At first his presence in the flat didn’t seem to impinge on Felicity’s own existence at all. Then, gradually, small spores of his aimless, grimy life began to speckle the place – mug rings on the coffee table, his constantly unmade bed, newspapers littering the arms of sofas. She could well imagine them spreading across her life like a fungus before long. Until Sandy’s money came through, Felicity lent him some to get by on. She was depressed, but not surprised, to come home from work one evening and detect the unmistakable whiff of dope in the flat.
‘Sandy,’ she said, taking off her coat, ‘I didn’t agree to let you stay here just so’s you could lie around getting stoned.’
‘I’m not stoned,’ said Sandy, who was sprawled on the sofa watching television. ‘I just needed something to relax with.’ He glanced up and stretched out the hand holding the spliff. ‘Fancy some?’
Felicity shook her head. ‘I don’t do it any more,’ she replied. ‘Waste of time. What have you done today? Did you go down the Job Centre?’
Sandy drew on his spliff and nodded. ‘Nothing there I fancied, though.’
‘Well, you’re going to have to fancy something soon enough. They stop your money if you keep on turning down work.’
‘Money’s not even started yet.’
‘Yeah, well …’ Felicity went into the kitchen and emerged a moment later. ‘I thought you were going to go to the supermarket today. What happened to that list I gave you?’
Sandy scratched his head dejectedly. ‘Oh, man – I forgot. Sorry.’
‘So what are we meant to eat tonight? There’s bugger-all in the fridge. And what about the money I gave you for the shopping?’
Sandy gave her a look of blank innocence. ‘I thought that was for me, like. So …’ He held up the spliff.
‘Oh, great. The grocery money gets spent on dope.’
‘Look, you don’t have to have a go at me as soon as you get in. I said I’m sorry. If you don’t want me here I’ll leave. I’ve got my sleeping bag—’
‘No, Sandy,’ she sighed. ‘You’re fine here. It’s just – well, this isn’t forever, you know. It’s temporary. You need to get your head together, get a job, and find somewhere of your own. If you don’t start trying to make something of your life now, you never will. You’re twenty-six, for God’s sake—’
‘Yeah, yeah. Can you stow it, Fliss? You’re coming on like me mum, and I can do without it.’ He suddenly
dropped his roach in the ashtray and clutched his head with his hands. ‘I mean, I have been so low, so bloody low … It’s like I’ve got things going round in my head that won’t shut up. And now you’re going on at me. Everything’s getting to me these days. Nobody understands what it’s like.’
Felicity realised there was no point in going on, or getting mad at him. Water off a duck’s back. She gazed at him, hunched upon the sofa. Poor sod. He looked so pathetic and useless, sitting there all depressed. The dope probably didn’t help. How long had he been smoking now? Since he was a teenager. He always said it was less bad for you than alcohol, but she wasn’t so sure.
‘Right, well,’ she said, ‘I’d better ring up and order us some pizza.’ It was one thing feeding and housing her brother, but she was determined she wasn’t going to buy his dope for him. She’d just have to do her own shopping in future.
A few days later, Robert accosted Camilla one morning as she came into the clerks’ room. ‘Ah, just the lady. I’ve had Elborne Mitchell on the phone. They’ve got a big fraud case involving offshore companies registered in Bermuda, and they need someone to go out and take statements. It could take up two or three weeks, but you’ve got clear space up ahead.’
Camilla’s instinct was to say yes instantly – the idea of a trip abroad was very appealing. Then she thought
about leaving Leo, and a little, empty space seemed to open up beneath her heart. Well, that was stupid. He’d still be here when she got back. It might do her good to be independent of him for a while. Sometimes it felt as though her identity was lost in his, as though, outside of work, her life had little shape except for that which Leo gave it. It was too easy to feel like a child, or a plaything, where Leo was concerned.
‘When do they want me to go?’
‘They want you out there next week. So it would be a weekend flight.’
‘How much?’
‘I did a deal. Fifteen hundred a day.’
