A Calculating Heart by Caro Fraser Read Free Book Online

Newbury which Leo’s ex-wife, Rachel, shared with her lover, Charles Beecham, lay a well-thumbed copy of
The Sun.
Charles had picked it up that morning at the village shop. It was not a paper he would normally have bought, but the headline caught hiseye, and when he realised that the story concerned Leo, he hastily purchased a copy and made his way back from the village very slowly indeed, reading as he walked. As a writer and presenter of popular historical television programmes – his latest project was an American commission concerning Anglo-American historical relations, which took him off to the States every couple of weeks – and a not particularly industrious academic, Charles’s days at home were spent spasmodically loafing and working. Today all thoughts of work vanished entirely, and it soon became clear that loafing wouldn’t be on the agenda, either.
    Charles’s initial reaction to the story had been one of incredulous amusement. He had once been a client of Leo’s and liked him enormously, and didn’t believe one word of what he read. It was only when the first importunate journalist arrived at the house and tried to doorstep him with questions about Rachel and Leo that Charles realised how serious the repercussions of the story, false or not, might be. This was bad news not just for Leo, but for anyone close to him. The phone began to ring so incessantly that Charles had to take it off the hook. By lunchtime, four journalists and two photographers were camped outside the gates of the house at the bottom of the drive. Oliver, Rachel’s two-year-old son from her marriage to Leo, was due to go to a friend’s house down the road for tea, but the nanny was reluctant to run the gauntlet of shouting reporters. The household felt besieged.
    As soon as Rachel had arrived home at the end of the day, Charles could tell from her face that she was alreadyaware of the paper and its contents. Unlike Charles, her reaction had been one of indignation and fury. Whether she believed the story or not, Rachel blamed Leo for the fact that it had found its way into the papers. According to her, there had to be some foundation to it. She had been married to Leo; she knew him. Charles thought this all rather unfair, and was inclined to take Leo’s part. After all, the poor sod was even quoted as denying all the allegations quite comprehensively. It was now eight-twenty, and they had been talking about it for two hours.
    Charles, tall and rangy, paced the kitchen and ran his fingers through the greying-blond curls so beloved by female viewers of his documentaries. ‘Talking about it isn’t going to make any difference. I’m hungry. I’d like to have some supper.’ He turned to Rachel, who stood by the sink like a martyred Madonna, her dark, silky hair framing her pale, angry face. ‘It’s not really our problem, in the long run.’
    ‘Not our problem? With reporters outside the house all day long?’
    ‘They’ve gone now. Come on – the story’s a one-day wonder. They won’t come back. At least, I very much doubt they will.’
    ‘I have to speak to Leo. I’m going to call him now.’
    ‘Why? The poor guy’s probably had a bad enough day, and I don’t get the impression you intend to offer him your commiserations.’
    ‘Bloody right I don’t! This mess is of his making, it’s affecting us, and I want to find out what he intends to doabout it!’ She turned and picked up the phone.
    Charles sighed. At times like these, a stiff drink was the only answer. He poured himself a gin and tonic and watched as Rachel stabbed at the phone buttons. He knew why she was calling Leo. There were the ostensible reasons, like finding out what he intended to do, and giving a little vent to her wrath, but the real truth was Rachel hungered for contact with Leo. She wanted to speak to him, for whatever reason. And this gave her a solid pretext. Charles was well aware of all this. He had known it for as long as he had known