A touch of silk, p.2
A Touch of Silk, page 2
Leo returned his phone to his pocket and went downstairs to the kitchen to put together some ingredients for dinner. Something light, perhaps, bearing in mind the pleasurable exertions that lay ahead.
CHAPTER TWO
The next morning Leo was up at eight. He showered, dressed, made coffee, and took some up to the bedroom where Sergei was drowsing amongst a tangle of sheets.
‘Here you go. Something to perk you up.’ Leo set the mug down next to the bed and went to fetch a tie from the closet.
Sergei sat up and reached out for the coffee, and Leo cast an appreciative glance at his lean, well-muscled body, the tapering waist and narrow hips. Dancers had such a beautiful blend of strength and grace. Last night had been a refreshing change from sexual domesticity with Sarah, which made it all the more irritating to think that he had to take steps to ensure she didn’t find out. There would be hell to pay if she did. As long as she lived beneath his roof, he could do without domestic squabbles.
He finished knotting his tie and shrugged on his suit jacket. Sergei reached out a hand. ‘Stay for half an hour?’
Leo gazed into Sergei’s dark, liquid eyes and returned his smile. ‘I’d love to, but I can’t.’
Sergei pouted theatrically. The camp gesture irritated Leo, but he bent and kissed him, saying, ‘Help yourself to breakfast. You know where everything is.’
Sergei yawned and lay back on the pillows. ‘I’ll call you before the company leaves London.’
The pupillage committee was meeting at ten that morning. It was composed mainly of younger members of chambers, but Leo still felt it his duty, as head of chambers, to attend, tedious though he found it. The job of the committee was to consider applications from candidates hopeful of securing a pupillage at 5 Caper Court, a much-sought-after, twelve-month opportunity to work on cases and learn from the best minds in chambers, and carrying with it the possibility of a permanent tenancy at the end.
Leo took a seat next to Anthony as the various committee members trickled into the meeting room. ‘Tell me, how much do we award our pupils these days?’ he murmured.
‘It’s gone up to seventy grand.’
‘Good grief. And tax-free, too. Back in my day, unless your parents could afford to pay your way, you had to get by on what you could scrape together from scholarships and part-time work.’
‘You have to admit it’s made it less elitist.’
‘You think so?’ Leo glanced up in surprise as Natalie King took a seat at the end of the table. ‘Why is she here?’
Anthony shrugged. ‘Maybe she’s keen to get involved in stuff.’
Leo regarded Natalie. She was dressed in an elegant and expensively cut black suit and a cream silk blouse, with minimal jewellery and make-up, and wore her blonde hair in a shoulder-length bob. Now in her mid-forties, she was still extremely attractive, in a somewhat chilly way. Had they had a thing together in their younger days? He wasn’t entirely sure, but would be surprised if they hadn’t. In his encounters with her on numerous cases over the years he had found her to be an intellectually daunting opponent, and a formidable advocate, and he had welcomed her arrival at 5 Caper Court. She would be an asset.
Lisa Blackmore, the chair of the committee, called the meeting to order. She was a diminutive thirty-year-old, with whom Leo had what could best be described as a somewhat prickly relationship. He admired her abilities as a lawyer, but was troubled by her lack of humour, and her beady-eyed tendency to focus on minor squabbles in chambers and turn them into major issues. She was one of a high-minded, up-and-coming cohort of younger tenants who regarded 5 Caper Court not as a loose, friendly association of individuals bound together by agreements that recognised their joint and several interests, but as a sleek, corporate vehicle that would propel their ambitious careers along prosperous and (of course) righteous paths. These younger tenants regarded Leo and others of his generation, with their relaxed and caustically incorrect attitudes to life and work, as dinosaurs, so much dead wood to be cleared out of their paths.
On Lisa’s left sat Arun Sikand, 5 Caper Court’s first Sikh tenant, and another young member of what Leo regarded as the militant tendency within chambers.
‘Right, let’s get down to business,’ said Lisa. ‘We have an unusual situation, in that one of the people to whom we offered a pupillage has dropped out. So we’re only looking at a handful of potential interviewees – four or five at the outside, I’d have thought. Let’s run through who we’ve got.’
