Judicial Whispers (21 page)

Felicity folded her arms across her generous bosom and nodded sadly, her curls bobbing. ‘Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m just not that good at – well, some things, I suppose.’ She chewed thoughtfully on her thumbnail. ‘I’m sorry it hasn’t worked out.’

‘So am I,’ said Rachel, relieved that the thing appeared to be accepted without rancour. It had been pretty clear from the start that, dear girl though she was, Felicity was not a clerical asset to any solicitor. ‘Mr Lamb says he’ll have a word with you tomorrow,’ she added.

And what else’ll he have besides? wondered Felicity gloomily as she wandered back to her desk. A bit more pawing in return for being allowed to carry on working at Nichols & Co, no doubt. She slumped into her chair. Mind you, she thought, aware of the furtive glances of Louise and Doris, at least she’d be away from these old cows. It might even be fun in another department. If only there wasn’t Mr Lamb to be faced in the morning.

At six-twenty, Felicity came into the Ladies and was surprised to find Rachel there, carefully putting on make-up. She murmured hello.

‘I thought you would have gone home long ago,’ remarked Rachel, giving her a smile in the mirror.

‘I’m meeting Vince up town,’ said Felicity, ‘so I thought I might as well finish that report thing.’ She disappeared into a cubicle.

‘You didn’t have to, you know,’ said Rachel, raising her voice to reach Felicity. She gazed at her reflection. She didn’t normally wear much make-up to work, but she didn’t want to look
completely insipid for Leo. He was probably the kind of man who liked his women well groomed. Was this too much lipstick?

Felicity flushed the loo and emerged. ‘I thought I might as well try to end on a good note,’ she said cheerfully. She began to wash her hands, then glanced up at Rachel. ‘You going out?’

Rachel nodded; her smile was radiant as she combed her hair.

‘Well,’ said Felicity awkwardly, ‘have a nice time, then.’

‘Thanks,’ replied Rachel. ‘You, too.’ They looked at one another for a moment in the mirror, neither saying anything.

‘You look really nice,’ added Felicity. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight,’ said Rachel, feeling, she did not know why, faintly ashamed.

Felicity put on her coat and went down in the lift to reception. Nora had gone home and Ted, the night porter, was on duty, talking to a grey-haired man at the desk. Very snazzy, thought Felicity, eyeing the elegant suit and dark cashmere coat.

‘I’ll just check with Miss Dean,’ said Ted, as Felicity walked past, twinkling her fingers at him in farewell.

Christ, how does she do it? wondered Felicity, glancing back over her shoulder at Leo’s lean, preoccupied face before pushing through the revolving doors into the cold night air. Mind you, she thought, ramming her hands deep into her pockets as she headed for the Tube, Rachel’s men all seemed far too neat and tidy for her taste. She thought with longing and affection of Vince’s tousled, unkempt cheerfulness, and did not envy Rachel a thing.

How can anyone be this happy? thought Rachel, watching Leo’s face in the restaurant as he talked. They seemed to have done nothing but talk – incessantly, wonderfully, all evening. She had never met anyone who knew so much, who was so amusing and perceptive, with the ability to be funny and grave in the same moment. It delighted her to find that they shared common interests, too. He had been talking about sculpture, and she had mentioned a bronze he had in his house in Mayfair. ‘Dennis Mitchell, isn’t it?’ she had said. And he had looked surprised and pleased and said, yes, it was. And they had talked for a while about that.

Now he was telling her about a case he had, and as he spoke her eyes wandered across his face, a little tired now at the end of the day, shadows below the eyes. She wanted to be able to reach out and stroke a hand across his features, touching them lovingly. Instead, she sat listening, wishing the evening didn’t have to end, sipping at her wine. Not once had he referred to Friday morning, nor to the possibility that this evening was purely by way of atonement for that. From his very first smile
when she had emerged from the lift at six-thirty, he had behaved as though being with her was the simplest, most natural thing in the world. He talked to her as though from some different beginning, as though everything he already knew about her was an irrelevance. But it seemed to her impossible that the events of the recent past should not be touched upon.

