CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

‘MAY I come in?’

Davina frowned as she recognised her visitor. Christie Jardine. She looked, Davina recognised, as though she had been crying, and recently. Her heart gave a frantic jolt. Saul—had something happened to him? She shuddered, recognising the self-betrayal of her own thoughts.

Unable to speak, she nodded as she opened the front door wider.

‘Saul asked me to call,’ Christie told her. ‘He’s been called away on … on some urgent family business. He left you a note.’

Mentally deriding herself for her stupidity, Davina took the note. It was habit and the good manners instilled in her as a child that prompted her to offer Christie a cup of tea. She was surprised when Christie accepted, automatically leading the way into the small sitting-room and inviting Christie to sit down.

In the kitchen she made the tea quickly, Saul’s note still unread. What did it contain? More threats? Her hand shook a little. Her mouth was still slightly bruised and sensitive. To be kissed by him now would be like making love after a night spent sharing every lover’s intimacy; pleasurable almost to the point of over-sensitivity. Her body shuddered as she cut herself off from her thoughts.

Christie saw that her face was slightly flushed when she came in with the tea but said nothing.

‘I hope it isn’t anything too serious that has called your brother away,’ Davina said politely as she poured Christie’s tea. It was an automatic remark, the kind she had trained herself to make in the days when she had had to play the role of her father’s hostess and then Gregory’s and, as when one enquired to another’s health, it required merely a standard meaningless response.

Only Christie didn’t make that response; instead she said, ‘Unfortunately, it is serious. Saul’s daughter, Josey, has been suspended from school, allegedly for possessing drugs.’

Christie paused, annoyed with herself. What on earth was she doing, telling Davina James that? It certainly hadn’t been her intention when she had first read Saul’s hastily written note asking her to call and deliver the letter he had left for Davina, but there was something about the other woman that was so instantly genuinely sympathetic and compassionate that Christie had somehow found her own anxiety for both her brother and her niece spilling over into the kind of emotional unburdening she was more used to hearing rather than giving.

And, contrary to what she might have supposed, Davina did not look shocked, withdrawing herself both mentally and actually physically, as Christie had seen so many people do when confronted by something that made them feel uncomfortable or uneasy; as though somehow merely to have received such a confidence might in some way endanger or contaminate them.

Christie knew enough about people to accept that this was an instinctive and subconscious reaction, and one which was generally quickly retracted, but it still surprised her a little that someone like Davina had not actually made it.

And now Davina was waiting quietly, allowing her to decide for herself whether or not to continue. And somehow, although she had not intended to do so, because Davina was not pressing her she heard herself adding, ‘Josey has told her mother that the drugs weren’t hers; that another girl had asked her to look after them because she was afraid she was about to be found out. Of course, Josey refuses to say who this girl is. Saul’s ex-wife is the kind of person who places great store on what others think. I suspect that Josey won’t get much sympathy or understanding from her.’

Something in Christie’s voice, in the frown that briefly marred her forehead, caused Davina to say gently, ‘But she has a good relationship with her father?’

Christie hesitated. ‘Not exactly,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘Josey and Saul … Saul loves both his children dearly, but he isn’t particularly close to them, and Josey in particular …’ She broke off, shaking her head wryly. ‘I shouldn’t be boring you with all of this.’

‘I’m not bored,’ Davina assured her honestly, and then added compassionately, ‘Poor Josey.’

Christie’s eyebrows rose.

‘My relationship with my own father wasn’t a good one,’ Davina told her honestly, seeing the query in her eyes.

‘Nor mine,’ Christie admitted openly. ‘I used to envy Saul because he was so very much our father’s obvious favourite, but, once I realised the price he was having to pay for that favouritism, my envy disappeared. I know that Saul is desperately anxious to establish contact with his children. It hurts him more than he wants to admit that he isn’t allowed more fully into their lives, and Josey’s rejection of him has really hit home, although, of course, he always defends her and points out that he’s hardly been the ideal father. Of course, it doesn’t help that Josey is at that notoriously “difficult” age, no longer a child and yet not actually an adult.

