Errors of Judgment(92)

‘OK. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. There’s bugger all traffic about.’

‘Good. I may even warm up some mince pies.’

Leo ended the call. He stared at his mobile for a few seconds, then keyed in Gabrielle’s number to tell her he wouldn’t be there that evening after all.

The drawing room in which Anthony sat, nursing a glass of champagne and waiting for Gabrielle to return, was vast and expensively furnished. Gideon Hatch rugs lay scattered on the silk-pale polished wooden floor, and on the smoke-coloured walls were hung contemporary prints and photographs. The curtains remained undrawn on the windows which overlooked Ennismore Gardens, and the black night threw back reflections of the Adam fireplace, the long, black leather sofas and low glass tables, and the eighteen or so guests gathered in the room, talking and laughing with their hosts.

Anthony wondered if they’d left the curtains undrawn deliberately, to offer passers-by a tantalising glimpse into their privileged world, rich people enjoying themselves, cocooned in their warm, brightly lit rooms. He remembered when he was younger, walking past windows such as these, wondering about the inhabitants, what it must be like to live in such style. Now he sat on the other side of the window, a glass of champagne in his hand, feeling slightly bored. He had had a cursory conversation with Daniel Stanley, Gabrielle’s father, whose swiftly appraising gaze and faintly impatient manner left him feeling oddly unworthy, and a longer one with Gabrielle’s mother, who was sweet, but overly fascinated by anything he had to say, as though she needed to obscure her own personality by finding her guests transfixing. Gabrielle’s brothers were decent enough, but they had invited their own group of friends, and were busily engaged in gossip and plans of their own at the other end of the sofa.

Gabrielle came back into the room, her mobile phone in one hand, and a dark look in her eyes. She wasn’t smiling. Anthony sighed inwardly. Gabrielle in a bad mood was no fun. He got up and met her halfway.

‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Someone I invited tonight can’t make it, that’s all.’

‘Who? Obviously someone important.’

She said nothing. She had been pretending to herself that bringing Leo here tonight would be a painless way to present Anthony with the fact that Leo was her father. But she now saw that it had been a very bad idea. Whatever the truth of Anthony’s relationship with Leo, a surprise of this kind would have gone down very badly. Leo probably wouldn’t have been particularly pleased, either. She was confronted with the fact that she must have some ulterior motive which she herself didn’t understand. She only knew that as her feelings for Anthony grew, so did her need to uncover the relationship between him and Leo, to lay it bare. Was she jealous? She must be. But of what? She had no idea. That was what burnt her, consumed her. Whatever she had hoped to achieve this evening, she would not have discovered what there was between her father and her lover. Perhaps it was all much more straightforward than she had thought. Perhaps it was simply a question of asking. But which one to ask?

She forced a smile. ‘Just someone I wanted you to meet. But it’s not important.’ She put an arm round his neck and kissed him. ‘Not as important as you. Let’s give this another half-hour and go back to yours. Or did you have other plans?’

Anthony looked into her blue eyes. ‘Absolutely not. I can’t think of a nicer way to end the day.’

Sarah got back to Chelsea late in the evening. The day had been better than she’d anticipated, with her cousins Alice and Hugo turning up unexpectedly with their mother, Sir Vivian’s half-sister. Her father also seemed to have forgiven her for Toby, which was a relief.

Seeing light from the living room, she looked in. Leo was stretched out on a sofa, reading.

‘Glad to see you like your present,’ said Sarah.

Leo looked up and smiled. ‘The Lost Railways of North Wales. Inspirational. Not even my mother could have come up with this.’

‘Why are you whispering?’

Leo put a finger to his lips and pointed. On a sofa on the other side of the room lay Jamie, head propped on a cushion, deeply asleep.

‘Who’s that?’ whispered Sarah.

‘Just a minute.’ He left the room and came back with a duvet, which he draped over Jamie.

‘He’s an old friend who’s going through a bad divorce. He had a not very happy Christmas Day, so I’ve been helping him drown his sorrows.’ He motioned to the door, and they went out, closing it behind them.

‘You don’t look or sound like you’ve been drinking a lot.’