She gazed thoughtfully down at the table as Leo asked the waiter to bring more coffee, then lifted her eyes to meet his. There was a brief silence.

‘You look thoughtful,’ said Leo, clasping his hands together and resting his chin on them. He gritted his teeth together to suppress a yawn. Not that she wasn’t good company, but he was weary after his day in court, and he still had to go over his notes before the cross-examination of that export manager continued tomorrow. She smiled a slow smile, and he thought that perhaps he didn’t want to hear what was on her mind. It might go on a bit. When women got that look in their eye, it meant that they wanted to dissect something in a lingering fashion.

‘You know—’ she began, and leant forward, still smiling, her dark, soft hair swinging against her face. I was right, thought Leo. Here we go. My mistake for ordering more coffee instead of the bill. ‘You know, I was wondering,’ she went on, ‘why you called today. Why we’re here now.’ Her pulse had quickened as she spoke, aware that she might not receive the answer she hoped for. ‘When you left on Friday morning—’

‘Don’t you know the golden rule?’ interrupted Leo with a smile. ‘Never ask a question in examination-in-chief unless you know what the answer’s going to be.’ There was a pause as the waiter poured more coffee. Then Leo glanced up at her. She’s still waiting for an answer, he thought. Well, now – what should it be?

‘I suppose,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘that Friday morning wasn’t the best time to make decisions.’ His eyes held hers. Tell her what
she wants to hear, he thought. But just a little, not too much. ‘I found I was thinking about you over the weekend – more than I expected. And I – wanted to see you again. As simple as that.’ He gave her his best candid gaze, then lowered his eyes. ‘As a matter of fact,’ he lied, ‘I was afraid you might not want to see me.’

Oh, how could you think that? thought Rachel. How could you possibly imagine that for one moment? She wanted to tell him how much she was in love with him, that the interval between his phone calls today had been hell, and that the thought of this evening ending was misery itself. But she could say none of that. She simply smiled and said, ‘Well, you were wrong.’

Her smile, gentle as it was, was so pure and radiant that Leo decided she deserved a little more. He leant forward, too, and placed the tips of his fingers upon her hands.

‘I want us to forget about Thursday night,’ he said, his voice low. ‘It was the wrong way to start. I don’t know what I feel,’ he went on, feeling that what he actually wanted was to be home and asleep within the hour, ‘but I do know that I want us to begin here, now, as though none of that ever happened.’ He covered her hands with his and looked at her. ‘Can we do that?’

‘Yes,’ murmured Rachel. She nodded and looked away, her heart brimming with happiness.

Enough of that, thought Leo, and, gently drawing his hands away, leant back and called for the bill. Her hands still rested on the table and she sat mute, smiling faintly.

Leo drove her back to Fulham, feeling that he had set the thing tolerably well in motion. She sat beside him, not saying anything, lost in her own thoughts as she gazed at the passing traffic. He glanced at her profile, remembering the gratifying glances of admiration she had received in the restaurant. There was a certain self-reflecting satisfaction in being seen with a beautiful girl. Most men of his age would envy him. It had been
an agreeable surprise, too, to find that she knew something about the things which interested him. No one, not a single one of his lovers, male or female, had ever shown the slightest interest in the little bronze spiral sculpture which stood on the bookcase in the corner of his living room, let alone known the artist. Perhaps the next few months would not prove excessively tedious. There was always sex, too, and the prospect of exploring her faculty for experiment, but he was keeping that well in reserve for the moment.

‘Right here,’ said Rachel, interrupting his train of thought. He indicated and turned the wheel obediently. ‘It’s the second road on the right down here. The corner house.’

He brought the car to a halt beside the church opposite her flat.

‘Would you like a coffee, or something?’ asked Rachel, uncertain whether she should ask or not, but longing, as she had longed all evening, to be alone with him, to hold him, feel him against her.