‘I’ve told Saul that they do both need him, no matter how much they might deny it. Perhaps this crisis might be a way for him to re-establish some sort of bond with her, although I must admit I was surprised to come home and find that he’d gone. Five years ago—one year ago, he would never have done that; never have put his own emotional need to be with them above our father’s ambitions for him.’ She saw the way Davina frowned and shook her head again. ‘I shouldn’t be bothering you with all of this. Saul merely asked me to deliver his letter, not …’

She frowned quickly, and Davina, who was perceptive enough to realise what was going through her mind, said quietly, ‘You’re worried that he wouldn’t want you discussing his private life with me because of Carey’s, in case I try to use it against him in some way? You needn’t be.’

‘Will you sell out to Alex?’ Christie asked her.

Davina gave her a quick searching look. ‘I don’t want to.’

‘Isn’t there anyone … someone else who could help you?’ Christie asked her.

Again Davina looked at her, noticing the faint flush that coloured Christie’s olive skin. It seemed unlikely, impossible really that Christie Jardine could know that Leo had offered her a very substantial personal loan so that she could keep Carey’s going, so she could only assume that Christie was somehow trying to probe her for information about as to whether she was likely to accept Hessler Chemie’s supposed ‘purchase offer’ for Carey’s in order to help her brother.

‘How long does Sa … your brother expect to be away?’ Davina asked her instead of answering her question.

Christie shrugged uncertainly. ‘I don’t honestly know.’ She got up. ‘I’ve taken up enough of your time. I must go.’

Davina saw her to the door and then watched until she had driven away before closing it and walking slowly back to the sitting-room to collect the tea things.

She carried them through into the kitchen, washing and then drying them with slow, almost obsessive care, but all the time her mind was on the note in the middle of the kitchen table.

She dried her hands slowly, smoothed handcream into them, and then at last, because she could not avoid putting it off any longer, she picked up the sealed envelope. What would it contain? More threats? More condemnation?

She unsealed the envelope slowly with painstaking care and removed the folded sheets of paper.

She could tell the note had been written quickly, the sight of the firm, very masculine handwriting sending an unexpected sensation of shock jolting through her. It was as though in some way simply unfolding the paper had unleashed some of Saul Jardine’s abrasive energy into the room. If she closed her eyes she could almost visualise him standing there, hear him speaking to her …

Quickly she scanned the first few lines of the note, frowning and reaching automatically to pull out a chair so that she could sit down to study it in more detail as she absorbed the implications of the fiercely self-critical apology contained in the first two paragraphs. But, while he was taking all the blame for his misjudgement on to his own shoulders, there was no explanation as to why he had made that misjudgement, Davina noted. Did she really need to know? Was it even important? Not perhaps to Davina James, the owner of Carey’s, but to Davina James, the woman.

Quickly she returned her attention to Saul’s note, her frown deepening. Saul wasn’t just apologising to her, he was actually warning her about Alex’s plans for Carey’s should he acquire it, and she saw, as she turned over on to the second page, that he had actually outlined and listed the means by which she might try to evade Alex’s forcing her into a sale, even down to explaining to her the proposed government legislation that lay at the root of Alex’s determination to acquire Carey’s.

Quickly Davina ran through the letter again, her brain working overtime to assimilate all the information Saul had given her, to analyse all the options he had listed for her, and finally to wonder over the advice he had given her, advice which she could see instantly would jeopardise all Sir Alex’s plans.

There was a final postscript to the letter, obviously an afterthought, the writing less decisive and sharp.

There wasn’t anything more, just a brief signature.

Shakily Davina put the letter down. On the face of it, his claims about Sir Alex’s intentions for the company seemed implausible, but, then, so had his original offer. Again on the face of it, there was no reason why she should trust any information that Saul Jardine might give her and every reason why she should not, and yet illogically she did believe him.

