Errors of Judgment(112)

‘Not that thrilling. It’s my new set-top box. Only trouble is, I’m worried I won’t be able to set it up. The bloke said it was dead simple, but I’ve read through the instructions, and I can’t work it out. Not very good with gadgets.’

Henry examined the box. ‘I can sort it out for you, if you like.’

‘Oh, would you, Henry? That would be brilliant.’

‘Can do it this evening, if you’re not busy. I’ve just got to pop round to Cheryl’s first.’ He tried to look matter-of-fact as he said this, but in reality the brief visit to Cheryl’s would be momentous, involving as it did the return of the power drill her father had lent him, and the acknowledgement that the relationship between them had come to an end. It had begun to founder during the holiday with Cheryl and her family. He should have realised at the time that it was a mistake, but at least he had realised before it was too late that Cheryl was one thing, but Cheryl together with her family – well, that was quite another. And since Cheryl was looking for a husband, what was the point of wasting her time, or his? The pang he felt was more for the failure of romance, rather than the loss of Cheryl herself.

‘This evening’s fine. I can cook us something, if you like.’

‘That’s all right – I don’t want to put you out. The set-top box shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.’

‘No, really.’ She smiled at Henry. ‘I’d like to.’

‘OK. Lovely. I’ll be round about eight.’

The grind through the rush hour traffic took a frustrating hour, but when Leo finally got onto the M23 after Croydon, things began to speed up. Then after fifteen minutes he saw red tail lights building up ahead, and the traffic slowed to a crawl. Listening to useless local traffic information about an accident at Junction 14, he cursed himself for not taking the train. He would have been at the airport by now. Not for the first time, he reflected on how limiting a car could be in London, even a top of the top-of-the-range Aston Martin. In fact, having a fast car made the whole thing even sadder. If he didn’t make this flight, he would have to call Jacqueline, and let her take matters into her own hands.

But gradually the traffic began to ease, and he reached the airport just after half seven. Once he had parked and walked to the terminal, the flight was already boarding, and he had to run to the gate. He boarded the plane with the tail-end stragglers, and took a seat at the back, a little out of breath, relieved to have made it.

Without the distraction of a book or a newspaper, he was left entirely to his own thoughts on the flight. He found his concern was centred not on Gabrielle, but on Anthony. Gabrielle – unless for some reason Anthony decided to tell her – need never know about his own relationship with Anthony. But Anthony was well aware of how grotesque it all was. His lover was the daughter of a man with whom he’d slept – only once, admittedly, but degrees of normality did not apply to this situation. There was no knowing the extent to which it might alter, or even destroy, Anthony’s relationship with Gabrielle. Anthony knew that Leo had never stopped loving and wanting him. And it was he who had always put those possibilities out of bounds, admitting only the elements of profound friendship and unspoken emotional attachment. The incestuous nature of this entanglement would be too much for him. He would retreat, of that Leo was pretty sure. How would that affect Gabrielle? Leo had no idea. She was young. Leo wasn’t even sure how deeply she felt about Anthony. By the end of the year, it probably wouldn’t matter. As for himself, his part in all this was debatable. He had no reason to feel guilty – the coincidence of the circumstances would be risible if not so wretched – but for some reason he did. He decided not to explore this, but closed his eyes, trying to empty his mind of all concerns except finding Gabrielle safe and sound in Antibes.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE





Henry left Cheryl’s with a heavy heart. A naturally kind person, he didn’t like hurting anyone, and Cheryl had cried a lot. But there was simply no point in going on with a relationship with someone you didn’t really love. It wasn’t fair. He wondered, as he caught the train to Brixton, whether he would ever find anyone to love and settle down with. Maybe there was no such thing as the perfect person. Maybe everything in life was a compromise. He was glad he had promised to sort out Felicity’s set-top box; it was something to take his mind off the business with Cheryl.

When he arrived at the flat, Felicity had laid the table for supper.

‘I’m just doing us steaks and baked potatoes,’ she said. ‘And a bit of salad. Nothing fancy.’