Judicial Whispers (17 page)

Leo studied her face, the way the lamplight shone on the curve of her cheekbones and the dark depths of her eyes, the movement of her lips as she spoke. He watched with fascination as tears came shimmering, unspilt, to the surface of her eyes, then slid down across the fine skin of her cheeks. Her mouth trembled. He waited. She breathed deeply again, stroked away the tears with the backs of her fingers, lifted his handkerchief to her face.

‘There had been someone – there had been a man around the campus, attacking people. Girls. We were all told – oh, you know. We were all told not to go out alone, not to be on the campus after dark, to be on the look out.’ She turned her face to look at him, her dark eyes fastened on his. ‘But I wasn’t the kind who went around with other girls, in pairs. And I didn’t think it could happen to me. I didn’t think I could go on being hurt …’ Her voice was no more than a whisper. To his surprise
her mouth tilted into something like a smile. ‘But, of course, who better to choose than someone who was already a victim? So, to add to it all, I was raped – and there was this nightmare starting all over again, police and people talking at me, those soothing voices going on and on, prodding at me, uncovering everything …’ She put her hands over her eyes again and cried without speaking for a few moments. Then eventually she took her hands away. She turned to look at the brandy glass which Leo held. ‘Do you think I could have some more, please? Just a little.’ Leo handed her the glass and she finished it.

‘What happened to you?’ asked Leo, breaking the silence.

‘Afterwards? Oh, I suppose I went completely to pieces. Poor Alan tried to comfort me, to stay near, but it couldn’t go back to the way it had been. I drove him away. Couldn’t handle it – not even having him as a friend. And there I was. Just a wreck. The university were very good. They let me take time off, stay back a year.’ She sighed. ‘I think my studying, my work, was the only thing that helped me survive.’ She gave a shaky little laugh and glanced at the handkerchief, crushing it into a damp ball. ‘Not that I did, really. I just exist. That’s all I’ve ever done since. Which is why I was so stupid this evening, and why I’ve made such a mess of this thing with Anthony …’

Leo suddenly thought of Anthony, remembering a time when Anthony, too, had sat in this room. When Leo had sought to make him his lover. The memory was oddly disturbing.

‘How – how did this man rape you?’ asked Leo.

She stared at him. ‘You want me to tell you?’ Her voice was very soft, lightened by surprise. Her eyes were still very dark and far away.

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’ she wondered.

‘In case it helps,’ replied Leo, lying. ‘To get rid of everything, I mean.’

Rachel had never imagined she could recount to anyone what had happened. Even for the police she had dragged out only the barest facts. They had never caught him, anyway. She had only sketched the event for Dr Michaels, leaning instead on an account of her own subsequent feelings, making that the important thing. But now she told Leo, running back in her mind over every moment. It seemed to her as though she heard her own voice coming from a distance as she spoke. And Leo listened, scanning her face, saying nothing, his blue gaze mesmeric, a muscle in his cheek flickering. Why am I telling him this? she wondered suddenly. We don’t even know one another. Why does he want to hear? She stopped.

‘So,’ she said, looking away. ‘So now you know.’

‘And do you think,’ he said, putting the empty glass he had been holding back on the table, ‘that it’s helped?’

She stared at the backs of her hands, then shook her head against the pillow of coat and jacket. ‘I doubt it. Why should it?’ She glanced at him, thinking how fine his face was, how oddly expressive, patient. She studied his light blue eyes for a moment, suddenly remembering the feeling she had had on first seeing him. ‘I’ve been going over everything with my analyst – except for what I’ve just told you. Good God,’ she sighed, and turned her gaze back to the ceiling, ‘we’ve done the thing to death. It hasn’t taken me anywhere. I’m still rigid with fear any time a man comes near me.’ She laughed, then sniffed, suddenly a little sad at the thought of dear Dr Michaels, sitting solid and healthy in her green, helpful room. ‘She thinks it’s just a question of finding the right person. Somewhere out there.’ And Rachel gestured slightly into the far shadows of the room and beyond.