She frowned. In the light of the information Saul had given her, the first thing she really needed to do was to get in touch with Giles.

Deliberately she was pushing aside her own personal feelings, clamping down on the tight aching loneliness that had gripped her as she had listened to Christie Jardine explaining her brother’s love for his children. Surely she wasn’t foolish enough to be jealous of that love, to admit to everything that acknowledging that emotion would mean?

A woman, especially a woman of her age and with her inherent caution, did not fall in love with a man. She might desire him physically; she might be mentally curious about him; she might even allow herself to be slightly intrigued with him; but she did not fall in love.

Giles; she must ring Giles, Davina reminded herself. If the information contained in Saul’s letter was true, and she believed it was, then it would be impossible for them to proceed with any negotiations with Saul’s boss.

And what about the recommendations he had made, the suggestions, the proposals, which even she, with her limited experience, could see had been made with an expert hand and eye? Diversify, he had written, find a sponsor to help you ride out this storm, and wait in a safe harbour if you can, well anchored to something solid until the tide turns.

She had had no difficulty in interpreting what he was saying.

Had Leo told him about the money he had offered to lend her at the same time as he had told him that he was not in the market for Carey’s and that she had in fact spoken the truth when she had told Saul that there was no business relationship between them?

Giles, she reminded herself. She must ring him. Not at the office. He was taking a few days’ leave, he had said. There was nothing he could constructively do at work, since the decision as to whether or not she intended to accept Sir Alex’s offer could only be made by her, he had told Davina.

He had been distant with her when she’d last spoken to him. Because she had not taken his advice and accepted Saul Jardine’s offer immediately, or was there some other, more personal reason? She hesitated for a moment and then picked up the receiver and started to punch in Giles’s home number.

* * *

When Lucy came downstairs she could see Giles standing just inside the sitting-room door. He was half turned away from her and he was reading a letter, frowning while he did so. He hadn’t heard her, Lucy recognised.

The letter had arrived this morning along with a handful of bills. He had opened it and read it, but had said nothing to her about its contents, and yet she had known instinctively that whatever it contained was important.

Since his return to the house they had been sleeping together, and not just sleeping together either. When they made love it was her name he called, her body he wanted, her touch that aroused him—she knew that. Neither of them mentioned Davina, but she was still there between them, and Lucy was still mortally afraid that she might lose Giles to her.

She knew now that she did not want to lose him. She had suddenly and painfully been torn free of the anaesthetising depression with its false protection of indifference.

Why had she and Giles shut one another out in their pain at losing Nicholas? Why had they not been able to share that pain? Why did she feel now that she couldn’t ask Giles how he felt about Davina? How he felt about her? Why couldn’t she even ask him about that letter he was holding and frowning over? Why was she so afraid?

She already knew the answer. She was afraid of not being loved; of not being wanted; afraid because she felt that she herself was not really worthy of being loved. It was as though somehow part of her had always been held in reserve because deep down inside she had always suffered this fear that she might somehow lose Giles.

But she hadn’t lost him, had she? Not yet.

The stair creaked as she moved and Giles turned round, looking up at her. He was still frowning, still holding that letter.

She took a deep breath. It was time she outfaced her fear; time she finally set aside the past and allowed herself to become adult. After all, now …

Her stomach muscles quivered a little with her tension with the knowledge she was still half afraid to allow herself, never mind share with anyone else … Even Giles. And she could be wrong. It was still far too early, really.

‘What is it, Giles? What’s wrong?’ she asked him.

The quiet calmness in her voice softened Giles’s frown. These last few days had been so different from anything he and Lucy had ever shared before. They had a new closeness, a new awareness; there was a greater depth to their relationship, a greater sense of having shared something. Their mutual acknowledgement of their pain over Nicholas’s death had brought them closer together than Giles had ever believed possible. He had felt guilty, of course, and uncomfortable too, remembering Davina, but now the way he had felt about Davina seemed like a sequence out of a dream; Davina herself wasn’t even really as he had imagined. He could see that now. But, even so, he still owed her something, and this letter …

He looked up at Lucy, knowing that had this letter arrived a month, even perhaps a week ago the last thing he would have done would have been to disclose its contents to her.