He turned to her, the light from the street lamp etching shadows beneath his brow and cheekbones. She suddenly wished, with a wistful tenderness, that he was twenty years younger, that she could have known him as a young man. It was almost as though something precious and irretrievable had been lost to her.

‘I don’t think I should, you know,’ he replied. ‘This case goes on tomorrow, and I have to look at a few things …’ He studied her features in the half-light, then drew his finger gently from her brow down across her cheek, his mouth moving towards hers. He kissed her gently at first, and then more fiercely, and she clung to him, a little murmur coming from the back of her throat as he deftly unfastened the top button of her blouse and slid his hand across the warm flesh of her breast. He remembered that small whimper of longing from Thursday night, and was
suddenly possessed with a lunatic urge to make love to her then and there in the car. It was the kind of dangerous, imbecile thing which turned him on, the illicit and uncontrollable. That was what Leo liked.

But he did not. He lowered his head and kissed her breast for a moment between the folds of her coat; she arched her head back, her throat white in the glow from the street light. Then he raised his head and pulled her mouth to his again.

‘You see,’ he muttered, as their kiss ended, ‘I don’t think coffee would be enough. And I want us to take things slowly … this time.’ He could feel her trembling slightly. He raised both hands to fasten her blouse, conscious of her dark gaze resting on his face. There was silence for a moment. ‘When can I see you again?’ he asked. ‘Later this week?’

She nodded, too weak with love and desire to reply.

‘I’ll call you at work,’ he said, and kissed her softly again as she reached for the door handle.

‘Thank you for a wonderful evening,’ she said, and smiled the slow, curving smile which Leo thought he really quite liked.

He said nothing, merely smiled in return and watched as she stepped from the car. Then, as she was about to close the door, he said, ‘By the way, I’ve just thought of something. Are you busy on the sixteenth?’

‘Of December?’ She leant down.

‘Mmm.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Good. Keep it free.’

She nodded, and he glanced at the car clock. Another minute or so, what was the difference? ‘And come here,’ he added softly, leaning across to her. She crouched down and let him kiss her again, then rose and went across the road and up to her flat.

He watched her go, waited for a light to appear in the upstairs window, then started the car. That, he thought, as he
turned his Porsche round carefully in the narrow side street, had gone very well. Next time, however, the venue must be a little more public, somewhere he could guarantee to be seen with her. Public dalliance. He smiled to himself as he drove down Brompton Road. He couldn’t remember terribly much about making love to her last Thursday night, partly because it had been dark, but he recalled that it had been generally enjoyable. She had such a nice, slender, boyish body. He wondered what she would look like with all that dark hair cut short …

Mr Lamb waited until lunchtime the following day before summoning Felicity to his office. When she went in, he was sitting well back from his desk, his legs crossed, the light shining waxily on his bald spot as he cleaned his nails with the edge of a piece of index card.

‘Close the door, please, Felicity,’ he said, glancing up and giving her a smile. She closed it and then sat down opposite him. Less easy for him to make a pass at her, she reckoned, if she was seated. She waited.

Mr Lamb chucked the piece of card aside and wheeled his chair swiftly forward on its castors to the desk, on which he rested his forearms.

‘Well, I think you know why you’re here,’ he said smugly. ‘I think you know that Miss Dean has asked to dispense with your services, such as they are. Even she has clearly had enough of your incompetence. It simply surprises me that it’s taken her so long to realise what the rest of us have known for a very long time.’

Felicity, in a state of acute self-pity, felt her eyes prickling as she listened to him. She mustn’t cry, she told herself. He would just love that. He’d probably have an orgasm just to see her in tears. This happy thought had the effect of banishing the incipient tears, and she tried to freeze the rest of his words from
her mind as he went on. Just get it over with so’s I can get out of here, she thought.

