‘My Lord,’ intoned Adrian Eder, ‘my submission is that the phrase “special declaration of interest” is imprecise and does not imply a pre-estimate of the damage that would be suffered in the event of a loss. The special declaration might well be less than the true value of the cargo, as in the case of the diamonds. I would refer your Lordship to the passages marked in Drion’s work on
Limitation of Liabilities in International Air Law
at page three hundred and fourteen …’ Camilla watched as Mr Justice Latham leafed through the volume before him, and tried once more to fasten her attention on the case in hand, which concerned the loss of a cargo of diamonds in air transit. She tried to picture a heap of diamonds, 120,000 dollars’ worth. How big or small might that be? She had no idea. Perhaps there had been no more than ten or twelve diamonds involved. Perhaps many more. From here her mind wandered to diamond jewellery, and to rings, and the now forlorn hope which she had once
had that Leo might buy her a ring. If he meant to marry her, it was what people did. She doodled unhappily on her notebook, feeling foolish at having entertained such a soppy idea. She very much doubted that he would ever marry her. The idea even seemed faintly ridiculous. The past few days of uncertainty had sapped Camilla of much of her confidence. Her present perception of herself was reduced to that of an unsophisticated, not very interesting girl who had been seduced by someone older and far more skilful into thinking she was loved. She wasn’t the kind of girl that Leo would want as a wife. Beyond a certain amount of law, she knew nothing, really. Not about life, or art, or books and films and people – all the things that interested Leo. She didn’t even know much about sex. At this, she instantly recalled that way Leo had of touching her, reducing her in seconds to abject desire. He could do it just by looking at her. That kind of thing came with practice, obviously. Sarah was right. She was simply one in a long line of conquests. Why should she think of herself as being special to him?
‘… and in addition, may I refer your Lordship to two foreign decisions in point? The first is a decision of the United States Court of Appeals for the Second Circuit,
Perera Co Inc v. VarigBratglian Airlines,
nineteen eighty-five, Aviation Cases seventeen at page eight hundred and ten, where the point was conceded …’
Then again, maybe it wasn’t mere indifference on Leo’s part. This was the first row they’d ever had, and she might have touched some nerve … It had been the mention of
Anthony that had set him off. That he and Leo had been lovers, however briefly, was something she found almost impossible to contemplate. Perhaps it was more important to Leo than he was prepared to admit. No, she didn’t want to think about that. This was between her and Leo. The whole situation was making her so wretchedly unhappy that she had to know where she stood. If Leo wasn’t going to make the first move, she would simply have to swallow her pride and do it herself.
With this resolve, she turned her weary attention once more to Article 22 of the Warsaw Convention, as amended by the Hague Protocol of 1955, and tried to fix it there.
The following morning Leo established with Felicity that he had no other commitments for 24 July, and the papers in the case concerning Ms Papaposilakis’s ill-fated yacht were sent round to Caper Court. Leo spent the afternoon reading through them. It seemed that, before its demise through fire and water, the
Persephone
had been a fine vessel – built in 1988 by Benetti, 280 feet long, with a cruising speed of nineteen knots, manned by a crew of six, and with accommodation for fifteen guests. As he mused on these particulars, Leo wondered what it would be like to have the kind of wealth where an insurance claim for fifteen million fell into the realm of small change. As a QC, his earning power was presently very substantial – provided, of course, that there was no adverse fallout from his recent unpleasant publicity – and he usually spent pretty freely. He generally never gave much thought to the lifestyles of his many superbly wealthy clients. But
now, as he sat pondering the papers before him, he felt a new consciousness of the stresses of the work which earned him his money. Perhaps it was age, middle age, reminding him that his energy and intellectual drive must eventually diminish. He had never imagined that idleness might possess attractions – work had always been his passion. He sat back, trying to imagine what it would be like to be immensely rich – so rich that one’s notion of work might consist of little more than watching interest accumulate on interest, with fleets of tankers and oil-trading companies busily earning income worldwide. Rich enough to spend idle weeks on board a yacht like the
Persephone
, with its luxurious cabins and excellent chef and crew in attendance, cruising the sunlit waters of the Caribbean in the company of good friends, with the freedom to sail off to new waters when bored, and drop anchor in some fresh, delightful haven …
I might go mad,
thought Leo. He swivelled idly in his chair, the papers in his lap, and glanced out of his window to the courtyard below. He caught sight of Camilla making her way slowly across Caper Court from the cloisters, her robing bag slung over one shoulder. There was something so disconsolate and naive in the way she walked, like an unhappy child, and he realised with an immediate pang what a bastard he’d been, letting the past week go by without a single word. The trouble was selfishness became a way of life if you’d spent years putting yourself first.