‘It’s from Henry Norton—you remember, Lucy. He was my old boss at Smethwick’s. He’s taking early retirement on health grounds and they’ve asked him to recommend someone to take his place. Apparently he’s recommended me. Financially we wouldn’t be much better off …’

‘But you didn’t like working for Smethwick’s,’ Lucy reminded him.

‘Not then,’ Giles agreed. ‘But now …’

He stopped speaking as the phone rang. Since he was standing closest to it, he answered it.

‘Davina.’ There was no personal warmth in his voice, only discomfort and unease, and neither was he, Lucy noticed with a quick easing of her tension, turning away from her or making any attempt to speak more quietly as though he didn’t want her to hear what was being said.

Lucy waited while he listened to whatever it was Davina had to say.

‘Well, it does sound as though you did the right thing in not rushing to accept Sir Alex’s offer,’ Giles said eventually. ‘The thing is, though, Davina … I’m having to rethink my own position in all of this. I’d like to stay on, but we … Lucy has been very forbearing about the amount of time I’ve had to devote to Carey’s recently, and I think it’s only fair that I start putting her … and our marriage first for a change. If you could give me some time to think things over …’

At the other end of the line Davina paused before responding courteously, ‘Of course I can, Giles, and of course I understand. As you say, Lucy has been very understanding and patient, and, after all, you do owe it to her to secure your own financial position. I’m afraid I can’t offer you any kind of guarantees on that score. There’s no need for me to say, though, how much I do appreciate all that you have done.’

Lucy waited until Giles had replaced the receiver before launching herself at him, her eyes shining with emotion.

‘Stay on at Carey’s,’ she told him fiercely as she kissed him. ‘I don’t mind, not now that I know you love me.’

‘How could you ever have thought I didn’t?’ Giles reproached her.

Lucy opened her mouth to tell him and then closed it again. There was a time and a place for everything, and this was not the time to remind him of what was now hopefully past; just as it was not the time either to tell him of her own nervous hope-cum-apprehension that she might be pregnant. That was something they could share together later, and, who knew, one day perhaps they might also be able to share with honesty and pain the truth about these last few months and how close they had both come to destroying their marriage? One day, but not now. Now was not the time to risk probing the wounds they had both inflicted and to risk infecting them with mistrust and guilt. Now was the time to quietly let them heal.

Once at such a point her first and instinctive action would have been to coax him into bed, wanting to bind him to her with the chains of her sexuality and his vulnerability to it. Now, though, she simply smiled at him and said serenely, ‘There’s no need for you to decide right now. About your job, I mean. I’ve been thinking, Giles, Nicholas’s tree … It’s going to look rather bare in the winter. I thought we might plant some bulbs underneath it, and then perhaps when it grows bigger you could build a seat around it.’

Just as she intended to build a safeguard around their love.

* * *

With hindsight Leo suspected that he should have known from the very silence and absence of any kind of communication or complaint from Wilhelm that greeted his return to Hamburg; should have known or at least should have perceived the warning in that silence.

Perhaps it was because his thoughts were still with Christie that he did not do so, or perhaps he was simply growing tired of playing the unwanted role of his brother’s keeper.

However, instead of asking himself why Wilhelm should remain so uncharacteristically and blessedly silent, he welcomed the opportunity to have a small breathing-space in which to try to disconnect himself from England and everything that had happened there; Davina, whom he had shocked with his revelations about the past, and whom he had liked and felt extraordinarily close to, and, of course, Christie.