Leo thought about this. ‘Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps if you stop seeing men as men …’

Rachel gave a short laugh. ‘How do I do that? They are, after all, aren’t they?’

‘I mean, not as these dreadful, penetrative, plundering creatures—’ He rubbed his chin, cast his glance away. ‘I know that’s all you’ve ever known, but they’re not all like that.’

Rachel noticed he said ‘they’, not ‘we’, and looked at him curiously. Then she sighed. ‘I know. I know. Don’t you think I’ve tried to tell myself that about Anthony?’

‘Don’t talk about Anthony,’ said Leo. ‘This has nothing to do with Anthony.’ The tone of his voice made her turn to look at him again. ‘This is between you and me.’ At the words, she felt a sudden current of intimacy between them, and a recollection of the force that had touched her earlier, on first seeing him; then it ebbed away, leaving her feeling warm and inert.

‘Now,’ he said gently, ‘you have told me everything, and there is nothing more to know. Not about all that. Now there is only you left. You can’t keep the pain with you for ever. Let it go. It’s part of the past, it only lives in your mind. And the past is gone.’

As he spoke, her gaze darted from his bright blue eyes to the silver of his hair, then back again, back and forth. He watched, as he spoke, the movement of her eyes, her mesmerised stare fastening on his face, then flitting away again. As he talked to her gently, insistently, his voice low and idle, the movement of her eyes gradually ceased, and at last her gaze was fixed only upon his face. She looked at his mouth as he talked, at the fine lines, either from pain or laughter, or both, that creased the flesh on either side. She stared at the angular jaw, the skin against the bone slightly soft and slack with incipient middle age, and at the lines of his nose, his cheekbones, the faint shadows beneath. She felt as though she had known this face for a long, long time.

Such a wonderful face, she thought, as her body relaxed with the cadence of his words. She had liked his face from the first moment she had seen it, when he had turned to look at her. For a moment she struggled with the idea of telling him this, of talking about that moment, but her mind would not move
words to her mouth. She simply lay there and listened, drugged with kindness.

When he lifted his hand to the first of the buttons on her dress, she clasped it in both of hers and rocked her head from side to side. But her hands did not stop his; they merely remained fastened to his wrist as he undid the button. Then the second and the third, all the way down. She followed his hand, watching the sinews sliding beneath the skin of his wrist where the unbuttoned cuff of his shirtsleeve had fallen away.

Her hands dropped from his as he opened her dress, pushing it to either side of her body. She did not wonder at her lack of fear; she was only aware that there was no fear there. Her mind seemed to be floating, incapable of fixed thought. Her gaze remained fastened on the fine covering of hair on the back of his hand as he stroked his fingers lightly across her stomach, then, as his hand moved slowly downwards, easing her pants past her hips, down her legs, slipping them to the floor, she looked back to his face. It was expressionless, meditative, and he looked into her eyes as though thinking of something far away. At the first touch of his fingers between her legs, she drew in a soft breath, and her hands clutched convulsively at his wrist. He paused only for a second and then carried on caressing, stroking, gazing at her face as she closed her eyes and drew in sudden breaths at each movement of his fingers. His whole being was impassive, except for the slight quickening of his breath in time with hers. He watched with detachment the pale, slender fingers holding his wrist as his hand moved, over and over. They did not release their grip until her last, shuddering sigh had died away and her arched back relaxed.

He leant his chin upon the edge of the sofa, watching her, his damp fingers stroking her stomach softly, until the last small, shocking waves of pleasure died away within her, and she opened her eyes. They gazed at one another with a naked
intimacy that seemed to spread fire through her limbs. She did not want to move. She wanted to stay there for ever, gazing at him, lost in him.

Why have I done this thing? wondered Leo. Perhaps to help her, because the moment was there, although she didn’t know it, and because if I hadn’t taken it, it might have vanished for ever. But he knew himself better. If that had been part of it, he knew also that he had become aroused listening to her, that her pain and her isolation had excited him. It had been experimental, he had enjoyed that sense of power in taking her beyond herself, watching her come.