‘I can’t really say no, can I?’
On her way upstairs, Camilla passed Leo’s room and looked in to tell him.
‘I’m going to Bermuda for a few weeks.’
Leo looked up from the papers he was working on. He could tell from her face that she was excited. ‘When?’ He took off his half-moon glasses.
‘This weekend. I haven’t got the papers yet, but it’s some fraud case Elborne’s are handling. Only taking statements. But still. Five-star hotel, the works.’
‘Ah, the simple pleasures. You juniors are so easily bought. You look all pink and excited,’ said Leo with a smile. ‘Which is the way I generally like you.’
There it was – that teasing tone which made her feel rather juvenile. She wished he didn’t patronise her, even if it was sweetly meant. She shrugged. ‘I’m pleased, of course.’
‘As well you should be. At this rate you’ll be able to help out with the mortgage on the new house. Which reminds me—’ He stretched across his desk for a sheaf of papers. ‘Cast your eye over this. I thought we’d go and have a look at it after work.’
‘If I’m free,’ said Camilla. ‘I might be having a drink with friends, or something.’
Leo paused in the act of handing her the house particulars. ‘Sorry. Are you?’
‘I don’t know why I said that. No, of course I’m not.’ She felt foolish. It was just that he always assumed she was his, that her time was his … She glanced at the particulars. The house was on the borders of Kensington and Knightsbridge, a town house with a large garden. ‘Wow. Five bedrooms … That’s a bit big, isn’t it?’
‘Not really. Anyway, come back around six and we’ll go and have a look at it.’
Leo and Camilla drove across to Chelsea after work. The estate agent, a young woman, was waiting for them outside the house. It was a three-storey detached house, set in a quiet, leafy crescent, separated from the road by a short front garden bordered by black railings. The brass knocker and handles on the dark blue front door gleamed in the evening sunlight, and the little breeze which rustled through the leaves of adjacent trees spoke of quiet prosperity. Leo hadn’t mentioned a figure, but Camilla knew that a house of this kind, in this part of London, must be extremely expensive. She could imagine the kind of people who lived
round here, and she couldn’t see herself ever being one of them.
The estate agent unlocked the door and led them into the house. It was entirely empty, the polished floors gleaming soundlessly, the windows blank, curtainless. The owners, explained the estate agent, had purchased the house a year ago and had never lived in it. They had numerous properties throughout the world. Camilla wandered through the rooms on the ground floor, wondering what kind of person, possessed of what kind of wealth, could buy such a beautiful house and not want to live in it, never setting foot in it, never even wanting to tread through these beautifully proportioned rooms, or open the long windows leading out to the large, sunny garden. Perhaps too much money blunted all desire, all appreciation.
‘Would you like me to show you round the rest of the house, or would you rather explore it for yourself?’ asked the estate agent.
Leo, standing in the middle of the gleaming, spacious kitchen, equipped to clinical perfection with every
state-of
-the-art appliance, looked round consideringly. ‘We’ll have a look on our own, if we may.’
He and Camilla went up the staircase to the first floor. In the quiet, echoing safety of a large back bedroom, Camilla said, ‘It’s fantastic, Leo. It’s the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen.’
‘It is rather good, isn’t it?’ Leo went to the window and looked down into the garden, at the long, well kept
lawn, at the bright, soft colours of the roses and other flowers, and the mulberry tree which shaded the patio. The owners, even if they hadn’t cared to live here, had clearly ensured that everything was perfectly maintained. This bedroom, he thought, would be Oliver’s. This one – so that every morning of his young life, whenever he was here, Oliver might wake up to this view, his view, from his own room, and feel a sense of peace and security, of belonging.
Camilla wandered out on to the landing and into another, larger room. She tried to imagine how it should be furnished.
