nicked some. What was the point of having a half-sister who was a model and had her own place in Fulham if you couldn’t nick her drink and borrow her clothes?

She poured herself a generous measure of Smirnoff Blue Label and topped it off with some orange juice, then
wandered through to the bathroom to inspect the cabinet for interesting pills. Last time she’d found some Valium. Seeing a bottle of Nembutal, she shook a few out into her palm and pocketed them. Then she went back to the kitchen, cut her toast into fingers, and took it with the tub of taramasalata and the tumbler of vodka and orange through to the living room. She stretched out on the sofa, clicked on the TV with the remote, and flicked her way through the music channels as she ate.

After a while she got up, put the plate and glass on one side, brushed the crumbs from the lap of her tiny skirt, and strolled to the window. She opened it wide and leant far out into the evening sunshine, enjoying the breeze in her hair and the buzz from the vodka, letting her thoughts drift idly from boys to parties to clothes and back to boys again as she watched the commuters making their way home from work.

A smart, dark blue car came round the corner and cruised the street slowly, looking for a parking space. Lucy watched as the car skilfully negotiated a space between a motorbike and a Nissan. She wished she could get the hang of reverse parking. She was so crap at it. Her driving instructor kept giving her what he thought were these useful little guidelines involving the mirror and the kerb, but they never worked for her. From here Lucy’s thoughts drifted like tumbleweed to the matter of her driving test, and how brilliant it would be when she got her licence and could drive to school, instead of catching the shitty coach every day.

A man got out of the car, and Lucy studied him with interest. He looked quite fit, in spite of that silver hair.
Good-looking
, definitely. She watched as he strolled round the car
to the pavement. He was heading here, towards the house. Maybe he lived in the flat below. He disappeared from view, and she was just about to let him slip from her thoughts, when the intercom buzzed, startling her. She padded across and pressed the button, and said, ‘Hello?’

‘Anthea?’ The man’s voice was moderately deep, and rather nice.

Lucy smiled, said nothing, and pressed the buzzer to open the main door. Then she waited.

Leo came upstairs and knocked lightly on the door of Anthea’s flat. He was surprised when it was opened by a pretty, barefoot girl, much smaller than leggy Anthea, dressed in a cropped T-shirt and a tiny ruffled skirt, and with tangled, shoulder-length dark hair and smokily made-up eyes. She smiled at him sweetly.

‘Anthea’s not in, I’m afraid, but she shouldn’t be long. Would you like to wait?’ She turned away without waiting for a reply.

Bemused, Leo closed the door and followed her into the living room.

‘Drink?’ asked the girl. ‘We’ve got some lovely vodka.’ She gave him another poised little smile.

Leo returned the smile. ‘If it’s lovely, I’d better have some.’ Lucy went through to the kitchen and returned with the bottle of Smirnoff and two glasses with ice in them. She sloshed liberal amounts of vodka into both and handed one to Leo.

‘Thanks. I’m Leo Davies, by the way.’

Lucy chinked her glass against his. ‘Hello, Leo.’

‘And you are …?’

‘Lucy, Anthea’s sister.’ She took a swig of her vodka.

Leo looked uncertainly at his. ‘You wouldn’t have tonic, by any chance?’

‘I don’t think so.’

Lucy took her drink over to the sofa and curled up on it in what she hoped was a sophisticated but provocative manner. She desperately wanted to make an impression on this divine man with the killer smile and crazy blue eyes. He might be middle-aged, but he was a lot better than the usual divs Anthea went out with. He actually had a bit of style. A little thrill ran through her as she wondered what it would be like to be kissed by someone that old. He looked like he would know what he was doing.

While these untoward thoughts ran through her mind, Leo sat down in an armchair, a little nonplussed by the sexy creature opposite, with her childlike face and seductive expression.

‘So,’ he asked, glancing at the art portfolio and bag of books, ‘do you go to school?’

‘Oh no,’ said Lucy quickly, and took a sip of her vodka. ‘I’m at college. I’m a fashion student.’

‘I see.’ Leo glanced again at the inch-and-a-half of neat vodka in his glass, which he had no intention of drinking.

‘What do you do?’ asked Lucy, dark eyes fastened on his.

‘I’m a barrister,’ replied Leo.

‘Cool.’

A long silence followed. Leo, usually adept at making small talk with women, was feeling strangely out of his depth. Lucy’s inscrutable gaze was fastened on his face. He had no idea what she was thinking. In fact, Lucy was busy
weighing up the possibilities. She’d never realised it was possible to fancy anyone over thirty. She’d certainly never been interested in any of Anthea’s men before, because they were usually complete cretins – but this man was different, though she couldn’t say why. ‘I like your car,’ she said at last.

