hollow look pass across his face. Then it was gone. Leo nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, I meant it. I have never loved Rachel as much as I did you.’
Anthony shook his head slowly. ‘That’s it, you see. That’s all.’
Leo gazed at him sadly. ‘Anthony, I would make you my lover tomorrow, if you wanted me to. But you don’t – and it’s not possible, anyway.’
Anthony sighed. ‘That’s not what I meant. It’s just that you – you have been so important to me … and – and I feel as though I have somehow …’ He struggled for words. ‘Somehow lost you.’ He paused. ‘And you know something else? I sometimes wonder whether I even like you. I mistrust you. I mistrusted youwhen you married Rachel, because I didn’t believe in what you were doing.’
This touched an instant nerve in Leo and he looked quickly away. ‘That has nothing to do with you.’
‘I know,’ sighed Anthony. ‘It’s just – so many things don’t add up. I once thought I understood you, the kind of man you are.’ He shook his head. ‘Now I don’t.’
Again Leo sat thinking for a long moment before speaking. ‘Whatever has happened,’ he said at last, ‘I want you to understand that I have – I always will have – a deep affection for you. Nothing can alter that. I would never do anything willingly to hurt you.’
‘And Rachel?’
Leo took a deep breath, then glanced at the bottle. It was half empty. He poured the remains into their glasses. ‘Anthony, don’t judge me. I will not permit anyone to judge me. Just accept what I say. After all the things that have passed between us’ – his memory flickered back to a moonlit room, to an embrace which he had thought promised so much, and ended in nothing – ‘the least we can do is remain friends.’ He paused, and added softly, ‘Don’t you think?’
Anthony stared for a long time at his wine glass. ‘Yes. Yes, I know you’re right. I suppose it’s because things have changed, and I wish they hadn’t. Something like that. I don’t know …’ He raised his eyes and Leo smiled at him. Slowly Anthony smiled back. The waitress arrived with their sandwiches.
‘You’d better start eating those,’ said Leo. ‘No point drinking on an empty stomach.’ He glanced at the waitress. ‘Another bottle, please.’ He looked back at Anthony. ‘Now, you’d better start filling me in about this case of ours.’
It was half past eight when Anthony left El Vino’s. Although he had switched to mineral water an hour ago, when CameronRenshaw and Michael Gibbon had joined them, he was conscious of feeling pleasantly tipsy. The chill of the October air felt fresh, bracing, after the smokey fug of the wine bar. He crossed the cobbles and went through the cloisters into Caper Court, letting himself into chambers with his entry pass. He went upstairs, conscious of the silence of the empty building, and flipped on his light. As he put together some papers for the weekend, Anthony was aware that his conversation with Leo had left him feeling happier than he had been for some months. The tension between them had been unsettling, and it was a relief to be able to resume a friendship upon which he had relied so much in the past. He paused, looking down at the Capstall file in his briefcase, and realised that he was glad that Leo had been instructed as leader. There was something sure and certain about Leo which gave him confidence. He wondered what Freddie Hendry and Charles Beecham and the rest of the committee would make of him. Then as he closed his briefcase a flash of recollection blotted out thoughts of Leo and everything else. He had suddenly remembered the girl from the pub last night, Sarah. She had said she would be there this evening. He glanced at his watch. Twenty to nine. Damn, damn! he thought. God, he had spent most of the morning thinking about her, and had then completely forgotten. There probably wasn’t much chance that she’d still be there. Hastily he grabbed the
Anthony shook his head slowly. ‘That’s it, you see. That’s all.’
Leo gazed at him sadly. ‘Anthony, I would make you my lover tomorrow, if you wanted me to. But you don’t – and it’s not possible, anyway.’
Anthony sighed. ‘That’s not what I meant. It’s just that you – you have been so important to me … and – and I feel as though I have somehow …’ He struggled for words. ‘Somehow lost you.’ He paused. ‘And you know something else? I sometimes wonder whether I even like you. I mistrust you. I mistrusted youwhen you married Rachel, because I didn’t believe in what you were doing.’
This touched an instant nerve in Leo and he looked quickly away. ‘That has nothing to do with you.’
‘I know,’ sighed Anthony. ‘It’s just – so many things don’t add up. I once thought I understood you, the kind of man you are.’ He shook his head. ‘Now I don’t.’
Again Leo sat thinking for a long moment before speaking. ‘Whatever has happened,’ he said at last, ‘I want you to understand that I have – I always will have – a deep affection for you. Nothing can alter that. I would never do anything willingly to hurt you.’
‘And Rachel?’
Leo took a deep breath, then glanced at the bottle. It was half empty. He poured the remains into their glasses. ‘Anthony, don’t judge me. I will not permit anyone to judge me. Just accept what I say. After all the things that have passed between us’ – his memory flickered back to a moonlit room, to an embrace which he had thought promised so much, and ended in nothing – ‘the least we can do is remain friends.’ He paused, and added softly, ‘Don’t you think?’
Anthony stared for a long time at his wine glass. ‘Yes. Yes, I know you’re right. I suppose it’s because things have changed, and I wish they hadn’t. Something like that. I don’t know …’ He raised his eyes and Leo smiled at him. Slowly Anthony smiled back. The waitress arrived with their sandwiches.
‘You’d better start eating those,’ said Leo. ‘No point drinking on an empty stomach.’ He glanced at the waitress. ‘Another bottle, please.’ He looked back at Anthony. ‘Now, you’d better start filling me in about this case of ours.’
It was half past eight when Anthony left El Vino’s. Although he had switched to mineral water an hour ago, when CameronRenshaw and Michael Gibbon had joined them, he was conscious of feeling pleasantly tipsy. The chill of the October air felt fresh, bracing, after the smokey fug of the wine bar. He crossed the cobbles and went through the cloisters into Caper Court, letting himself into chambers with his entry pass. He went upstairs, conscious of the silence of the empty building, and flipped on his light. As he put together some papers for the weekend, Anthony was aware that his conversation with Leo had left him feeling happier than he had been for some months. The tension between them had been unsettling, and it was a relief to be able to resume a friendship upon which he had relied so much in the past. He paused, looking down at the Capstall file in his briefcase, and realised that he was glad that Leo had been instructed as leader. There was something sure and certain about Leo which gave him confidence. He wondered what Freddie Hendry and Charles Beecham and the rest of the committee would make of him. Then as he closed his briefcase a flash of recollection blotted out thoughts of Leo and everything else. He had suddenly remembered the girl from the pub last night, Sarah. She had said she would be there this evening. He glanced at his watch. Twenty to nine. Damn, damn! he thought. God, he had spent most of the morning thinking about her, and had then completely forgotten. There probably wasn’t much chance that she’d still be there. Hastily he grabbed the
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