Felicity swallowed a sigh. ‘It doesn’t matter. Honestly.’
Never one to take things at face value, Vince latched on to what he thought she meant. ‘No, listen, it does. You mustn’t let me get away with that kind of stuff. That’s not gonna happen. OK?’
‘Whatever.’
‘I’ve been feeling so bad about it. I kind of hoped you’d call, though.’
‘Me? Why would—?’
‘Look, can I come round tonight? Maybe take you out, make it up to you? I want it all to be different. You and me. Starting again.’
‘Do you?’ Felicity could hear her own voice sounding weak and flat. She glanced up as Leo came into the clerks’ room. Vince was still talking, making his useless noises, his promises and plans, reassuring himself. She remembered Rachel’s advice: tell it to him straight, make it clear he can’t just expect things to be the way they were. Well, she would. She definitely would. It had to be done. Only not here, not now on the phone, with Leo five feet away.
When Vince was eager to please, he was hard to shut up. She had to interrupt him. ‘Vince – stop talking. It’s all right. You can come round. But I’ve got to go now. I’ll see you later.’ As she hung up, she looked at the box Leo was holding. ‘What’s that?’
‘I was lunching in Soho with a long-lost love, and on my way back I passed Patisserie Valerie, and I thought – when did I last see Felicity with cake? Cake and Felicity belong together. So here you are.’
She smiled at him. ‘Thank you. I needed cheering up. But not fattening up.’
She opened the box. ‘Wow! I can’t eat all those.’
‘I suspect others will help you out. See you later.’
Felicity gazed at the cakes. Gingerly she lifted one from the box, transferring it to her other hand and licking the cream from her fingers. When Leo was in a good mood, he was a darling. She wondered who his long-lost love was, whether it was a woman or some bloke. You never knew with him.
Lunching his daughter at Arbutus had been one of the most delightful things Leo had done in a long time. In a habit developed in boyhood, when memorably pleasurable experiences had been few and far between, he deliberately tucked the recollection to the back of his mind and did not take it out and examine it until the early evening, when he had finished his work. Abandoning his shipbuilding case, he leant back in his chair and spent fifteen minutes recalling everything about Gabrielle at lunchtime; her bright, wary glance, the way she had of tucking her hair behind her ears when she was feeling unsure of herself and less sophisticated than she wanted to appear, the slight lift of her shoulders when she laughed, the rough little catch in her voice when she talked about things that meant a lot to her. He recalled the glances she’d drawn from every man in the restaurant, and his own startled pleasure in realising she wasn’t even aware of them, that she had eyes and ears for no one but him, her new-found father. It reminded him of the way Anthony had been in the early days – attentive, fascinated, and so heartbreakingly young. He felt his heart swerve, and he passed his hands over his face as if to obliterate some unworthy recollection. God, he must not let her down. He must not do anything to devalue this.
Disturbed by his train of thought, he switched off his laptop and tidied his papers, deciding to go in search of company, of familiar faces.
He headed to Middle Temple Bar, and found Anthony there with another member of chambers, David Liphook. David, whose wife had given birth a few days earlier, was dwelling in doting detail on the marvels of his new daughter, oblivious to Anthony’s polite concealment of the fact that he wasn’t much interested in babies. Leo, however, once he had settled himself a large Scotch, was in exactly the right mood to indulge in a little transference and listen to everything David had to say.
This left Anthony free to pursue his own thoughts. He had felt irritable and restless all week, and never more so than today. Just a week ago he had dropped almost three thousand pounds at the poker table at Blunt’s. At the time, caught up in the mood of the table, the rising stakes drawing him in, it hadn’t seemed such a big deal. But the next morning he had seen it in a different light, and had decided maybe he should give the gambling thing a rest – partly to show himself that he could take it or leave it, and partly because he was aware it was affecting his work. He hated the fact that Rachel, with all the grace and tact in the world, had had to nag him about work left undone. He had always prided himself on being thorough, meticulous and punctual. Leo had taught him the importance of those qualities, without which one could not hope to be counted among the elite. Her phone call had left him feeling humiliated and second-rate.