He had known almost from the moment he’d met her, and certainly from the moment he’d known anything about her, that she would never abandon her life to become a part of his. How could she, and remain true to her own values and beliefs? But there was a sore small place in his heart; a tiny rebellious male gene which every now and then broke through the layers of civilisation and moderation to whisper that if she had loved him as he loved her she would have given up anything, everything to be with him.

The taunting whisper of its atavistic voice made him more resentful of its presence within him than it did of her, more disappointed by his own reaction than hers, but it still had its effect on him, even if that effect was only the exhaustion caused by fighting to suppress it, and so he spent the first twelve hours after his return from Cheshire wholly absorbed in trying to separate himself from the person he wanted to be and the life he wanted to lead and to concentrate instead on the person he had to be and the life he was committed to lead.

It was because of that absorption that he didn’t really have time to dwell on Wilhelm’s silence or to question the reasons for it, so that the sight of the headlines splashed all over the newspaper of the man he saw standing in the street when he pulled up at a ‘stop’ light came as such a shock to him that he missed the change of lights, causing the traffic behind him to demonstrate aggressively and noisily its angry contempt at his lack of concentration.

He pulled up as soon as he could, parking his car haphazardly at the kerb-side as he went to buy himself a copy of the paper, and then reading the headlines with growing anger and dismay as he headed back to his car.

‘Mistress reveals secret plan to depose Hessler boss,’ the headline ran, and beneath it in almost as large type was a dramatic account of how Wilhelm had apparently confided to his latest mistress his plans for organising a board coup to discredit Leo and to wrest control of the corporation away from him and back to himself.

It wasn’t so much Wilhelm’s fraternal disloyalty that caused Leo to frown, his body tensing as he quickly scanned the article—after all, he knew how Wilhelm felt about him; it wasn’t even really the tackiness of the way the article was written, with its sexual innuendo and its detailing of Wilhelm’s ‘girlfriend’s’ description of Wilhelm’s sexual athleticism and insatiability; stripped of its exaggeration, all the article was revealing was that Wilhelm, in common with a good many men of his age and status, had discovered that the enthusiasm of a pretty, vapid bimbette, who no doubt had more affection for his bank balance than for him, had had a startling effect on his libido. No, what did concern Leo was the information which others would cut out of the dross as quickly as he had done himself: that Hessler Chemie was dangerously poised on the edge of a volatile schism which would potentially tear the corporation apart.

Leo was not naïve; there would be those on the board who for their own reasons would support Wilhelm’s claims to the chairmanship against his own.

And then there was the even more serious issue of the damage it would do to Hessler Chemie’s standing when—and it would be when and not if—the financial Press worldwide picked up on the story and correctly evaluated it.

The corporation’s office block occupied a prestigious situation overlooking the river. Originally the office block, the research laboratories and even the manufacturing side of the business had shared the same site, but with expansion had come the necessity for larger office space, different research requirements, and much, much more extensive manufacturing processes so that now the site that had once housed everything was now only deemed large enough for the head-office block.

Leo parked his car beneath the building in his private car-parking slot. That at least was something Wilhelm had not attempted to take over, he noticed wryly as he saw his brother’s car parked several yards away.

Where Leo would for preference have chosen a vintage-model car had he been able to ignore the promptings of his conscience which told him that such a vehicle could not be ecologically justified, Wilhelm preferred to equip himself with the most expensive and ostentatious Mercedes on the market.

At least he had chosen a German car, he had sneered when Leo had commented quietly to him that he felt the ownership of such a model was inappropriate, especially when the corporation had ostensibly paid for it and ostensibly owned it.

Leo had refused to allow this gibe about his own four-year-old hard-working practical Volvo to get under his skin, equably returning Wilhelm’s fire by pointing out that, since the corporation already owned a chauffeur-driven luxury-class Mercedes limousine, Wilhelm could more discreetly have acquired something a little less exuberant for his private motoring.

