and deserted. There were very few people in the pub. Leo bought drinks and they sat at a table tucked away in a corner. Leo stretched out his legs and smothered a yawn.
‘Tired?’ asked Sarah.
‘I’m always tired these days,’ sighed Leo. ‘Pressure of work. I suppose I’m taking too much on. That’s why I didn’t particularly feel like going back to chambers to face it all after a day in court.’
‘Why do you work so hard? You can’t need the money.’
Leo took a sip of his whisky and reflected on this. He set his glass down. ‘If you want the truth, it’s probably so that I don’t have any time left to reflect on what a fuck-up I’ve made of my personal life.’
Sarah hadn’t been prepared for such candour. While she had already calculated that, in her plan of campaign to marry Leo, it would first be necessary to find her wayto the most vulnerable and private part of his being, she hadn’t expected an opportunity to present itself so suddenly.
‘I thought those things didn’t matter to you. Relationships. Feelings. When I first met you, you seemed to have your life nicely sorted out – sex was sex, business was business. People were a matter of calculation.’
‘I suppose that’s how it was, once upon a time.’
‘I always liked that way of thinking. Take your pleasure where you can, don’t make any emotional investment, don’t expect anything in return.’
‘Oh, dear – did I teach you that?’
‘Somewhat. As a philosophy, I’ve found it’s always worked quite well. I hate it when people start wanting things, expecting time and attention.’
‘There was a time I thought it could work like that. I think things changed last summer.’
‘With that boy?’ Jealousy flared in Sarah. ‘I’d have thought that would teach you to stick to your philosophy, and not let feelings get in the way of having a good time.’
Leo was silent for a few moments, then asked, ‘Have you ever been in love?’
Sarah sipped her wine. ‘Of course. Hasn’t everyone? How do you think I became the person I am? I won’t ever make that mistake again.’ Even now her mind shied away from herself at seventeen, that first love, the pain and misery.
‘What an odd thing to say. In my experience, it just makes people hungry for more of the same, no matter howmiserable the experience. But, as you say, you’re a cynical young thing. Maybe it has something to do with age. It’s easier to live for yourself when you’re young.’ Leo gazed reflectively at his glass. ‘At my age, love just leaves you feeling more and more vulnerable.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re worried about a lonely old age.’
‘Perhaps I am.’
‘Come off it, Leo. That summer at Stanton, I didn’t know anyone with a busier social life. Look at you now. High-earning silk, unattached, good-looking, all that bullshit – you must still be in heavy demand.’
‘Oh, yes – there’s all that. Somehow, it’s lost its appeal. I don’t want to go to endless dinner parties and God knows what else. It gets to eleven o’clock and I just want to go to bed.’
‘What? With a cup of Horlicks and a good book?’
Leo smiled. ‘Something a little more interesting than that, perhaps. But the social circuit leaves me cold. I get tired of the different faces, the talk, the inconsequentiality of it all. The desperation – it’s palpable. I can see the attraction of having someone – something … stable, settled.’ He drained his glass. ‘Maybe it’s all to do with Oliver. Having children changes you.’
‘I wouldn’t know. And I don’t intend to find out.’
‘You should. It’s worth it.’
‘Really?’ Sarah regarded him with interest. ‘Would you like more children?’
Leo hesitated before replying. ‘I might. I don’t know. It seems a rather unlikely scenario at the moment.’
‘Another?’ she asked, picking up his glass.
Leo nodded, reaching into his breast pocket for his cigar case.
When Sarah came back to the
‘Tired?’ asked Sarah.
‘I’m always tired these days,’ sighed Leo. ‘Pressure of work. I suppose I’m taking too much on. That’s why I didn’t particularly feel like going back to chambers to face it all after a day in court.’
‘Why do you work so hard? You can’t need the money.’
Leo took a sip of his whisky and reflected on this. He set his glass down. ‘If you want the truth, it’s probably so that I don’t have any time left to reflect on what a fuck-up I’ve made of my personal life.’
Sarah hadn’t been prepared for such candour. While she had already calculated that, in her plan of campaign to marry Leo, it would first be necessary to find her wayto the most vulnerable and private part of his being, she hadn’t expected an opportunity to present itself so suddenly.
‘I thought those things didn’t matter to you. Relationships. Feelings. When I first met you, you seemed to have your life nicely sorted out – sex was sex, business was business. People were a matter of calculation.’
‘I suppose that’s how it was, once upon a time.’
‘I always liked that way of thinking. Take your pleasure where you can, don’t make any emotional investment, don’t expect anything in return.’
‘Oh, dear – did I teach you that?’
‘Somewhat. As a philosophy, I’ve found it’s always worked quite well. I hate it when people start wanting things, expecting time and attention.’
‘There was a time I thought it could work like that. I think things changed last summer.’
‘With that boy?’ Jealousy flared in Sarah. ‘I’d have thought that would teach you to stick to your philosophy, and not let feelings get in the way of having a good time.’
Leo was silent for a few moments, then asked, ‘Have you ever been in love?’
Sarah sipped her wine. ‘Of course. Hasn’t everyone? How do you think I became the person I am? I won’t ever make that mistake again.’ Even now her mind shied away from herself at seventeen, that first love, the pain and misery.
‘What an odd thing to say. In my experience, it just makes people hungry for more of the same, no matter howmiserable the experience. But, as you say, you’re a cynical young thing. Maybe it has something to do with age. It’s easier to live for yourself when you’re young.’ Leo gazed reflectively at his glass. ‘At my age, love just leaves you feeling more and more vulnerable.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re worried about a lonely old age.’
‘Perhaps I am.’
‘Come off it, Leo. That summer at Stanton, I didn’t know anyone with a busier social life. Look at you now. High-earning silk, unattached, good-looking, all that bullshit – you must still be in heavy demand.’
‘Oh, yes – there’s all that. Somehow, it’s lost its appeal. I don’t want to go to endless dinner parties and God knows what else. It gets to eleven o’clock and I just want to go to bed.’
‘What? With a cup of Horlicks and a good book?’
Leo smiled. ‘Something a little more interesting than that, perhaps. But the social circuit leaves me cold. I get tired of the different faces, the talk, the inconsequentiality of it all. The desperation – it’s palpable. I can see the attraction of having someone – something … stable, settled.’ He drained his glass. ‘Maybe it’s all to do with Oliver. Having children changes you.’
‘I wouldn’t know. And I don’t intend to find out.’
‘You should. It’s worth it.’
‘Really?’ Sarah regarded him with interest. ‘Would you like more children?’
Leo hesitated before replying. ‘I might. I don’t know. It seems a rather unlikely scenario at the moment.’
‘Another?’ she asked, picking up his glass.
Leo nodded, reaching into his breast pocket for his cigar case.
When Sarah came back to the
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