The drawing room, too, and the dining room. She had an idea of the kind of furniture, the way it should all look – but she couldn’t picture herself in such a setting. If he lived here, Leo would expect to entertain people, to fill those lovely rooms with people and laughter, and the right food and wine, gleaming candlelight, proper place settings, and … Her mind quailed at the thought. She could not see herself managing any of that. Maybe there were twenty-two-year-olds in the world who could, but she didn’t think she was one of them. This was the kind of house people aspired to, grew into from a series of less assuming places and stages in life. When she was fifty, perhaps … even then, she would probably be totally daunted by the kind of lifestyle befitting such a house.
She wandered into the bathroom connected to the bedroom. It was beautiful. Serene, sophisticated – not
things Camilla ever felt. Its pale walls seemed to mock her presence. She thought of the slightly grubby, cramped bathroom she and Jane shared in the Clapham flat. Camilla realised that if ever she had vaguely envisaged the unfolding of her adult life, of making a home with someone, the hazy picture had been of a modest house or flat somewhere, cluttered, cheerful, nothing too ambitious. Not to begin with. Friends to supper, small beginnings, with aspirations to bigger and better. But to be pitched suddenly into this dreamlike, echoing place, with its high ceilings and beautiful fireplaces …
The sound of Leo’s footsteps interrupted her thoughts. She went back through to the bedroom.
‘I wondered where you’d got to.’ Leo drew her briefly against him and kissed her forehead, then paced slowly into the bathroom and back out again. ‘What do you think?’
‘It’s lovely,’ said Camilla. ‘But I do find it a little intimidating.’
Leo smiled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s just so …
grand
.’
‘This? It’s only a town house.’
She shrugged. ‘Well, it seems grand to me. I can’t imagine it ever being very – very homely. That kitchen, all that stainless steel and polished granite. I just can’t see myself in there.’
‘It need only be as grand, as you put it, as we want it to be. You decide. If I buy it, you can furnish it.’
‘Oh no, I couldn’t!’ gasped Camilla. ‘I wouldn’t know
where to begin. I don’t know about the right kind of furniture, or pictures, or – well, anything.’
Leo shrugged. ‘We’d get people in to do it, in that case.’ He went out on to the landing and up the staircase to the next floor.
And then, thought Camilla, it wouldn’t be like a home at all. It would belong to someone else, with someone else’s walls and floors and curtains, the product of someone else’s taste and discernment. She wondered if Rachel had chosen everything for the home which she and Leo had shared during their marriage. Probably. Rachel looked like the kind of person who was assured in everything she did.
She followed Leo upstairs. ‘How much are they asking?’
Leo turned to glance into her grave, apprehensive eyes. ‘Two million – well, thereabouts.’
‘Help.’
‘But that’s not something you need to worry about. Come on.’
They went downstairs to where the estate agent was waiting. They discussed certain aspects of the sale briefly.
‘It’s a beautiful house,’ said Leo. ‘And certainly very close to what we’re looking for.’
‘I have to tell you that there are a number of other interested parties.’
Leo nodded. ‘I’m sure there are. We’ll think about it. I’ll speak to you in the next few days.’
They went down the short flight of steps and through the gate to the pavement. As they got into the car, Leo
looked back briefly at the house. It was mad to think that one could choose the first property one looked at surely. Best to see what else was out there on the market before coming to a firm decision. But he couldn’t help giving the house one last, long glance before pulling away from the kerb.
Over the following two weeks, Adriana Papaposilakis became a regular visitor at 5 Caper Court. So much so that Michael Gibbon, catching the delicious, tell-tale whiff of her fragrance on his way through the reception area one day, could not refrain from remarking to Leo on the frequency of her visits.
‘Oh, you know the old Greeks,’ said Leo, as they made their way upstairs. ‘They like to have their hands held, to be reassured that their barrister is completely onside, convinced of the winnability of their case.’
‘And are you?’
Leo smiled. ‘When was I ever not? I really think the insurers are unwise to be fighting this. There’s no way they can establish that the fire was started on purpose.’
‘So why won’t they settle?’
‘You know underwriters – completely book-driven. Possibly they’re not happy with the Silakis claims record.
