Leo studied his friend, noticing for the first time the grey pouches beneath his eyes, and the lines etched on his heavy face. Jamie and Margo divorcing. It seemed hard to believe.
‘Are you still living together?’
Jamie shook his head. ‘She moved out three weeks ago. She’s staying with a friend till we sell the house. Another divorcee. One of the things she told me was that she gets more emotional support from her friends than she does from me.’ He turned his puzzled eyes to Leo. ‘What does she mean by that?’
‘Couldn’t tell you,’ replied Leo sadly.
‘I hate going back there in the evenings. Place is so bloody empty.’
‘Come on, drink up. Let’s go and find something to eat, and drown your sorrows properly.’
They strolled to a little Italian restaurant in Bloomsbury, where they had dinner and a long discussion ranging from Jamie’s marriage to the economic crisis, then back again.
‘I’ve taken a big hit on my investments,’ Jamie told Leo over another bottle of wine. ‘The slump in shares has wiped out a hefty sum, besides screwing the old pension – whatever’s left of it after Margo has her cut. I don’t especially care about selling the house, but I’m sad about the yacht. Had some bloody good times on the old Mareva.’
‘Do you have to sell her?’ asked Leo.
‘I don’t have to. Things aren’t that bad. I could keep her if I wanted to – but the fact is, Leo, I’d rather be rid of her. Too many associations. The boat was a present to ourselves, after the kids were off our hands. Margo and I used to love going off at weekends, just the two of us, catching a flight to Nice, grabbing the hire car, picking up some food and driving down to the marina. I’d sort things out on board, make my special cocktail, and Margo would stretch out in the sun like a happy cat. Weather’s always fantastic down there. Then if the wind was right, we’d take her out round the islands, drop anchor and have lunch, mess about – it felt like being young again.’
Leo signalled to the waiter and ordered two brandies, prepared to let Jamie talk on for as long as he wanted. ‘Sounds idyllic.’
‘It was.’ The brandies came. Jamie swirled his in silence, took a sip, and said, ‘I’m flying down there early tomorrow morning to lay the boat up for the winter. Then I’ll put her up for sale, take out an ad in Yachting Monthly or whatever, and wait for a buyer.’ He sipped his Courvoisier and mused, ‘First time I’ve been down there on my own since I bought her.’ There was silence for a moment. Jamie glanced at Leo. ‘You busy this weekend?’
‘Not particularly,’ replied Leo.
‘Fancy coming down with me? You’ll have no problem getting a seat on the plane. The easyJet flights are never full at this time of year.’
Leo pondered this, mildly surprised. It wasn’t his weekend to have Oliver, and the party he was due to go to tomorrow night – the prospect of which bored him already – could easily be ducked. A trip with Jamie could be amusing. On the other hand, it could be mildly depressing, given all Jamie had just told him.
‘Come on,’ coaxed Jamie. ‘What d’you say? We’ll have a laugh. God knows I could do with one. Show you the rocking sights and sounds of Antibes. Ever been there?’
‘Only fleetingly,’ replied Leo. He remembered flying down there a few years ago in the private jet of a Greek shipping heiress with whom he’d been sleeping at the time. They’d spent the weekend on her 150-foot yacht, with its crew of twelve, in the most extraordinary luxury he’d ever encountered off dry land. Dear Adriana, a great collector of things. Houses, yachts, paintings, money, men. She’d wanted to collect Leo, too, on a permanent basis. How come he’d passed on that one? He smiled at the recollection.
‘What’s so funny?’ asked Jamie, swallowing his brandy in two gulps.
‘Just remembering my last trip down there. I didn’t see much of Antibes.’
‘Time you did. It’s a fantastic place. Come on – we’ll go back to mine, get on the Internet and bag you a seat, have a nightcap, up first thing and head to Gatwick. What d’you say?’
Leo realised he hadn’t done anything spur of the moment for a long time. ‘Will it make you happy?’
‘Are you joking? A boy’s weekend away will do me the power of good.’
‘OK,’ said Leo, and raised his glass. ‘Anything to oblige a friend. Cheers.’
CHAPTER TWO
At midday on Monday Colman came out of the Lloyd’s Building, and shivered in the sharp wind that gusted along St Mary Axe. She wished she hadn’t left her coat in the office. Yesterday had been gloriously mild, but today had brought a change. As she hurried down the steps she saw a tall, dark-haired young man emerging from the Willis Building opposite. Well, well – Anthony Cross. It had to be all of three years since she’d last seen him. Surprising that they hadn’t run into one another before now. Sarah studied him as he paused to chat to a colleague. Less of a boy and more of a man now – those gentle good looks had hardened, and made him more attractive than ever. She watched as Anthony parted from his friend and headed towards Leadenhall Market, then strolled across the road to intercept him.