Breath of Corruption Read Free Page B

at a time when he was entertaining serious thoughts of settling down with his then girlfriend. That relationship had, like so many, met its demise through Leo’s unfaithfulness, and looking back, Leo wondered how he could ever have seriously believed in its long-term future. He wasn’t the marrying type. He’d tried it once – largely to ward off rumours regarding his libidinous lifestyle which might have stood in the way of his taking silk – and the only good thing to have come out of the whole sad business was Oliver, his son.
    He thought of Oliver now as he mixed himself a drink in the kitchen. He unlocked and slid back the long glass door which led outside. The smooth flagstones of the kitchen floorcontinued out to a large patio, shaded by a mulberry tree, and beyond this stretched the garden. At the end, delivered and erected just three days ago, stood a new wooden playhouse with a climbing frame and swing attached. Leo smiled and sipped his Scotch as he imagined Oliver’s delight when he arrived tomorrow afternoon. He imagined, too, the frozen disapproval of Rachel, Oliver’s mother – she would probably consider the climbing frame too advanced and dangerous for a four-year-old. The patterns of their relations now were familiar. Leo would fight down the urge to snap at her, and attempt instead to say something placatory, and Oliver would disregard them both and tear across the lawn to his new plaything with squeals of pleasure.
    Leo glanced at his watch. It was only six o’clock. Normally he would have been content, at the end of a gruelling week, with his own company, a light supper and a little television, or possibly a book and some music, but this evening he felt restive. He was just about to call Anthea again, when his mobile rang in his pocket. He pulled it out to answer it, expecting to see Anthea’s name on the screen, but saw another instead. Leo felt a little start of pleasure.
    ‘Luca! Where are you?’
    ‘In London.’ Luca’s suave Italian voice held the same glad note as Leo’s. ‘I flew in yesterday. I have a flight booked back to Milan tonight, but I don’t have to catch it. I thought if you were free this evening we could …’ He paused eloquently. ‘Meet up?’
    ‘Come over,’ said Leo without hesitation. ‘I’m at home.’ He and Luca, a thirty-six-year-old Milanese lawyer with whom he worked on a number of cases, had evolved whatfor Leo was the perfect relationship. Luca came to London on business at least twice a year, and Leo had occasion to fly to Italy now and then on cases. They always made a point of meeting.
    A little before seven o’clock he and Luca were sitting drinking and chatting in the garden in the early-evening sunshine. Later, while Luca set the table beneath the mulberry tree and laid out candles and glasses, Leo cooked supper. Luca told Leo about the pieces of antique furniture which he had bought for his mother that afternoon at Sotheby’s. Leo opened a second bottle of wine and they talked about art, and music, and a little about cases they had, and afterwards, while moths flitted and bumped in the guttering light of the candles, they went upstairs and made love in Leo’s big bed. Tomorrow Luca would catch his flight back to Milan. It was an ideal, uncomplicated arrangement for both of them.
    A mile away in Fulham, Anthea lay stretched out on her sofa, the TV on low, a glass of wine in her hand, bored, but full of hope that her strategy was working. She bet that Leo was thinking about her right now.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Rachel arrived at lunchtime the following day, bringing Oliver and his belongings for his weekend stay with his father. She was dressed in a blue cotton blouse and white capri pants, and her dark hair was tied back. At thirty-two, Rachel had pale, smooth skin which never tanned, pretty, sharply defined features and dark eyes, and a reserved, poised manner. This cool composure, touched with vulnerability, had once been a challenge to Leo –