But we’ll see. You never really know with these things until the hearing gets underway. All kinds of stuff can pop out of the woodwork. I’ve gone through the master’s statement with him, and he seems sound enough. I still have to talk to the engineer. He’s coming over from Greece next week.’
‘Which will doubtless involve yet another visit from Miss Paposil – whatever her name is.’
‘Papaposilakis.’ Leo smiled. ‘Adriana to me, at her insistence.’
‘I’ll bet.’ They had reached the door of Leo’s room and Leo was about to go in when Michael added, ‘By the way, I had a drink with Roderick last night, and it seems pretty certain he’s going to be off to the High Court by September at the latest.’
‘Which means appointing a new head of chambers. Fine. Anyone, so long as it’s not me.’ He opened the door to his room. ‘See you later.’
Michael carried on upstairs to his own room. Pity, really. And there he’d been thinking that Leo was the perfect man for the job.
The following week saw Henry attending to the final arrangements for the chambers’ party, which was to be on Friday evening. By Thursday he felt he had most things under control. Felicity stood patiently by his desk as he went through his list.
‘Caterers – fine. Sorted out tables, chairs … yes, good. Marquee, drinks … yes, fine. Music – Dixieland quartet, not my idea, but Mr Faber thinks it’ll go down
a treat. Meeting and greeting – here we are.’ He turned to Felicity. ‘That’s your job. You’ll have a list of all the guests, and you greet them all as they wander in, tick their names off. That way we know who turns up, and who to target in the future. All part of Mr Faber’s marketing strategy.’
‘Why me?’
‘Because,’ said Henry, ‘you look so young and lovely. Well, better than Robert, anyway. All part of the PR exercise. Wear your best smile, and something suitable to the occasion.’
‘Meaning?’
‘You know what I mean. Here, Robert – have you got those guest lists printed out? Fine. You can give Fliss two copies. Then get on to the printers, pronto. Those name badges still haven’t arrived.’
Felicity glanced through the list which Robert gave her and sighed. Not her idea of fun, being on her feet all evening, wearing a big cheesy grin for all those solicitors and judges and other assorted riffraff, watching them all get completely trolleyed, and not able to drink more than a glass herself. If she was lucky. Still, if it was good for business, she shouldn’t be complaining.
The venue for the party was in Gray’s Inn, a quiet, shady garden square surrounded on three sides by chambers buildings, with a gateway at the end. A large marquee had been erected for this and numerous other summer functions, and groups of tables and chairs dotted the lawn.
The barbecue, plus a couple of long trestle tables, stood next to the marquee.
The party was officially due to begin at six-thirty, but Henry and Felicity were there well in advance to oversee the caterers, and assist in organising the squadron of waitresses who were to circulate among the-guests with wine and champagne.
‘Blimey! How much wine did you order?’ asked Felicity, eyeing the cases stacked inside the marquee.
‘Fifteen of each,’ replied Henry. ‘Should be more than enough. Having said that, you could double it and these buggers would still drink the place dry. I’m not sure Mr Faber’s idea of the barbecue is such a good one,’ he added morosely. ‘It’ll just make them drink more. Couple of vol-au-vents and a cocktail sausage was always good enough in the past.’
Felicity looked round appreciatively as the lightest of summer breezes stirred the tops of the plane trees and puffed the canvas sides of the marquee. ‘I think it’s a nice idea. And the little jazz band. Gives it a nice summery feeling, makes it more of a party. And think how good it’ll be for business.’
‘We’ve never spent this much on a chambers do before. It had better be.’
Back at 5 Caper Court, Leo was in the throes of a difficult meeting with Adriana Papaposilakis, Rachel, and Pantazis Staveris, the engineer of the defunct
Persephone
. The latter was a swarthy, anxious young man, clad in a new suit, on his first trip to London, and clearly unnerved by his
surroundings and the taxing business of trying to present his version of events in halting English. Leo, who would have to take him through his evidence in his examination-in-chief, wanted to ensure that Mr Staveris’s account of the loss of the
Persephone
was as simple and direct as possible, and to minimise the possibility of unlooked for revelations when it came to his cross-examination by the other side.
