Pointless thoughts, he told himself. His life had been good. Was good. Some mistakes, certainly. But things were as they were. Gabrielle was still a secret he had told no one about. Now he badly needed someone to share it with. He had thought that he might tell Sarah – there was little she didn’t know about his life already – but since moving in she had been somewhat remote. The easy, relaxed sensuality with which she usually behaved when they were together had disappeared. Tactfully he let her alone, assuming she was still raw from the break-up with Toby, that it had been harder for her than she had expected. Maybe she’d even had regrets about it, and about the events after Grand Night which had led to it all. He told himself he had nothing to feel guilty about; there had been no need for her to tell Toby that she had slept with him. The truth was that she had probably let it happen simply to give her an excuse to break off the engagement. With that achieved, presumably she’d had no further desire – except for somewhere to stay. The idea that something had been lost between himself and Sarah made him feel even more isolated and depressed. He glanced at his watch. Almost seven. He drained his glass, gathered up his papers and made his way back to chambers, hoping Anthony would still be there.
Anthony was sitting at his desk, going through his online bank statement in a mild state of shock. The only light in the room was that from his desk lamp, its glow etching gaunt shadows on his face. He couldn’t believe the figures. That he had gone through so much money in one month was unbelievable. The debits to Blunt’s cascaded down the page, night after night, thousand upon thousand. He felt his stomach tighten with fear. Why was he afraid? Because he knew only too well that he couldn’t just shrug these losses off, quit gambling and wait for his finances to recover. He didn’t have the strength of will. A part of him knew – was convincing itself even now – that inevitably he had to go back to the tables to try to make good what he had lost. The disastrous scenario lay all too vividly before him, and he could think of no escape.
There was a light rap at his door, and he glanced up and saw Leo.
‘Your light was on, so I thought I’d say hello.’ Leo stepped into the room and closed the door. ‘Working?’
Anthony logged off the page and leant back in his chair. ‘Just casino stuff.’
‘Ah. Your Lion King case. Rachel’s told me about it. The hearing’s in a couple of months, isn’t it?’
Anthony could feel the knot of fear still twisting his insides. He badly wanted to unburden himself to Leo, find a way to loosen the dread. ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant my ridiculous gambling losses.’ He added, with an effort at lightness, ‘I blame Edward, leading me into bad habits, luring me to poker games when I should have been in bed.’ He began to feel his anxiety relaxing. He would confess to Leo, and Leo would absolve him, help him.
But Anthony’s words and manner irritated Leo. Gambling amused him only vaguely, and the idea that anyone should allow themselves to rack up losses struck him as incredibly weak.
‘Spending your evenings gambling? I imagine that’s why you were so badly prepared for that interlocutory disclosure hearing the other day.’
Anthony gave him a sharp glance, all thoughts of confession and absolution dismissed. ‘What do you mean? Who told you that?’
‘George Webb from Holmans mentioned it to Henry. Henry mentioned it to me. Doesn’t do to let down instructing solicitors, you know. Especially someone like Webb. He’s the kind of person you should be looking to for reliable future income. But if you spend your nights in casinos and turn up ill-prepared—’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, the hearing has nothing to do with anything. Felicity messed the days up. I didn’t have time to get my head round the case.’
Leo said nothing for a moment. ‘If you say so.’ There was an uncomfortable silence. ‘So, how much are you talking about?’
‘How much what?’
‘Your losses.’
But Anthony knew the moment had passed. ‘Forget it. It’s not that bad. I don’t know why I mentioned it. Anyway,’ said Anthony, seeking now to deflect the conversation from himself, ‘why are you in chambers at this hour?’
‘I was meeting an old friend for a drink. I needed to come back to chambers to drop some papers off.’ He knew he could say nothing now about Gabrielle and Jackie. The mood was wrong. Anthony was angry, troubled, and he himself felt tired and confused. The faint trace of Jackie’s perfume clung to his face from where she had kissed him, and was a source of irritation rather than pleasure.