He shouldn’t like to see the other board directors claiming the same rights as his brother, he had added gently, and of course Wilhelm had deliberately misinterpreted his comment to mean that Leo was pointedly underlining the fact that he had been demoted to the status of a mere director, where once he had expected to hold a far superior position; the position now, in fact, held by Leo himself.

He grimaced a little as he passed his brother’s car, the scene, according to the amazingly detailed and explicit confidences of his latest girlfriend, of several impetuous amorous incidents. For a girl who openly admitted that ‘brains were not her strong point’, she had a truly awesome recall of the most minute details, Leo reflected cynically as he headed for his private lift.

As he got into it and the door closed he wondered how Anna was reacting to these revelations. Leo did not doubt that his sister-in-law was well aware of her husband’s infidelities, but being aware of such affairs when they were conducted with discretion and diplomacy that allowed her to retain something of her self-respect, in public at least, was one thing; having her husband’s sexual antics bruited abroad in the tabloid Press for all her friends both genuine and not so genuine to giggle and gloat over was quite another.

And what about Wilhelm’s sons? His nephews? He had never been as close to them as he would have liked, and this knowledge deepened the grim tension of his features. That was his fault. He could have made more of an effort to spend time with them; should have done so. The fact that he had discovered that Wilhelm was his half-brother made no difference to his feeling of responsibility towards his nephews.

But at least they were spared a burden that would not be spared his own children, should he ever have any.

They could not carry his father’s genes.

Children. He frowned broodingly as he got out of the lift and headed for his private suite of offices. Given the present state of the world, he was not even sure that he would wish to bring children into it. But to share with the woman he loved the knowledge that their loving had created another human being … ah … that was something different … something so deeply personal, so elemental, so basic to the very core of his personality that even to think of it caused the most intense shiver of sensation to pass through him.

The act of conception, of knowing that the two of you together were to create the magic spark of human life, was surely something so precious, so awesome, so far above the mundane banality that ruled so much of human life that it was surely almost a form of worship, a reiteration of everything within man that yearned to believe in the divine, despite the cynicism and logic of the sciences which warned him against the self-delusion of doing so.

His secretary watched him as he walked through her office. She was an attractive woman, married with three children.

He smiled courteously at her as he headed for his own office. She would know about the article, of course; in fact he doubted if anyone in the organisation did not by now.

Within an hour of having opened his office door he had had telephone calls from five members of the corporation’s board, two of them expressing their sympathy and support, two demanding to know what was going on and one announcing that Wilhelm ought to be shot for the disgrace he had brought on the corporation’s name.

Cynically Leo reflected that it was the two who had called to assure him of their support who concerned him the most. He had, after all, as yet not made any request for any such support, and might well have supposed himself to be so safe in his role of guardianship of the corporation that he did not need to canvass anyone’s support. Because of the terms of his father’s will he could not be deposed except in the most exceptional circumstances, and he most certainly could not be voted out of office, just as Wilhelm could not be voted back into it.

Which begged the question: why had they felt it necessary to offer their support?

By lunchtime he had tried on four separate occasions to speak to Wilhelm, and on each occasion, and with obvious growing discomfort, had been put off by Wilhelm’s secretary.

He could, of course, always walk down the corridor to Wilhelm’s office and command his brother’s attention, but, since he suspected that that was the kind of high-handed and theatrical response which Wilhelm would be only too delighted to have provoked, he calmly thanked Wilhelm’s secretary and put down the receiver.

Wilhelm would eventually have to speak with him, and when he did it would be on his terms and not his brother’s, Leo decided grimly.

In the meantime he had other business to attend to. The sharks of the financial Press were already circling, not exactly threshing the water in excited anticipation of a kill, but certainly scenting blood. The telephone calls from the Press and even those from his fellow board members Leo had been prepared for and expecting, but the one he received late in the afternoon from his sister-in-law he had not.

She sounded surprisingly calm; too calm, perhaps? Leo wondered uneasily as he listened gravely to her. She told him that she would like to see him, and as soon as possible.