For over an hour Leo worked him painstakingly and patiently through his statement, until he felt he had done all he could. In his estimation, Pantazis Staveris would make a good witness – his anxiety bespoke candour rather than evasiveness, and his struggle to present his evidence in an unfamiliar language somehow added to his air of reliability.
‘Thank you, Mr Staveris, you’ve been very helpful. I know it’s difficult for you, but I hope that the work we have done today will make things easier when we come to the actual hearing.’ Mr Staveris nodded, wide eyes fixed on Leo’s. ‘I shall be railing you after Captain Kollias. My examination-in-chief will be pretty brief, but the other side’s cross-examination may last a day or two.’ He smiled. ‘You have nothing to worry about.’
Mr Staveris nodded again, then glanced at Rachel.
She gave him a smile. ‘Right. We’ll find a taxi to take you back to your hotel.’ Rachel rose and put her papers together.
‘Are you going straight to the chambers’ party?’ she asked Leo. ‘We could walk up together.’
Leo glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve got a couple of things I have to attend to first, I’m afraid. I’ll see you there later.’
Adriana, who had been leafing through some documents, glanced up at Rachel with her enchanting smile. ‘I still have a few things I wish to discuss with Mr Davies, Rachel. Don’t let me keep you.’
‘Fine. Unless you need to speak to me beforehand, I’ll see you at the hearing on Monday.’
Rachel left with Mr Staveris. As she closed the door behind her, she reflected on how such slight torments – not being able to walk to Gray’s Inn with Leo, having to leave Adriana in possession of him – were like tiny, razor cuts to her soul. She wondered when, if ever, such trivia would cease to matter, or if the minute suffering was destined to last forever.
For fifteen minutes or so Adriana detained Leo with a detailed consideration of the smoking habits of Mr Staveris, and the possibility that a carelessly disposed of cigarette might have caused the fire. Anxious though Adriana was about this case, Leo knew that this conversation was largely a pretext, a rehash of a previous discussion he and she had had with Rachel. He wondered what was coming. He thought he knew. Sure enough, at the end of it she smiled and said, ‘You know, you have this wonderful way of reassuring me. I feel with you everything will be all right. It is not the money that is important to me – it is my good name, my reputation. People think I am very tough, but you know—’ she reached out a small, graceful hand and laid it on Leo’s arm, pressing it lightly ‘—I need a strong man sometimes.’ Leo was lost for an apt response to this, and
she went on, her eyes dark with sincerity, ‘You are very solid, very secure, and I don’t often meet men like that. You are very good for me.’
Leo decided it would be best to play the baffled professional. He smiled. ‘I’m delighted you should think so, of course.’
‘I think we are alike. We are both very driven, very successful people.’ She took her hand from his arm and rested her chin on it, eyes burning into his. ‘Sometimes it can be too much for us. We need to relax.’
Bemused, Leo tried to keep his tone conversational. ‘Yes? Yes, very possibly.’
‘Have dinner with me. Talk to me. Let us relax together, get to know each other. When people are thrown together in circumstances like these, they should get to know each other. Have dinner with me this evening.’
‘Normally,’ replied Leo, ‘there is nothing I should like better. But I’m afraid I have a previous engagement.’
She shrugged, her gaze still fastened on his. ‘Cancel it.’
Leo, whose eyes could not help straying to the few inches of soft, tantalising cleavage displayed by Adriana’s tight little couture jacket, replied, ‘I only wish I could. But it’s a professional matter. I really have no choice. I’m sorry.’
‘That is so disappointing.’ She rose, diffusing her light fragrance, gathering her belongings together. Then she gave him a soft smile. ‘Some other time, perhaps.’
Leo was relieved that she didn’t appear at all piqued by his refusal. The last time he’d rejected the advances of a
mettlesome Greek woman, the results had been catastrophic.
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Perhaps.’ No harm in keeping the possibility open, after all.