‘You see,’ he murmured, his chin still resting on the edge of the sofa, ‘we are not all monsters. We do give, occasionally.’

He raised himself up in his kneeling position, conscious of the tingling stiffness of his legs. I am getting old, he thought. He buttoned her dress gently to the top, and she simply lay there, looking at him. Impossible to send her home, he thought, looking down at her. But how would it be in the morning? Well, that must take care of itself.

‘Come on,’ he said, his voice as kind and persuasive as he could make it, ‘don’t keep thinking about it. You need some sleep. A lot of sleep, I’d say. You can sleep in the spare room.’

He got up, flexing his knees, and went through to the spare room, pulling open a cupboard and taking out a duvet and a pillow. He arranged them on the bed. When he turned round she was standing in the doorway, her shoes in her hand. She did not look at him. Her face was blurred and beautiful, and he felt suddenly quite touched by what had just happened.

‘Thank you,’ she said, and went past him to the bed.

He paused in the doorway. ‘Goodnight,’ he said.

He went back into the living room and stood there. All very peculiar, he thought. All very unexpected. He rubbed at the back of his neck with his hand, then glanced at his watch. Nearly
eleven. He picked up the coffee cups and took them into the kitchen, then returned for the brandy glass and the coffee pot. Then he locked up and went to bed.

As Rachel sat on the bed after he had gone, thoughts and feelings moved like slow, giddy birds in her brain. Each time she thought about what had happened, what he had done, his hands upon her body, it seemed that it could not have happened. Yet each time the recollection repeated itself a warm wave of desire eddied up in her, and she knew it had. She sat listening for a while, a long while, until he had gone to bed. Then she undressed and stood up in the darkness. She felt her way out of her room and along to where his bedroom must be. She opened the door and her eyes grew accustomed to the half-darkness, the room faintly lit through the blind from the lamp out in the mews.

When she slid beneath the sheets, Leo was almost asleep. He turned over instinctively, and the drowsy shock of her closeness, as he felt her gentle, tentative hands slide across his skin, sent a current of pleasure through his half-awake body. He woke, gathered her to him without a word, stroked her face, then kissed her for a long, long time, and when he entered her, she gave only the smallest whimper of absolute relief.

When Leo’s radio alarm began to buzz, he reached out and fumblingly switched it off. He lay face down, listening to the sound of rain upon the window, and then remembered. He turned his head. She was still deeply asleep, her dark, silken hair over her face, one hand upon the edge of his pillow. He lifted locks of her hair gently away from her face with his fingers, and studied her features. Then he sighed, got out of bed quietly, fetched his robe and went through to the bathroom to shower and shave.

He dressed, made some coffee, and still she slept. Leo looked at the clock. Twenty to nine. If she didn’t wake soon, it would be time for him to go. He didn’t see how he could decently leave without speaking to her. He would have to wake her in half an hour; he was due in court at ten. But what was he to say to her? The situation was not straightforward.

Rachel woke to the sound of rain and the smell of coffee, realised where she was, and knew suddenly that the sound of rain and the smell of coffee together would always take her back to this moment. Her mind was instantly flooded with him, with
everything that had happened, with complete and unconditional love. She turned over and lay on her back, recalling it all – talking to him, watching him, then listening to him, the hypnotic charm of his voice, the touch of his hands, their lovemaking. It had been, she told herself, the most important night of her life. She suddenly wanted very badly to see him, to see his face, have him before her.

She sat up slowly, listened, and could hear nothing. A small wave of panic swept her; suppose he had gone, and she was here alone? She got out of bed and picked up Leo’s shirt from the chair where he had flung it last night. She held it to her face for a moment, breathing the scent of him, then slipped it on, buttoning it carefully.

Leo was eating oatcakes and marmalade in the kitchen when she appeared in the doorway.