‘Yes, of course,’ Leo agreed, even though he already knew that if she was expecting him somehow to reverse what had happened and to turn Wilhelm into a faithful husband there was simply no way he could achieve this. And she must know it too, but he liked her enough to keep his thoughts to himself and to say instead that he would call round to see her just as soon as he could.

He still hadn’t spoken to Wilhelm himself. Leo knew his brother well enough to know that by now Wilhelm would be gleefully anticipating the battle he himself had deliberately set up; that he would have his own battle-lines drawn and that he would have taken for himself the most advantageous position. Well, as his brother was about to discover, without an opponent it was simply not possible to wage war.

Wilhelm was not a patient man, and for Leo simply to ignore the situation he had contrived would wear dangerously at his self-control to the point even where he himself threw away every advantage he had striven for simply for the pleasure of forcing a fight. But there were greater issues at risk here, Leo acknowledged. It wasn’t simply a matter of defusing the situation or even one of forcing Wilhelm to accept his supremacy. Personal issues had to be put aside in favour of the reputation and future of the corporation; and the mere fact that Wilhelm was prepared to jeopardise both of those surely showed how clearly unfit he was to head Hessler Chemie. During their father’s lifetime he had been there to keep a firm grip on Wilhelm, and it was that firm grip which needed to be imposed now.

It was almost six o’clock before Leo was able to leave his office; a relatively early leaving him for him. When he went down to the car park he noted grimly that Wilhelm’s car had gone, but, as he had anticipated, when he eventually drove into the private car parking area belonging to the exclusive apartments where Wilhelm and Anna lived there was no sign of Wilhelm’s Mercedes, even though Anna’s BMW was there.

Anna opened the door to him the moment he knocked, ushering him inside. She looked different, Leo recognised, although he was not sure why at first, and then he realised as he gave her a second look that her hairstyle was softer and so were her clothes, the formality of the severely tailored designer outfits she normally wore replaced by an equally expensive but more loosely structured linen suit in a muted pastel shade.

‘You’ve seen the papers, of course?’ she asked him tensely as she lit a cigarette and inhaled nervously.

‘Yes,’ Leo acknowledged, discreetly removing himself from the orbit of her smoke. ‘I’m so sorry, Anna,’ he added genuinely.

Her mouth hardened as she gave a small shrug. ‘We both know that it isn’t the first time, and I don’t suppose it will be the last.’

‘No,’ he agreed. ‘But at least in the past he has been more … discreet.’

‘Do you think so?’

Leo watched as she flicked ash into an ashtray. She had always been an elegant woman, elegant and graceful, but the years of living with his brother had chipped away at that elegance and grace so that now her movements were jerky with tension, and the disillusionment of her life had begun to drag bitter lines on her fine skin, giving her face an unhappy anxiety.

‘He might have been discreet in public, but he certainly wasn’t here at home. On the contrary.’ She paused and stubbed out her cigarette, half smoked, turning towards Leo and telling him almost defiantly, ‘Sometimes I used to think that he actually enjoyed telling me … describing them to me and the things he used to do to them. To them … not with them. That was never Wilhelm’s way, and still isn’t, for all I know.’ She caught the tiny betraying movement Leo made and smiled thinly. ‘Oh, yes, he stopped sleeping with me years ago; he used to taunt me with it, telling me how ugly my body had become since the boys’ birth, telling me that no one would blame him for no longer desiring me; telling me that the only reason he stayed married to me was because of his father. There must be no divorce in the von Hessler family, no slur on the von Hessler name.’

‘Divorce is hardly considered a slur … not these days,’ Leo commented mildly.

‘I should have divorced him, of course,’ Anna was saying as though he hadn’t spoken. ‘I wanted to, but I was too afraid … too beaten down by my own sense of inferiority. Wilhelm, you see, had always made it plain to me that if I should ever leave him he would make sure that I would be reduced to such penury that I should virtually be living in the gutter. He meant it, too.’

