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Authors: Caro Fraser
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Sarah. Just about summed up the Bar. Compared to them, Marcus really was something. At that moment Marcus looked up and met Sarah’s gaze. He returned it for a few cool seconds, then looked away. A touch supercilious, perhaps, thought Sarah, but she liked that. She liked something to work on. She smiled as she picked up her tea and followed David over. Maybe this new bunch would make her last couple of months in chambers a little more interesting.
She sat down next to Camilla, who was nicking through a newspaper.
‘No further scandal about dearest Leo?’ said Sarah. Camilla gave her a cold glance and said nothing. She had no wish to talk to Sarah about anything, particularly Leo. ‘I suppose yesterday was bad enough. I don’t blame him for going to ground.’ Sarah sipped her tea. ‘Still, at least now you know just what kind of a person he is. You wouldn’t hear it from me.’
Camilla folded up the paper. ‘You don’t think I believe that woman’s pathetic story, do you? Nobody does, Sarah. Nobody in their right mind.’
Sarah crossed her legs and sighed reflectively. ‘You mean that you don’t have the least – how do we lawyers put it? – the least lurking doubt? Come on, Camilla. There had to be something going on. You know what he’s like. Nothing is ever what it seems with Leo. Your trouble is you’re too ready to believe anything he says. At least I know better than that. But then, I
do
know Leo. Properly. In ways you never will.’
Camilla got up and left without a word. She’d let Sarah drip enough poison in her ear in the past. She didn’t want to hear any more. Anyway, she told herself as she crossed the cobblestones of Mitre Court, Sarah was merely jealous. She couldn’t stand the idea that Leo should bother with someone whom Sarah no doubt regarded as her inferior. For Sarah, life was about looks, clothes, possessions and being seen in the right places with the right people. She didn’t understand how things were between herself and Leo. Hewasn’t as bad as everyone thought. All right, he was no saint … He’d been frank with her from the start, told her about the kind of life he lived, the things he’d done, the way he was … Camilla had to admit that wasn’t quite true. He would never have told her about Anthony, if Sarah hadn’t. She didn’t want to think about that. Leo and Anthony in bed together. No, she wouldn’t let her mind go there. She would concentrate on the positive things.
But her determination faltered helplessly. She might as well admit it. She couldn’t trust Leo completely. There was still the matter of that letter. He’d said he’d never known Gideon Smallwood, the civil servant who killed himself, and yet she’d seen a letter addressed to the man in Leo’s own hand, lying on Robert’s desk. A lie she was trying to ignore, trying to pretend didn’t matter. Just like yesterday’s tabloid front page. Believe enough in Leo, and everything bad would go away … But would it? She’d just accepted his complete denial about
The Sun
story. Maybe there was more to it, things he wasn’t telling her. Just like the envelope addressed to Gideon Smallwood. Well, she would clear that up. She would ask him about that letter.
In the silence of his flat, Leo gave himself up entirely to work. He worked with the same steadfast absorption as in his early days as a Welsh working-class grammar school boy, when he had striven to block out the reality and poverty of his situation by fixing with single-minded determination on escape to a better world. Back in those days, he knew how much harder it would be for someone without the privilegesof a public school education to achieve the kind of success he sought at the Bar. That knowledge had bred in him a fixed ambition, a determination never to be anything other than first-rate, and he had early on developed unshakeable habits of industry and purpose. Now, surrounded by the material evidence of his intellectual and
She sat down next to Camilla, who was nicking through a newspaper.
‘No further scandal about dearest Leo?’ said Sarah. Camilla gave her a cold glance and said nothing. She had no wish to talk to Sarah about anything, particularly Leo. ‘I suppose yesterday was bad enough. I don’t blame him for going to ground.’ Sarah sipped her tea. ‘Still, at least now you know just what kind of a person he is. You wouldn’t hear it from me.’
Camilla folded up the paper. ‘You don’t think I believe that woman’s pathetic story, do you? Nobody does, Sarah. Nobody in their right mind.’
Sarah crossed her legs and sighed reflectively. ‘You mean that you don’t have the least – how do we lawyers put it? – the least lurking doubt? Come on, Camilla. There had to be something going on. You know what he’s like. Nothing is ever what it seems with Leo. Your trouble is you’re too ready to believe anything he says. At least I know better than that. But then, I
do
know Leo. Properly. In ways you never will.’
Camilla got up and left without a word. She’d let Sarah drip enough poison in her ear in the past. She didn’t want to hear any more. Anyway, she told herself as she crossed the cobblestones of Mitre Court, Sarah was merely jealous. She couldn’t stand the idea that Leo should bother with someone whom Sarah no doubt regarded as her inferior. For Sarah, life was about looks, clothes, possessions and being seen in the right places with the right people. She didn’t understand how things were between herself and Leo. Hewasn’t as bad as everyone thought. All right, he was no saint … He’d been frank with her from the start, told her about the kind of life he lived, the things he’d done, the way he was … Camilla had to admit that wasn’t quite true. He would never have told her about Anthony, if Sarah hadn’t. She didn’t want to think about that. Leo and Anthony in bed together. No, she wouldn’t let her mind go there. She would concentrate on the positive things.
But her determination faltered helplessly. She might as well admit it. She couldn’t trust Leo completely. There was still the matter of that letter. He’d said he’d never known Gideon Smallwood, the civil servant who killed himself, and yet she’d seen a letter addressed to the man in Leo’s own hand, lying on Robert’s desk. A lie she was trying to ignore, trying to pretend didn’t matter. Just like yesterday’s tabloid front page. Believe enough in Leo, and everything bad would go away … But would it? She’d just accepted his complete denial about
The Sun
story. Maybe there was more to it, things he wasn’t telling her. Just like the envelope addressed to Gideon Smallwood. Well, she would clear that up. She would ask him about that letter.
In the silence of his flat, Leo gave himself up entirely to work. He worked with the same steadfast absorption as in his early days as a Welsh working-class grammar school boy, when he had striven to block out the reality and poverty of his situation by fixing with single-minded determination on escape to a better world. Back in those days, he knew how much harder it would be for someone without the privilegesof a public school education to achieve the kind of success he sought at the Bar. That knowledge had bred in him a fixed ambition, a determination never to be anything other than first-rate, and he had early on developed unshakeable habits of industry and purpose. Now, surrounded by the material evidence of his intellectual and
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