As for the subject which Anthony had been so quick to raise, and equally quick to drop – that of Rachel … Why
mention at all that he’d seen her over the weekend? Guilt? Something approaching it, no doubt. Which could mean that, in Charles’s absence, the two of them had got a little thing going. Were they sleeping together? Knowing Rachel, probably not. Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Set Rachel’s delicate moral sensibilities against the thwarted desire of an emotionally susceptible twenty-six-year-old, turn the heat up a bit, and the chances were that Anthony would think he was in love. That was not a desirable state of affairs. Whatever Anthony might imagine he felt about Rachel, Leo wouldn’t wish her on anyone, with her martyred soul and pallid lack of emotion. He thought suddenly of Adriana, entirely the converse, warm, sensual and sanguine, and his mind moved away from Anthony and Rachel to his own problems. He was going to have to do some serious thinking in the two weeks before Camilla got back from Bermuda.
This time it would be different, Felicity told herself. She wasn’t going to jump straight back into bed with Peter, just because his wife had left him. She thought she’d shown remarkable self-control that night they’d been out to dinner together. Mind you, she couldn’t have had him back to the flat, not with Sandy around. She stared at her computer screen. Who was she kidding? It was nothing to do with self-control. If Sandy hadn’t been there, she’d have invited him back. The truth was, she’d have him any time. She glanced up as the door of the clerks’ room opened, and saw Peter come in. Her heart did a little flip. What if all this was going to end in disaster again? What if his wife was to come back to him? He’d made it pretty clear that wasn’t likely to happen, but still … She smiled as he approached.
Peter put his hands on her desk and leant down. ‘Are you busy tonight?’
Wishing like hell that she could say ‘Yes,’ Felicity shook her head.
‘Because a friend’s invited me to the opening of this new club up in town. D’you fancy going?’
‘Yeah, that sounds good.’
‘Great. I’ll pick you up around half eight.’
Henry, sitting at his desk going through a pile of papers, had witnessed every nuance of this brief exchange – the way Peter bent down to talk to Felicity, his face close to hers, that soft, lost smile of hers as she looked at him, the way she watched him walk away, the expression in her eyes – one which Henry would have died to have directed at him. Henry could tell it was all back on again, and, frankly, it made him sick. Not that he was jealous. Not a bit of it. He was simply appalled by Felicity’s lack of principle. Peter had lied to her, treated her badly, and yet here she was, ready to let him do it to her all over again. She was too easily taken in, that was her problem. Too impressed by good looks and a bit of charm. How could any woman take seriously a man who had highlights in his hair?
Felicity caught his eye, and Henry realised that he had been staring at her. He quickly turned his attention to the documents before him. If anything, it was the professional aspect of it that bothered him. There was always the potential for an upset if people started having affairs in chambers. It could be bad for business. He’d have to keep an eye on things. If it went too far, he might have to have a word with the pair of them. The irony of it was that it had only been a couple of months back
that Henry had been telling Felicity to try to get along a bit better with Peter. Henry squared his shoulders and sighed.
Sandy lay on his bed, and felt another uncontrollable shudder run through his limbs. He still felt foggy and stoned in his head, but he kept getting these electric shakes in his body. He shut his eyes. Okay, today had not been a good day. But tomorrow would be better. Mistake, mistake, doing that dope Mazz had given him. Bad mistake. They’d seen him do it. That was when they got in. They’d seen him do it, because they were watching all the time. Were they sitting out there in the other room now, waiting? Yeah. Of course they were. He tried to shut his mind to the sound, but he could still hear them whispering, a sound like a tide surging on a stony beach. Oh, man, they were planning something monster.
He rubbed his face with his hands, and his skin felt leathery and clammy. Shit. He needed something to help him. He’d go down the pub later and see if he couldn’t score something. Nothing major, just something to get his head level. Then he’d be fine. Then tomorrow it would all be okay, and – oh, Jesus, fuck, if they would just shut up! He tried not to listen, but they were like in his head. Right inside it!
He rolled on to his side, hunched up, and heard the front door open and close. Fliss was back. He relaxed slightly. They wouldn’t hang around once she came in. He heard her footsteps, fingers tapping at the door.
‘Yeah?’ He rolled on to his back again and folded his arms beneath his head. Relax. Just chilling.
Fliss opened the door and looked in. ‘You all right?’
‘Yeah, fine.’ He tried to make his voice sound clear and normal. ‘Just having a bit of a rest.’
‘Oh … okay. Listen, I’m going out in an hour or so. I’m going to do myself a bit of supper. D’you want some?’
‘Yeah, okay.’ Nice and normal, nice and normal.
She went away. He listened. Nothing. No one talking. She’d scared them off. He knew she would. They’d gone. For now.