Mr Lamb examined his now clean nails. ‘So I’ll be finding someone to take your place. For some reason which is quite beyond me, she’s asked me to try and find you some other work in the firm. Preferably somewhere where your general uselessness won’t be so much in evidence. So, just this once, I’ve decided to give you another chance. I’m transferring you to the computer department, where you’ll be doing general filing and typing up order sheets. You’ll move there after Christmas. It’ll take me till then to find Miss Dean a replacement.’

The
computer
department? God, thought Felicity, that was in the basement. No one went there. No one knew anyone who worked in there. The Land That Time Forgot. When the computer department fielded a team for the firm’s darts tournament, no one knew their names. Still, it was a job. Her friend Maureen was only two floors up. She supposed this was an appropriate juncture at which to thank this bald-headed bastard.

‘Thank you, Mr Lamb,’ she murmured, her eyes fastened on the carpet tiles.

‘Oh, don’t thank me,’ replied Mr Lamb in his Ken Livingstone twang, leaning back. ‘If I’d had my way, you’d have been out on your ear in Mr O’Connell’s day. What a pair you were. An old drunk and someone who couldn’t do more than smoke and do her nails half the day.’

He was a bleeding sight nicer than you, pissed or sober, thought Felicity fiercely.

‘As it is, you have Miss Dean to thank. Of course,’ he added, ‘it is true that I merely have to mention the matter to a few of the other partners – Mr Rothwell, for instance, and John Parr – and you might find yourself without a job. But I won’t do that – not for the moment.’ He swivelled from side to side in his chair, eyeing her. ‘I think you’ll find you’ll have to improve
your standard of dress somewhat for the computer department. Miss Luce isn’t very keen on skirts that length, nor quite such revealing blouses.’ His eyes were fixed on Felicity’s low-cut blouse, one of her favourites. Vince liked it. ‘Are you wearing a bra, Felicity?’ asked Mr Lamb suddenly, softly.

She stared at him. ‘Of course I am!’ she replied.

‘Hmm.’ He continued to swivel in his chair, staring at her cleavage. ‘Well, I suggest that one day next week – I’ll let you know when – you could leave it off. Then maybe you can – pop up here in your lunch hour. Let me have a little look. There’ll be no one about. Just as a little thank-you for being kept on at Nichols and Co.’ He got up and came round the desk. ‘I’m sure they’re well worth looking at, Felicity, aren’t they?’ He moved in front of her, seating himself on the edge of his desk, folding his arms and looking down at her.

If he comes any nearer, I’m going to knee him in the balls, thought Felicity, amazed by what he was saying. But just then a light knock sounded at the door, and Mr Lamb leapt to his feet. His mousey-haired secretary put her head round the door.

‘I thought you were on your lunch hour, Sandra,’ he snapped irritably, putting his hands in his pockets and moving away from Felicity’s chair.

‘Well, I was,’ said Sandra, coming tentatively into the room, a sheaf of papers in her hand, giving Felicity a quick glance. ‘But you said yesterday that you wanted me to get out the pay sheets for last month, so I thought I’d get it done now. Here they are.’

Felicity took this opportunity to slide nervously out of her seat. Mr Lamb stepped forward to take the documents and saw Felicity from the corner of his eye.

‘I’ll just be off, then, Mr Lamb,’ murmured Felicity.

As Mr Lamb replied, ‘I don’t think we’d quite finished yet, Felicity,’ Sandra began to say, ‘There’s just this one that seems a bit funny …’ and Mr Lamb was forced to attend to what she
was saying and look at the sheet she was sorting out from the rest.

He glanced up quickly in annoyance as Felicity made her escape. He’d just been starting to enjoy himself, getting nicely worked up at the thought of getting his hands on those amazing breasts of hers, just a feel, then maybe a look next week. Still, he told himself, sighing with impatience as Sandra droned on at him about these printouts, it would wait. He liked the idea of telling her to go and take her bra off, then come to his office, start unbuttoning her blouse slowly …