They considered the merits of the various applicants for fifteen minutes or so, and just as Leo was about to mention his protégé, Alistair Egan, Natalie spoke up.
‘There’s a name I’d like to add to the list.’ She slid a sheaf of papers over to Lisa. ‘Sian Attwood. She’s not a conventional candidate, but I think she’s exceptionally strong. For the past four years she’s been lecturing in law at Oriel College, but she decided she’d like to change tack and take up a career at the Bar. She was admitted last year. She has a starred double-first from Cambridge, she’s won any number of scholarships, and last year she wrote an outstanding paper on dishonest assistance of a breach of trust after the exercise of a lien on sub-freights.’
Leo raised an eyebrow. ‘A somewhat esoteric aspect of law.’
‘She sounds interesting,’ said Lisa, glancing through the papers and then passing them to Arun.
David Liphook, a stocky, middle-aged QC, and a long-standing friend of Leo’s, spoke up. ‘Don’t you think academics tend to be – well, somewhat academic? Being a practitioner at the Commercial Bar, or in our chambers at any rate, requires a high degree of pragmatism.’
‘That’s something you can judge at interview,’ said Natalie.
‘Well, while we’re at it,’ said Leo, ‘I have someone in mind as well. Alistair Egan. Some of you may remember him. He’s done a couple of mini-pupillages with us.’ There was a murmur of recognition. ‘He may not have a starred double-first from Cambridge, but he’s shown exceptional ability, and I for one would like to see him given a chance with us.’
‘What are his qualifications?’ asked Natalie.
‘A two-one from Newcastle. In history. He did a GDL conversion.’
‘Is that really the quality of candidate we’re looking for?’ Natalie glanced around the table. ‘I would have thought an Oxbridge degree – a first, or a two-one at least – must be a prerequisite?’
‘Well, if it was, I for one wouldn’t be here,’ replied Leo.
‘The Bar was a less competitive place back then,’ said Natalie. ‘Surely nowadays we can afford the luxury of only looking at those of the highest calibre.’
There was a brief, astonished silence. Leo smiled, and cast his glance downwards.
For Anthony the insult was too blatant to ignore. ‘It seems to me you wouldn’t recognise calibre if you fell over it on the stairs,’ he said to Natalie. She stared at him coldly, and people shifted uneasily in their chairs. ‘Perhaps a few weeks in our company isn’t long enough for you to properly judge the contribution of your fellow tenants. We don’t just go by qualifications and pieces of paper. Talent is everything. Which is why I vote to give Alistair Egan an interview. He was very impressive in his short time here.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said David.
‘I don’t see why we shouldn’t interview both,’ said Lisa.
‘I do,’ said Natalie. ‘I hesitate to make this personal, but I think Leo may have a particular reason why he’s putting this young man’s name forward.’ She turned to Leo. ‘Wasn’t it because of some special relationship with you that he got his mini-pupillage here in the first place?’
Leo raised his eyes and met Natalie’s frigid stare. ‘That is an outrageous suggestion. And you have absolutely no justification for making it.’
‘I think I have every justification. These may be enlightened times, but how can we turn a blind eye to the kind of romantic favouritism that has characterised your behaviour with junior members of the Bar over the years?’
‘Look here, we’ve all taken an interest in and promoted talented youngsters,’ interjected David, in an attempt to defuse the situation. ‘That hardly amounts—’
Natalie didn’t take her eyes off Leo. ‘He’s an extremely attractive young man, and I happen to know that you’ve spent an inordinate amount of time in his company.’
‘Are you joking?’ demanded Anthony.
Natalie shifted her gaze to him. ‘You of all people should be able to spot the signs.’
There was an appalled silence.
‘I think you should be very careful what you say,’ said Leo.
Lisa Blackmore sat silently, glancing from Leo to Natalie as though weighing up the balance of power.
David murmured in a placatory manner, ‘Please, I think we should calm down and try to look rationally—’
‘If this committee interviews Sian Attwood without interviewing Alistair Egan, as head of chambers I will demand a full investigation into the frankly slanderous remarks made here today,’ interrupted Leo.
