A Calculating Heart by Caro Fraser Page B

earning power was presently very substantial – provided, of course, that there was no adverse fallout from his recent unpleasant publicity – and he usually spent pretty freely. He generally never gave much thought to the lifestyles of his many superbly wealthy clients. Butnow, as he sat pondering the papers before him, he felt a new consciousness of the stresses of the work which earned him his money. Perhaps it was age, middle age, reminding him that his energy and intellectual drive must eventually diminish. He had never imagined that idleness might possess attractions – work had always been his passion. He sat back, trying to imagine what it would be like to be immensely rich – so rich that one’s notion of work might consist of little more than watching interest accumulate on interest, with fleets of tankers and oil-trading companies busily earning income worldwide. Rich enough to spend idle weeks on board a yacht like the
Persephone
, with its luxurious cabins and excellent chef and crew in attendance, cruising the sunlit waters of the Caribbean in the company of good friends, with the freedom to sail off to new waters when bored, and drop anchor in some fresh, delightful haven …
    I might go mad,
thought Leo. He swivelled idly in his chair, the papers in his lap, and glanced out of his window to the courtyard below. He caught sight of Camilla making her way slowly across Caper Court from the cloisters, her robing bag slung over one shoulder. There was something so disconsolate and naive in the way she walked, like an unhappy child, and he realised with an immediate pang what a bastard he’d been, letting the past week go by without a single word. The trouble was selfishness became a way of life if you’d spent years putting yourself first.
    Leo sighed, pushed the papers aside, and stood up tostroll round the room and stretch his legs. He thought about the cause of their argument, the fact that he had concealed the truth about Gideon Smallwood from her, and wondered how many more such arguments there would be in the future. Unless he underwent a radical change of character, which seemed unlikely at his age, she would be in for a constant bout of unpleasant surprises. The more he thought about it, the more he realised that he was highly unlikely to live up to Camilla’s expectations of probity and decency in a husband. Not judging by his past form, at any rate. As his perambulations brought him back to his desk once more, his eye again fell on the Papaposilakis papers. He thought about the possibility of a golden old age spent island-hopping in the Caribbean. What were the realistic prospects of any form of carefree retirement if Camilla were to have children, as she would presumably want to? The thought was enough to make him sit down again.
    He found these new trains of thought mildly disquieting. He had never given much thought to his own old age before. Perhaps this was what happened to everyone in their mid-forties. And she was so young-too young. The marriage question really needed serious revising. And yet, and yet … it wasn’t as though he didn’t love her …
    Oh, bugger it, thought Leo. Living for the present had always been good enough in the past. All he had to do was maintain the status quo, enjoy her company and the delights of her voluptuous young body, and the futurewould arrange itself. The point was, he had wasted an entire week and made her unhappy into the bargain. Time to do something about it. He closed the door and went downstairs to Camilla’s room.
    Leo tapped on the door and went in. Camilla had just dropped her bag in the corner and was putting her papers on her desk. Simon, her room-mate, was out. She looked up and saw Leo, and felt her pulse jump, but said nothing. Leo closed the door and leant against it.
    They looked at each other in silence for a moment, then Leo said, ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been a complete heel these past few days. I should have rung.’ Still Camilla said