Two hours later, the doorbell rang. Sandy was stretched out on the sofa, barefoot, watching television. He kept shifting restlessly and muttering to himself.
‘That’ll be Peter,’ said Felicity, checking her make-up quickly in the mirror before going to let him in. Peter, she thought, looked heavenly, his blue shirt matching his eyes, a cool, shining contrast to poor Sandy, pimply and unwashed, in his grubby denims and khaki T-shirt.
‘I’ll just get my bag – won’t be a sec. This is my brother, Sandy. Sandy, this is Peter.’
Sandy glanced up and nodded at Peter. Peter nodded back. An instantaneous current of animosity seemed to pass between them. Felicity went off to fetch her handbag and give herself another anxious inspection in the full-length mirror.
Felicity came back. ‘Okay. All set.’ She looked at Sandy. ‘I’ll see you later.’ She hesitated, then added, You will take it easy, won’t you? I mean, you won’t—’
‘Get off my case, Fliss.’ Sandy picked up a can of lager from the floor by the sofa and muttered something else that Felicity couldn’t hear.
‘Yeah, well … fine. See you.’ Felicity gave Peter a smile. ‘Let’s go.’
‘See you,’ said Peter in the direction of Sandy. But Sandy didn’t look up or say anything in reply. He took a swig from his can of lager.
‘Looks a bit of a dosser, your brother, if you don’t mind my saying so,’ Peter remarked, as they went downstairs.
‘He’s not been having a good time lately,’ said Felicity defensively. ‘He’s all right, really. Just a bit low.’
‘How long’s he staying with you?’
‘I don’t know. Just till he gets his head together. That’s what he says, anyway. It’s been hard for him. He was sleeping rough not long ago.’
‘Drugs?’
Felicity shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, that hasn’t helped. But he’ll be okay. He really just needs a proper job.’
‘Sounds like you’re making excuses for him.’
‘He is my brother.’
Peter opened the car door for Felicity, and she got in. She loved his good manners. Strapping himself in next to her, Peter remarked, ‘He seems a bit weird to me. Did you know he was talking to himself when you were out of the room? I thought he was talking to me at first, then I realised he wasn’t.’
Felicity said nothing for a moment. She seemed faintly embarrassed. ‘They say dope can make you a bit paranoid.
But he told me he’s not doing that any more. He’s just got a few problems.’
‘Personally, I’ve got no time for people who do drugs. Why would anyone want to screw their brains up like that?’
‘Yeah, well, it’s easy to be judgmental, but Sandy’s had a really hard time.’
‘It’s not the answer.’
Felicity sighed. ‘He knows that. He’s sorting himself out.’
‘He’s a mess. Anyone can see that. You’re really getting taken for a ride. You want to learn to be a bit harder, Fliss.’
‘He’s family, for God’s sake!’ said Felicity unhappily. ‘Anyway, look – can we stop talking about him? I just want to have a good time this evening.’
After an hour or so Sandy put on his trainers, fished around in his sister’s bedroom for some change, and went down to the pub. He scored some uppers, which he took in the gents, then bought himself a large vodka. He stood at the bar on his own, eyes fixed on the wide-screen TV. The voices swam in and out of his head. Mostly they were far away, though still distinct. Once, when they got in loud and close, he said something to try to shut them up, then noticed the bloke next to him looking at him strangely. Sandy downed his drink and left.
Back in the flat, he put on his music really loud, and that seemed to help. Loud as possible. Better. Better. Someone in the flat above thumped on the floor a couple of times, but Sandy ignored it. After twenty minutes, the voices
came whispering in behind the music, their words tangled indistinctly in the beat. He switched it off and listened intently in the silence of the room. On sudden inspiration he went to fetch a pad of paper and a pen. He sat down on his bed again. That was where he’d been making his mistake. He shouldn’t try to shut them out. He should listen, take note. He began to scribble down everything they said to him.
Felicity and Peter sat in Peter’s car, a couple of streets away from the club. It was after midnight. Felicity eased herself unwillingly from Peter’s arms.
‘Come back with me,’ said Peter.
‘I can’t. I don’t like leaving Sandy by himself.’
‘He’s a big boy.’
‘I said I’d be back. He has to get up really early to get to the shop. I keep worrying he won’t make it one of these days.’
‘You’ve got a life to live, you know.’ Peter brushed her neck with his lips, and she shivered. ‘I want you so much, Fliss. You don’t know how badly I’ve missed you.’
‘Peter, I have to go back.’ She gazed into his eyes. ‘I suppose you could always come back to mine.’
‘And listen to your druggy brother talking to himself through the walls? I don’t think so.’
‘Don’t be such a bastard.’