Lisa glanced at Natalie. ‘If you have nothing to substantiate your remarks, I think maybe you should withdraw them.’
Natalie shrugged. ‘Very well. But you can’t go on with this slapdash way of doing things. These chambers need to apply rigorous standards, and academically this young man sounds inadequate.’
‘That, as you have pointed out,’ replied Leo, ‘is something you can judge at interview.’
David said quickly, ‘Look here, since both candidates come on the personal recommendation of two senior members of chambers, I think we should add their names to the list.’ There were hesitant murmurs of agreement. ‘That gives us four candidates in all, I think?’
Lisa nodded. She wrote for a moment, and then read out the list of names. ‘I’ll notify the committee of the dates for interview in due course.’ She looked up. ‘I think that concludes the business of the meeting for the day. Thank you, everyone.’
Leo rose without a word, pushing back his chair, and left the room, followed by Anthony and David. The other committee members filed out, leaving just Natalie, Lisa and Arun.
‘Do you know something no one else does?’ Lisa asked Natalie.
‘We all know Leo Davies’ reputation. He has a history of promoting good-looking young men in whom he’s taken – shall we call it, a close personal interest? Of course, it’s not the kind of thing that is ever brought up—’
‘You just did,’ observed Arun.
Natalie gave him a cool glance. ‘I would have thought you younger tenants would want to promote diversity within chambers. If you take on Leo Davies’ protégé, you’re just perpetuating the unreconstructed, stale male stereotype that does the image of the Bar no favours. At Caper Court we currently have thirty-two junior counsel, of whom just nine are women. Out of our ten QCs only two are women – myself and Ann Halliday. Someone like Sian Attwood is just what we need. We need to take steps to correct the gender and ethnic imbalance. We certainly don’t need another of Leo’s young male acolytes.’
‘Well, we’re interviewing them both,’ said Lisa.
‘More’s the pity.’ Natalie rose and left the committee room.
‘That was unexpected,’ remarked Leo as he and Anthony went upstairs.
‘I’m surprised you’re not angrier,’ said Anthony. ‘I’d be furious.’ They reached the landing outside Leo’s room, and after hesitating for a moment he asked, ‘There’s no truth in what she said, is there?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then what is it she’s got against you?’
‘Maybe she made a pass at me once, and I wasn’t in the mood. Who knows?’
‘Not everything is about sex, you know.’
He gave Anthony a smile. ‘I think you’ll find it is.’ He went into his room and closed the door.
As she pulled her car to a jerky stop in Gratton Crescent, Sarah Coleman was in a filthy mood. The country spa break that she and three friends had booked weeks ago had turned into a non-event. They had all set off after work in high spirits the previous evening, Sarah driving, but a pile-up on the M11 had caused an enormous traffic jam, and a journey that should have taken one hour turned into four. Then when they eventually reached the spa it turned out that Chloe, who had arranged the break, had made the prepaid booking for the week before in error. After a heated exchange over the spa’s no-refund policy, they’d been forced to check into a nearby Travelodge. The drive back this morning had not been fun, with a lengthy squabble over whether or not they should all be forced to pay for Chloe’s mistake.
She pulled down the sun visor and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She’d slept badly and she looked like shit. She sighed. She would be thirty-five soon, and it showed. She snapped the visor up and glanced towards the house, pondering her current domestic situation. When Leo had suggested last year that she should move in with him, she’d imagined it meant he had ideas of settling down. She’d be only too happy to marry him, to be kept in modest luxury and never have to work again. She’d had enough of slogging away in the City at her job as a senior legal in a shipping insurance firm. Marrying Leo would solve all her problems, and there was no reason why it shouldn’t work. All good relationships were founded on mutual affection and respect, and they had enough of that. As for sex, it was as good now as it had been the first time, if not better. Her spine still tingled when she recalled the extraordinary and instant physical attraction between them on their first encounter years ago, at a dull academic summer garden party at some Oxford college. Ten minutes after meeting they’d left in Leo’s car, headed for his country home and several hours of the most blissfully erotic sex. That afternoon had turned into a whole summer, an unspoken arrangement in which she looked after the house while he toiled in London, cooked and lazed around, and made herself generally available to Leo’s whims and desires, with the occasional – and from Sarah’s point of view, tiresome – participation of James, a local boy he’d picked up along the way. The trouble was, that summer had set the template for their relationship – sex without emotional commitment, friendship without loyalty. Besides their enduring mutual attraction, both physical and intellectual, they both possessed strong instincts for self-preservation, and over the years they had been kind and cruel to one another in equal measure, as circumstances required. And therein lay the fundamental flaw. That lack of trust was making it difficult for her to inch him towards marrying her.