‘Very pretty,’ he murmured, getting up and taking his coffee cup and plate to the sink. She was swept with relief at the sight of him, the wonderful, absolutely perfect sight of him.

‘Coffee?’ he asked, lifting a cup from the shelf without waiting for her reply.

She sat down at the table and watched him, uncertain what was to unfold between them now. She did not care. She could not care; she was entirely in his control, without freedom of will or action. She simply waited.

‘There we go,’ he said, and set the cup down in front of her. ‘Milk,’ he added, pointing, ‘sugar,’ pointing again. Then he looked at her face, calm and lovely. Possibly still a bit groggy, he told himself. He smiled encouragingly. ‘Oatcakes.’ He lifted the packet, then set it down again. ‘And marmalade. Not the most conventional combination, I know, but I’ve run out of bread.’

‘I’m not hungry, thanks,’ she replied, with something like a smile. This was not true, but she could not have eaten at that moment. She scarcely wanted the coffee. She simply wanted to
know where all this was to be taken, this precarious, tipping feeling of happiness, of suddenly finding herself in love.

Leo moved around the kitchen for a few moments, ostensibly clearing up, humming to himself, but wondering how best to bring this to a tidy conclusion. Remembering all that she had told him last night, and subsequent events, one had to be careful.

‘I think I have time for one more cup before I go,’ he said at last, glancing at his watch, deciding that something had to be said. He sat down opposite her with his coffee.

‘So,’ he said, then paused. ‘I suppose we have to sort this out a bit.’ She said nothing, simply looked at him with those marvellously clear blue eyes. She looked astonishingly good, he thought, for someone who had just woken up. ‘I think we have to be clear about why last night happened,’ he went on, his voice light and decisive. ‘For Anthony’s sake, as much as for anyone else’s.’

Anthony? she thought wonderingly. What did Anthony have to do with any of this? In the realm where Leo spoke and moved, Anthony simply did not exist for her.

‘Why do you say that?’ she asked slowly.

Leo sat back in his chair, opened his mouth to speak, and then hesitated. He wondered why his legendary eloquence had to desert him at this juncture. Not that he felt guilty about Anthony. If anything, he’d probably done the boy a favour. But he could hardly say this.

‘Because – well, aren’t you – aren’t you seeing one another, as it were?’ As it were? He could hardly believe he’d said anything so fatuous.

Rachel looked down at her coffee. There were several meanings to be read into what Leo had just said, but only one reply that she could possibly make.

‘He isn’t – he couldn’t be – anything more than a friend.’

‘I think,’ replied Leo carefully, ‘that he sees it as a little more
than that.’ He was worried by the turn this conversation seemed to be taking.

She looked up quickly. ‘I don’t care. Do you honestly think that I could? Now?’

He met her candid gaze, then leant forward. He could not be mistaken as to what her words implied. ‘Rachel,’ he said. She watched his hands twisting his coffee cup, loving the way her name sounded when he said it. ‘Rachel, what happened last night—’ She waited, watching, conscious of breathing in light, slow, suspenseful breaths. He looked up. ‘It was not something I had intended. It was – well—’ He spread his hands; she had to restrain an urge to stretch out her own and place them in his. She squeezed her hands together between her thighs, out of sight below the table. ‘Just look on it as – as giving one another comfort. Just an exchange of kindness.’

‘Kindness?’ She echoed his word softly, gazing at him. He looked away. ‘Was there nothing more to it than that?’ There was wonderment in her voice.

‘Rachel – it happened because – because I wanted to help, because things seemed to be very bad for you, and you needed—’ He sighed, rumpling his grey hair with his fingers. ‘Oh, hell, you didn’t need this, at any rate, did you?’

She put out her hand and laid it over his. He looked down, thinking that this was getting difficult, and that he was going to be late.