Leo couldn’t conceal either his shock or his disgust. ‘You must have known I would never have allowed that to happen, Anna. Why didn’t you come to me … say something?’

She gave him another tight smile. ‘I had my pride, Leo, if you can call it that, and, remember, initially you were still very much a boy. It’s ironic really that this should happen now. No doubt the world will believe that it is because of his latest infidelity that I am now leaving Wilhelm, when in fact it is several weeks now since I made my final decision.’

‘You’re leaving him?’ He didn’t attempt to conceal his surprise. He had come here expecting to be asked to speak to Wilhelm on Anna’s behalf, to demand that he give up his mistress.

‘Do you blame me?’ Anna asked him wryly.

Leo shook his head. ‘How could I?’

‘I always used to think that it was impossible for me ever to be able to leave Wilhelm,’ Anna told him, relaxing a little now that she had made her announcement. ‘I thought it was an impossibility—that there was simply no way for me to break free, but then I realised that there is always a way. And that it’s just a matter of valuing yourself enough to look for it. Do you know what made me value myself enough to do that, Leo?’ she asked, watching him.

He shook his head. He still wasn’t sure why Anna had felt it necessary to tell him that she was leaving Wilhelm. They had, after all, never been particularly close.

‘Falling in love,’ she told him. ‘Oh, I know; it’s an obvious cliché, but it’s true none the less. I met Franz last year. He’s from the east.’ She saw Leo’s face and told him fiercely, ‘Yes, he’s poor. Yes, he has a different way of life, a different moral code, almost, from mine, but that doesn’t make our love any the less worthwhile, and we do love one another, Leo. So much so that he is quite prepared for me to walk away from Wilhelm with nothing, which is just as well, because that is exactly what I have.’ She saw his face and laughed without humour. ‘Do you realise that even the bills for my clothes are sent direct to Wilhelm, that he never allows me to have any cash of my own? But money doesn’t matter to me. Not any more. What does matter, though, is the boys.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I asked you here, Leo, because I want you to promise me that you will not allow Wilhelm to warp them. Oh, I know he will not allow me to have any contact with them; that he will punish me through them. But then, how much contact do I have with them now? They are strangers to me, and that gulf will grow as they get older; Wilhelm will see to that.

‘Promise me you will do this for me, Leo.’

He was, Leo discovered, unexpectedly moved by her plea and by her obvious sincerity. ‘I will do what I can,’ he promised her, and meant it. ‘But I shall need to have some forwarding address where I can keep in contact with you, Anna.’

He would, he had already decided, make sure that Wilhelm was not allowed to leave her penniless, no matter how vindictive his brother might try to be. She would, after all, be granted some monies after they divorced.

‘I have it here,’ she told him, handing him a piece of paper. ‘Franz has a small farm in the east. Of course, we do not know whether he will be allowed to retain ownership … someone from the west may still appear to claim it. There is an old farmhouse … very old … with a roof that leaks. My grandparents were farmers, you know.’

Leo leaned forward and kissed her gently. ‘I wish you luck, Anna,’ he told her.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t need it, Leo,’ she told him. ‘All I need is what I have—Franz’s love.’

As he walked back to his car Leo discovered that he was actually envying her. Somehow she had found a way to do what had been denied to him, and that was to make her own decisions about how she would live her life.

‘It’s never impossible,’ she’d said. ‘There’s always a way … it’s just a matter of valuing yourself enough to look for it.’

Was she right? No, of course she wasn’t. Nothing was ever quite that simple …

Or was it just that he was refusing to accept that it could be that simple? Was it that somewhere, secretly, there was a hidden part of him that was afraid, that didn’t believe either that he could make a life for himself away from Hessler Chemie, or that Christie would be willing to share that life with him?

Was he in actual fact using Hessler Chemie as a means of protecting himself, while outwardly pretending to put his duty towards the responsibility his father had left him above his own needs?

He went straight home and stood for a long time in front of the window that overlooked the river, deep in thought.