She sat in the car for some minutes, weighing up strategies. It looked as though she was going to have to rewrite the rules of engagement, starting with her own behaviour. So far, she’d been careful to maintain the undemanding premise of their relationship, but perhaps now she needed to soften herself, be less emotionally casual, pay greater attention to domestic detail. Maybe she should cook more often in the evenings, even iron his shirts – he still paid three quid a time to have them laundered, which was fine by her, but these small things had a certain significance – steer him into going out together, try subtly to redirect their shared existence and shape it more in terms of a couple. It could be done. She had to give it a try, at any rate. Time was ticking on.
She got out of the car, fetched her overnight bag from the boot, and crossed the road to the house, filled with a new sense of purpose. She would have a long, hot shower, and then consider how best to effect the transformation of their relationship in slow, careful steps. Her well-worn fantasy – a wedding, beautiful babies (with their combined good looks, any offspring were bound to be beautiful), and the eventual prospect of becoming Lady Davies, when Leo was appointed a Supreme Court judge – suddenly had a fresher feel to it.
She went upstairs to her room and noticed that the door to Leo’s bedroom was ajar and the room was in darkness. Not like him to leave the curtains drawn. He always, in what she thought was a schoolboyishly sweet way, left his bedroom in pristine condition before he went to work, curtains back, bed made, everything neat and tidy. Setting down her bag, she slipped into the room, went to the window, and drew back the heavy curtains. She turned, and was greeted by the sight of a well-honed male body sprawled naked on the bed, one that wasn’t Leo’s. Sergei roused himself sleepily, blinking against the light. For a long, wordless moment, he and Sarah stared at one another. Without any particular haste, Sergei drew the sheet up and frowned in puzzlement. Was she the housekeeper, or maybe the cleaner?
As she regarded the handsome stranger in Leo’s bed, Sarah felt her fantasies slowly dissolving in the acid of cold reality. She’d spent these last months blithely thinking that Leo was exclusively hers. How could she possibly have imagined that his affairs were a thing of the past? This stranger was probably just one of any number of lovers he’d had since she’d moved in.
‘Hi,’ said Sergei, unsure of the etiquette for this situation. The girl, whoever she was, really didn’t look too pleased to find him here. ‘I’m Sergei.’
Sarah made no reply. She went to her room and shut the door. She sat down on the bed, only vaguely noticing the heap of coats and jackets, feeling numb, trying to process her thoughts and feelings. A few moments later she heard the Sergei person go downstairs. She listened to the sounds of him moving around in the kitchen in an unconcerned and unhurried way. Probably making himself breakfast. And why not? He had every right to be here. As much right as she did. They were both just Leo’s playthings. Feelings of anger and humiliation swept through her. All these months she’d let herself be deceived. What a bloody fool she was. But she had only herself to blame. She’d always known the kind of person Leo was – unscrupulous, hedonistic, letting his desires dictate his behaviour. And their relationship had no rules. So she had no right to feel like a victim.
She sat thinking for a long while, until her anger had ebbed away and she was left facing the stark reality of her position. She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t delude herself any longer. He was never going to change, never going to marry her, or see her as the most important person in his life. The only individual of any importance to Leo was himself. She grabbed a few more clothes and added them to what was already in her overnight bag, together with an extra pair of shoes. She would stay at her father’s flat in Westminster till she’d sorted herself out, turfed out the tenant she’d installed in her flat. Thank God she hadn’t sold it. She would return tomorrow when Leo was at work and collect all the rest of her belongings. She felt a bleak flicker of satisfaction, thinking how startled he’d be to find her gone – gone without explanation. He might even be upset. Though that was probably too much to hope for.