‘Yes, I did. Leo, I did.’ Her voice was gentle but urgent. She was conscious of the distance between them, that whatever extraordinary emotion she felt for him, it was not returned. He was being as honest as he could when he said that he had only meant to show her kindness. But she thought about their lovemaking, how it had obliterated all her tensions and fears, dissolving the anxieties of the past years, and she could not believe that there was to be nothing more. There would be more
love, and love of a different kind. Not now, but eventually. Everything she felt for Leo at that moment made her serenely sure of it.

He sighed. He wanted to have a chance to read through that affidavit before going into court; time was slipping away.

‘Look, Rachel, I don’t know how we both got into this, but I think we must just put it behind us.’ He slid his hand from beneath hers and rose. ‘There’s nothing to me. I don’t go the distance. A non-starter. What has happened has to be the extent of it. If it has helped you, I’m glad. If it’s messed you and Anthony up, I’m – well, I don’t think you should let it. Look on what happened between us as – oh, some kind of catharsis.’ He looked down at his hands, then thrust them into his pockets. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s all right,’ she replied, feeling as though her soul were shrivelling up inside her at the impatient finality of his voice. ‘I suppose it’s the kind of thing that happens to you all the time,’ she added sadly.

Leo did not know what reply to make. He could hardly say that yes, it was, only it was usually some young man, and only very rarely a woman. Certainly not Rachel’s type of woman, he thought, surveying her fine beauty, her tumbled black hair, the slender body that looked so charming and vulnerable in his shirt of yesterday.

‘Come here,’ he said softly. She got up and came round the table to him. He laid his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes, which searched his own face trustingly. ‘Last night was wonderful,’ he said gently. Tiring, though, he thought. ‘I’m very glad it happened. Very. You are a lovely and most special creature. Please just go on from here. Forget everything in the past. I hope we shall see one another from time to time. Now’ – he paused, kissed her lightly on the forehead – ‘I have to go or I shall be late for court.’

He took his hands from her shoulders and moved away into the living room to fetch his jacket. She stood very still in the kitchen. He reappeared in the doorway. ‘Help yourself to anything you want. There’s plenty of hot water for a shower, or whatever.’ He shrugged his shoulders into his jacket, patting his pockets for wallet and keys, and stood looking at her. ‘Just give the door a good slam when you leave for work.’

‘Oh, I shan’t go into work today,’ she said, and gave him a faint smile. ‘I’ll work at home. It’s Friday, after all, and I’m going to spend the weekend with friends in the country. I’ll just go down a few hours earlier.’ She wanted to keep her voice, her words, casual and friendly, as though none of it mattered, as though she could treat it in his sensible, dismissive way. She thought she knew now, as she stood looking at him, what it meant to have an aching heart. Heavy as lead, and aching. There was no other word to describe it.

‘Good. Fine,’ said Leo. Well, that all seemed to have gone off without a problem. There had been a moment when he had thought things were going to get out of hand and emotional. But she seemed to be approaching it sensibly. No tears, at any rate. ‘I’ll be off, then,’ he added. ‘Goodbye.’

Although he had imagined that he had parted from Rachel on a rational note of mutual understanding, the thought of her haunted him throughout his morning in court. She had taken it very well, he knew, but the realisation grew upon him that he had treated her as he might treat the averagely promiscuous, worldly thirty-five-year-old. In fact, he told himself savagely, as he watched Angus Hooper, counsel for the other side, making his sonorous submissions, he had behaved abominably. But what was he to have done? How did one behave in such a situation? It wasn’t as though he’d set out to seduce her. The thing had been totally unpremeditated. It was she who had come to
his
bed, not
the other way around. Although the events which had preceded that might fairly be seen as encouragement. Still, he had not expected it.