They kissed for a few minutes, then Peter pulled away and said, ‘So how long does this go on? You not coming back to my place because of him, I mean.’
‘I don’t know. I suppose I’m being stupid. I’m just a bit
worried about him at the moment. I’m sorry.’ She reached for him and kissed him, but he had lost the mood.
‘Come on. I’d better drive you back.’
Twenty minutes later Felicity turned her key quietly in the front door and went in. A light was still on in the living room, but there was no sign of Sandy. The TV was switched off. Passing his room, she saw no light beneath the door and thought he must be asleep.
She climbed into bed and lay in the dark, thinking of Peter, conscious of unsatisfied longing. He was feeling it too, she knew. He hadn’t tried to hide how fed up he was. Oh well, maybe it was for the best. Maybe it shouldn’t be that easy for him to take up where he left off. Still, she couldn’t let Sandy cramp her style for too long.
On Friday afternoon the
Persephone
proceedings finished early, as Mr Justice Sagewell had another appointment.
As they left the courtroom Leo said to Rachel, ‘I could pick up Oliver this evening, if you like, instead of tomorrow morning.’
‘Yes, that would be fine. Why don’t you come around half seven?’
‘Right. I’ll see you then.’
Leo returned to chambers, intending to read quickly through some papers which had arrived that morning, before going home to shower and change. No sooner had he sat down at his desk than Sarah came into his room.
‘Don’t you ever knock?’ asked Leo mildly.
‘Not when I know you’re all alone. I saw you come in
a few moments ago. I wondered if you felt like going for a drink. We haven’t seen much of one another lately.’
‘Can’t, I’m afraid. I have to pick Oliver up. Anyway, I thought you were usually busy with young Mr Fry of an evening. You always seem to be sloping off together.’
‘And?’ It piqued Sarah to realise that anyone in chambers was aware of the situation.
‘Well, I would hardly have thought he was your type. Not a man overly concerned with the outer image. More the cerebral type. The kind who doesn’t bother to iron his shirts.’
Leo’s lightly mocking tone touched a raw nerve in Sarah; she certainly wasn’t going to admit to Leo the extent of her relationship with Roger. In fact, it suited her pride to deny its existence entirely. ‘As it happens, he’s not my type. I’ve seen him for a drink a couple of times, that’s all. We are, as they say, merely good friends. And speaking of friends, how are you and the lovely Miss Papaposilakis getting on? Don’t tell me you’re still holding her at arm’s length.’
Leo had to admire her perspicacity. The only problem was that Sarah, in possession of information, was inclined to make mischief where she could. ‘She’s a persistent woman. I refuse to say any more than that. Besides, she’s a client, remember.’
‘Oh, come on, Leo.’ Sarah hitched herself up on to the windowsill and propped her feet against Leo’s desk. ‘The client would have to be a Panamanian company before that stopped you. Even then, I’m not so sure. You’re sleeping with her. I know you are.’
‘Do you?’
‘If she was up for it, you couldn’t resist it. I know you inside out. Poor old Camilla.’
‘You’d do well to keep your idle speculations to yourself.’
Sarah gave him a foxy smile. ‘Whom could I possibly tell?’
Leo put on his glasses and untied the ribbon round the brief. ‘I think this conversation is closed. Go on – scram. I’ve got work to do.’
Sarah slipped down from the window-sill. ‘I’m sure you have. Not to mention all the strenuous overtime you’ll be putting in on the Silakis case.’ She kissed the top of his head and sauntered to the door. ‘See you.’
Leo sighed reflectively as she disappeared. Strenuous was the word. The fact that Adriana had been absent from the hearing for the past week, occupied with other business affairs, had been something of a relief. He had been grateful for a few days’ respite from her exacting physical demands. Still, it would be useful to know when she was going to put in an appearance again. He anticipated problems ahead unless he rationalized his situation.
Two hours later he pulled up in the driveway of Charles Beecham’s house. He went through the gate to the back of the house and found the kitchen door ajar. He knocked lightly and went in. Rachel was at the sink, washing some cutlery.
She glanced round as Leo rapped on the door. ‘I didn’t hear the car. I haven’t quite finished putting Oliver’s things together. Do you want a coffee?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ Leo sat down at the kitchen table. Oliver came toddling in, saw Leo, and rushed to him with a squeal
of pleasure. Leo caught him up and kissed him, and sat him on his knee. ‘What’s this you’ve got?’ He took the toy which Oliver offered to him.
‘A Thunderbird,’ said Rachel, as she made the coffee. ‘Thunderbird Two, to be precise. Anthony dropped it off at the office this afternoon. Oliver’s recently developed a passion for the things. It started with that book your mother sent him. Anthony was reading it to him at the weekend.’