Leo sighed, pushed the papers aside, and stood up to
stroll round the room and stretch his legs. He thought about the cause of their argument, the fact that he had concealed the truth about Gideon Smallwood from her, and wondered how many more such arguments there would be in the future. Unless he underwent a radical change of character, which seemed unlikely at his age, she would be in for a constant bout of unpleasant surprises. The more he thought about it, the more he realised that he was highly unlikely to live up to Camilla’s expectations of probity and decency in a husband. Not judging by his past form, at any rate. As his perambulations brought him back to his desk once more, his eye again fell on the Papaposilakis papers. He thought about the possibility of a golden old age spent island-hopping in the Caribbean. What were the realistic prospects of any form of carefree retirement if Camilla were to have children, as she would presumably want to? The thought was enough to make him sit down again.
He found these new trains of thought mildly disquieting. He had never given much thought to his own old age before. Perhaps this was what happened to everyone in their mid-forties. And she was so young-too young. The marriage question really needed serious revising. And yet, and yet … it wasn’t as though he didn’t love her …
Oh, bugger it, thought Leo. Living for the present had always been good enough in the past. All he had to do was maintain the status quo, enjoy her company and the delights of her voluptuous young body, and the future
would arrange itself. The point was, he had wasted an entire week and made her unhappy into the bargain. Time to do something about it. He closed the door and went downstairs to Camilla’s room.
Leo tapped on the door and went in. Camilla had just dropped her bag in the corner and was putting her papers on her desk. Simon, her room-mate, was out. She looked up and saw Leo, and felt her pulse jump, but said nothing. Leo closed the door and leant against it.
They looked at each other in silence for a moment, then Leo said, ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been a complete heel these past few days. I should have rung.’ Still Camilla said nothing. ‘How have you been?’
Camilla shrugged. ‘Why the sudden concern?’
Leo moved towards her. ‘I said I’m sorry. I’ve had a lot on my mind.’ The look she gave him was wary, defensive. ‘Come here.’
She came into his arms and allowed herself to be held. The familiar warmth of him brought instant, easy tears to her eyes. ‘This is what I hate most, Leo,’ she muttered. ‘The capacity you have to make me so unhappy.’
‘I don’t mean to. That’s the last thing I want, believe me.’ He kissed her face and stroked her hair.
Believe you,
she thought. If only it were that easy.
He drew back and looked at her, kissed her mouth quickly, softly. ‘I should have done this days ago.’ That wasn’t strictly true, he thought to himself. He could tell from the warmth of her physical response that she was all too ready to make up for a week’s abstinence. The wait would be well worth it.
‘Why didn’t you? I’ve been so miserable.’
‘Because I’m a bigger fool than many people suppose.’ He kissed her again. ‘Look, this isn’t quite the time or place. I have a couple of things to prepare for a hearing tomorrow. I’ll pick you up around eight and take you somewhere outrageously expensive for dinner. We can talk then.’
‘I’d be happy just to stay in,’ said Camilla, leaning her body against his.
‘You have to eat. I’ll see you later.’
He kissed her lightly once more, then went out just as Simon was coming in, post and papers under one arm.
Simon, who was more than a little keen on Camilla himself, could tell within a fraction of a second – from Leo’s manner, from the look on Camilla’s face – that he had been within a whisker of interrupting something. He said nothing, merely gave Camilla a smile, then sat down and set about opening his mail. At the back of his mind, however, was a certain misgiving about whatever it was Leo was up to. Simon liked the man, found him amusing, clever, but he wasn’t at all sure that it was in Camilla’s best interests to be getting involved with him.
Leo was too practiced, both personally and professionally, in the subtle art of manipulation to have to make much mental preparation for the conversation over dinner that evening. He was careful to re-establish the former levels of intimacy and affection between Camilla and himself before eventually touching on the argument which had led to the glass smashing and Camilla’s week of purgatory.
‘I suppose I should have told you about Gideon Smallwood, but the whole thing was such a bloody mess at the time – I really had no idea what was going to happen. It wasn’t exactly the kind of thing I wanted to confide in anyone.’ Not entirely true, he knew – had relations between them been otherwise, he would probably have told Anthony, above all people.
Camilla sighed. ‘I just worry that you don’t seem to trust me. The last thing I want to do is start that argument all over again—’
‘Of course I trust you,’ interrupted Leo. ‘That’s the least of it. My chief worry concerns your trust in me.’
‘What do you mean?’
He reached out a hand to hers. ‘You are so sweet, and so special, and you want to think well of me, and to know absolutely everything about me. I love that. But I’m not sure either of those is possible. I’m not a straightforward person. I can’t guarantee anything about myself, past, present or future.’
She hesitated, then said, ‘You’re saying you don’t think you can promise to be faithful to me.’
There was an element of truth in this, but now was not the time to admit it. ‘I’m saying nothing of the kind. I just realise that I’ve been unfair in asking you to marry me when you can have no real idea of what sharing my life might be like.’
Camilla wound her fingers around his and smiled a little sadly. ‘Actually, it was my idea in the first place, not yours remember?’
Until this moment, he’d forgotten that. Of course – it had been her ultimatum, that evening in the rose garden. This recollection in itself was heartening, and useful. ‘True. But I know I thought at the time – if this is what it takes … Because I couldn’t bear to lose you. Maybe it was all too hasty. I’m worried that you’re going to end up hurt and disappointed.’