‘… and, my Lord, the defendants do not dispute,’ Angus Hooper was saying, his over-refined vowels rolling out into the blank air of the courtroom, ‘that the person who would be liable on the plaintiffs’ claim in an action
in personam
was, when the cause of action arose, the owner of the charterer of the
Ara Fidelis
. That is not in dispute. What my clients contend, however …’

Leo tapped his teeth with his pen. He should just steer clear of sex with women; he did not handle them well. They expected things, they took lovemaking as a prelude to great emotional entanglements, instead of just taking it for what it was. He should simply have told her, without any fuss, to go back to her own bed. Ha! He made a face at this thought, and his instructing solicitor glanced momentarily at him. All very well to say that in the cold light of day, but at the time he had drawn a kind of comfort from her soft presence.

‘… and I would submit that the words “damage done by a ship” must, as a matter of language, my Lord, clearly refer to physical damage alone—’

‘But Mr Hooper, the court has already accepted that the words in the paragraph are “done by”, and not “caused by”, interrupted Mr Justice Appleby with a sigh. He was growing more and more irascible by the half-hour. Leo snapped to attention as the judge glanced in his direction. ‘No doubt Mr Davies would agree with me that such a submission begs the question.’

Leo rose. ‘My Lord, that is indeed our view. The words “done by” import the concept of physical damage. But I would submit that it is clearly beyond doubt that there is no need to establish any physical contact by the ship which does the damage. Your
Lordship is familiar, of course, with the dictum of Lord Diplock in
The Eschersheim
…’ That’ll do, thought Leo, and let his voice drift away.

Mr Justice Appleby nodded. ‘Quite so, Mr Davies. That, I think, is your obstacle, is it not, Mr Hooper?’ He looked to Hooper, then glanced back briefly, approvingly, at Leo.

Good enough, thought Leo. Appleby was a notoriously impatient judge, but Leo felt he had his measure – it was simply a case of knowing your stuff inside out and not being too repetitive. Leo eyed the judge’s small, jowly face beneath the too-large wig, which made him look like a bespectacled, ill-tempered baby, and thought with gratification that Appleby, too, could be counted on to support him. At this, the recollection of Sir Frank Chamberlin’s fears struck him coldly. And when Appleby heard whatever rumours were drifting around – what then? Would he discount them, disbelieve them, continue to regard Leo as an excellent and obvious choice for silk? Would he regard the fact that Leo had been known to take male lovers as an irrelevance? Perhaps he would. He was a man who liked to think himself free from the taint of bigotry. But what exactly were the things which might come to his ear, and to the rest of the Commercial Bench? Leo thought again of what Frank had said. Perhaps he should go back to him, ask him the exact nature of the conjecture.

And then, as his mind summoned up what it could recall of their conversation in the smoking room at White’s, an extraordinary and not unconnected notion occurred to him. Counsel’s voice rose again.

‘… my clients contend that it is inappropriate to claim an injunction in an action
in rem
, because the action is against a ship, and there are no defendants unless the owners of the ship acknowledge service of the writ, thereby submitting to the jurisdiction …’

Leo stared unseeingly at Hooper as he continued his tortuous
verbal meanderings. Of course, Frank’s suggestion for scotching the rumour was preposterous. The last thing Leo ever wished to contemplate was marriage, to either sex, in whatever form. But the thing need not necessarily be taken to such extremes. There were half-measures. Might he not achieve the same results by appearing, for a few months at least, to be quite markedly attached to some woman? That might have the effect, if not of giving the lie to such rumours as existed, at least of defusing them of immediate impact, of rendering them harmless, of making him a person of no obvious risk in the eyes of the Lord Chancellor’s Office? If he could engineer it so that it was widely reported that he was seeing someone, and that it was serious … it might just swing the thing. There were women he knew, friends, who might cooperate – but no, that would not be convincing. There had to be a large degree of sincerity, at least on one side, for the thing to work – and he could think of just the person. The fact that Rachel was a lawyer was even more helpful. When the likes of Roger Williams and others got wind of it, half the City would believe that Leo Davies had capitulated at last. Leo was well aware that most of his fellow lawyers enviously believed that he was footloose and fancy-free by choice, probably bedding half the attractive women who worked within the square mile. It was a belief which he had done nothing in the past to discourage, since it served his private purposes very well.