‘Thanks,’ said Leo, realising she must have watched him arrive, and beginning to feel like a character in a French film.

‘What make is it?’

Leo noticed with surprise that she’d nearly finished her drink. How old could she be? Nineteen or twenty, he supposed, if she was at college. ‘An Aston Martin,’ he replied.

‘Nice.’

‘You know,’ said Leo, glancing at his watch, ‘I really don’t want to impose on you. Perhaps Anthea’s—’

‘Don’t worry.’ Lucy waved a hand. ‘She’ll be back any minute.’ There was another long pause. ‘Actually,’ said Lucy, who was feeling quite pleasantly pissed, ‘she’s not really my sister. She’s my half-sister. My mother married Anthea’s dad, and had Anthea, then divorced him, then she married
my
dad, and had me, and then she divorced
my
dad—’ She stopped and sighed.

Leo didn’t really see a way to pick up this thread of conversation and take it anywhere, so he set down his glass. ‘I’d better go,’ he said. ‘Tell Anthea I’ll call her later.’ He stood up.

Lucy stayed where she was, jiggling her empty glass and winding a strand of hair round one finger. ‘OK. Nice to meet you, Leo.’

Leo found himself smiling as he went back downstairs to his car. A very pretty, if somewhat peculiar, young lady.

Lucy realised she shouldn’t have drunk all that vodka, not on top of the toast and taramasalata. She didn’t feel good. Not good at all. She went through to the bathroom, stuck two fingers down her throat, and made herself sick. She inspected the gooey rainbow mixture of orange and pink, then flushed the loo, wiped her mouth, and went to make herself some coffee.

Fifteen minutes later Anthea arrived back. She’d been at a photo shoot all afternoon and was tired and hot.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked Lucy, somewhat unkindly.

‘Forgot my house keys. Mum’s not back till late. I thought you wouldn’t mind if I came round here.’

‘Well, I do mind.’ She saw Leo’s discarded drink sitting on a side table. ‘Have you been at my vodka again?’

Lucy yawned. ‘I made a drink for one of your friends. I don’t think he liked it.’

Anthea picked up the glass to take it to the kitchen. ‘Get your feet off the sofa. What friend?’

‘
God
, stop being so stressy – I haven’t even got shoes on. Leo something.’

Anthea stopped in the doorway. ‘Leo Davies? He came round here?’

Lucy made a mock-dumb face at her sister. ‘Like –
yeah
.’

Anthea smiled, surprised and pleased. She went to the kitchen and rinsed the glass, put the cap back on the vodka and returned it to the fridge. Not answering his calls or his messages appeared to have had an effect. She went back through to the living room.

‘So, what did he say?’

‘Oh – we had a bit of a chat about this and that,’ said Lucy nonchalantly, ‘then he said he had to go.’

‘Nothing else?’

‘Just that he’d ring later.’ Lucy caught Anthea’s pleased little smile. ‘Aren’t you pissed off that you missed him? I would be. He’s really buff.’

Anthea shot her a glance. ‘I hope you behaved yourself.’

Lucy smiled sweetly. ‘I was the perfect hostess.’

‘I’m sure.’ Anthea went to a drawer. ‘Here – you can take my spare key and go home. I’ve got stuff to do.’

‘OK.’

‘I want it back, mind.’

‘Yeah, sure.’ Lucy slipped on her pumps, picked up her things and headed for the door. She wiggled her fingers at Anthea in farewell. ‘Laters.’

When Lucy had gone, Anthea ran a bath and lay soaking, thinking about Leo. Evidently her stalling tactic had worked. He was in hot pursuit. What would she do when he rang later? If she put him off again, she risked sending out the wrong message. Besides, she was desperate – she’d been deliberately blanking the thought of sex with him all weekend, and now she’d allowed herself to think of it, she was absolutely aching for him. She was suddenly touched with apprehension. What if he didn’t call after all?

But Leo rang. He rang a little after nine and, cool as she tried to be, Anthea ended up inviting him round.

‘I can’t stay long,’ said Leo when he got there. He took her in his arms and kissed her slowly. ‘I have an early start tomorrow.’

‘Then let’s not hang around,’ murmured Anthea,
unbuttoning his shirt and kissing his neck. ‘I’m already a few steps ahead of you.’ She was wearing only a crimson silk robe. Leo loosened the sash and let it fall open, and slipped his hands inside to caress her. She gave an involuntary little shiver of pleasure. She was breaking her own rules. She should probably have held out for another week. But this – the feeling of him, his kiss, the touch of his hands – was too pleasurable. Sex with Leo was like a drug, and she couldn’t get enough of it.