‘So-what are you saying?’
Leo poured some more wine into both their glasses. ‘Shall I be perfectly frank? I don’t want to marry you, and for you to find a year down the line that I’m not the sort of husband you imagined, that I don’t live up to expectations.’
‘That could never happen. I love you. I want to be with you, whatever.’
‘Well, it’s the “whatever” that worries me. I told you I come with no guarantees. I know myself too well. What I’m suggesting is that we forget about the idea of marriage for the moment. Give it time. Let’s just enjoy the present, and see where it goes. You’re still very young, and in a few years’ time you may find that your notions of what you want from life have changed. As you said, your parents aren’t likely to be bursting with joy at the idea of you marrying someone like me. Let’s leave the rest of the world out of it. This is to do with you and me, nobody else. We can play this any way we like. You needn’t give up your flat, or your independence. We can see one another as and when we want. It’s our relationship, and we don’t need to observe any conventions. They’ve never been my style, anyway.’
‘You don’t want to live with me?’
‘Of course I want to live with you! You know you could have moved in weeks ago, if you weren’t so worried about Jane and your parents. But maybe that’s not the right way to find what we both want. We have to treat each other as equals. You don’t want to put yourself in a position where your life is simply – well … subsumed into mine.’
‘How else is it going to happen? What can I contribute? I’m just starting out, Leo. I have nothing, you have everything.’
‘Look, I have a suggestion. I’ve been talking to a few estate agents recently. I want to get out of the Belgravia flat, find a house somewhere in town which can be more of a home for Oliver – and for you, if you decide that’s what you want. It may take time to find the right place. In that time, let’s maintain the status quo. No problems with parents or flatmates. And if you decide you do still want to be with me, be part of the chaos that is my life, then we can make a fresh start together, on equal terms.’
He studied her face. Her smile was slow, thoughtful. ‘I’d much rather it was that way. I’d much rather make a new home with you.’
He picked up her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers lightly. ‘Exactly. Now that we’ve sorted that out, let’s get the bill.’
An hour later, as they made love, Leo wondered why he was bothering with all this prevarication. She was so
intensely delightful in bed, and in every other way. But best to take things slowly – he had her best interests at heart, after all.
The new annexe to 5 Caper Court, where Maurice, Ann, Roger and Marcus had their rooms, consisted of the entire top floor of number 7, the building adjoining number 5 on the west side of Caper Court. It occurred to Leo, who had been largely instrumental in procuring this enlargement of chambers to prevent the necessity of a full-scale move to larger premises, that he hadn’t had a proper look at the annexe since it was in its rudimentary stages of development, and he decided, in an idle hour, to pay a visit and have a look at the finished thing.
He went up to the floor above his room and passed through the new door which had been knocked through from the top floor of number 5 to the annexe. The air was filled with the stark scent of new paint and wood. Leo recalled when, as a flat, this floor had been the home of old Desmond Broadbent, a retired High Court judge, who had lived here with his two little Cairn terriers. Leo had paid a visit only last year, and the sombre habitation had been utterly transformed. None of the proportions of the spacious rooms, or the doors and windows had been altered, and the place retained much old-fashioned charm, but it had been entirely rewired and replastered, with state-of-the-art fittings, lighting and decoration. The annexe consisted of eight rooms – four housing the new tenants and three more soon to be occupied. It had
been Roderick’s idea that one should be turned into a kind of bedsit, in case any member of chambers – or a client – should ever need to stay overnight. Leo inspected this room, with its trendily utilitarian kitchen and shower, and wondered if and when it would be put to any use. Coming out, he saw that Ann Halliday’s door was slightly ajar. He knocked lightly and looked in. Ann was standing with her back to him, sorting through papers on the table next to her desk. Clearly she hadn’t heard his knock.
‘Hi,’ said Leo. ‘Hope I’m not interrupting.’
Ann glanced round. ‘No. Come in. I’ve just had a two-hour con. Glad to see the back of them.’ She finished arranging her papers and turned to survey Leo. How well he always looked. It wasn’t just the handsome features, which seemed to her to have changed little since their days at Bar School together, but their expressiveness, that alert look, charged with interest and expectation. What brings you up here?’ she asked.
‘I came to have a look around, actually. The last time I was here the place was just bare boards, builders everywhere. How d’you like your room?’
‘The room is perfect,’ said Ann. ‘Maurice seems to have a million and one gripes, but I can’t say I have anything to complain about. Except the stairs, perhaps. They keep me fit, I suppose.’
‘That’s what I like about these buildings. You can’t mess around with them too much, putting in lifts and air-conditioning and that kind of nonsense. And yes – the stairs do keep you fit. You’re looking very trim.’
Leo said this with practiced ease, strolling into the room and glancing around. Ann knew better than to invest the words with any special significance. There had been a time in her youth when, in common with most girls she knew, she would have given anything for a one-to-one with Leo Davies. But years had passed, she had seen the casualties along the way, and now she reckoned that his friendship was more valuable than any casual sexual indulgence.