Over at Gray’s Inn, the first guests at the chambers party began to drift in shortly after half past six. An hour later, by Felicity’s count, there were over 120 guests thronging the garden, filling the air with talk and laughter. Little knots of barristers, solicitors, clerks, plus assorted surveyors, underwriters and the odd judge, stood raking over cases and City gossip as waiters and waitresses moved among them, replenishing glasses at a steady rate. In the background, from another world, ran the steady hum of London traffic.
Felicity felt unusually accomplished and efficient as she smiled and greeted the guests. She knew just about every one of them, and it intrigued her to realise how extensive her connections and influence were. Around half past seven it seemed that most of those coming had arrived, and she gratefully grabbed a glass of white wine and temporarily relinquished her duties.
‘How are we doing?’ asked Henry, squinting down at the list.
‘Not bad. About two-thirds, maybe more.’
‘That’s good, considering the time of year.’ Henry glanced at Felicity. ‘That’s a really nice outfit you’re wearing, if I may say so.’
‘You may,’ said Felicity, gratified. She wandered off to mingle with the guests, and Henry’s eyes followed her wistfully. Felicity hadn’t gone far before she came across
Peter Weir talking to some solicitors. Peter saw her trying to steer herself in the other direction, but intercepted her.
‘You can’t spend your life avoiding me.’
‘Can’t I?’ Again she tried to move past him, but he wouldn’t let her.
‘You barely speak to me in chambers. Don’t you think it’s time we tried to develop a more harmonious working relationship?’
‘It suits me just the way it is,’ replied Felicity coldly.
‘Fliss, don’t do this. I’ve missed you so much since we broke up. Can’t we just be friends? At least talk to one another?’ He gave his charming, lopsided smile, and she felt a familiar weakening sensation. She tried to remind herself what a bastard he’d been. But the truth was, she didn’t want to go on nursing these feelings of anger and resentment. It wasn’t her style. She liked to like everyone, and be liked in return.
She shrugged. ‘I don’t exactly feel very friendly towards you, Peter.’
‘Come on, Fliss. We had a thing once, it’s finished now – I understand that. There were things I should have told you, and that was my fault. I know that. But we work together, after all, we should be civilised about it. Let’s have lunch sometime. Just to sort things out a bit.’
‘In your dreams.’ She moved abruptly away. It was all very well for Henry to say that she and Peter should try to get on together, but he had no idea how painful it was for her just to have to see him each day. If she started being nice to him, being friendly, it would only end up one place –
and that was back in bed. She knew herself, knew her own weakness. Peter was it. And she couldn’t afford to make that mistake again.
Sarah Coleman stood by the marquee on the fringes of a group of guests, her third glass of wine in her hand, and sighed inwardly. She’d been here for an hour, and she was bored rigid. God, if there was one thing she hated it was talking shop with City solicitors. At least in another month and a half her pupillage would be finished, and she’d be well shot of this lot. A nice long holiday, and then she would look around for an alternative occupation. Something less intellectually taxing, with an expense account and possibly a car. Armed with her qualifications and her looks, she was pretty confident she could find a job that paid enough, until the right man with the right kind of money came along.
She took a step backwards, detaching herself discreetly from the group of people she’d been talking to, and scanned the faces. Still no Marcus. Every member of chambers was expected to attend the party, hair neatly brushed and name badge in place, to do his or her bit for the good of 5 Caper Court, but Marcus was just the kind of person who would put his practice ahead of a chambers’ marketing exercise. He was probably working right now. Sarah didn’t think she’d ever met anyone who grafted quite as hard as he did. She sipped her drink speculatively as she brooded on the thought of those silky, ebony good looks, which turned her on a little bit more every time she saw him. She couldn’t decide whether that lofty manner of his was just a pose, or whether he genuinely wasn’t interested. She couldn’t
believe it was the latter. She’d yet to meet a man who didn’t succumb to her blend of charm and beauty. Maybe all that arrogance was just a form of come-on.