Free An Immoral Code by Caro Fraser

summer, the weeks that she had spent at Leo’s country house with James, the things the three of them had done together, and she smiled slowly.
    ‘What?’ asked Anthony, returning her smile.
    ‘Oh, nothing,’ she said, wondering what Anthony would think of his new leading counsel if she were to tell him howwell, and in exactly what ways, she knew Leo. He would be horrified probably. Leo was so careful, so discreet, that no one at the Bar would ever guess the kind of person that lay behind that brilliant, cultivated image.
    Anthony gazed at her, fascinated by the secrecy of her smile, and suddenly realised what it was about her – it was an animal quality, something almost feral. He had no wish whatsoever, he realised, to go on talking about this case. Or about anything. He stretched out a hand and stroked the back of hers lightly with his thumb. Even this slight contact was astonishingly exciting. He reached out with his other hand and pulled her gently towards him, leant forward, and kissed her for a long and exquisite moment.
    Then he leant back in his seat. ‘I’ve been thinking about doing that since I first saw you,’ he said, slightly breathless.
    ‘I know,’ replied Sarah, and he recognised from the softened, sensuous look of her face that their minds were moving along exactly the same lines. ‘Listen,’ she said, ‘I can think of much cosier places to get to know each other than this wine bar. Why don’t we just get a taxi back to my place?’ she asked.
    Anthony nodded, a little dazed. ‘Yes. All right.’
    As they left the wine bar, Leo was coming out of El Vino’s with Michael.
    ‘Shall we share a cab as far as Charing Cross?’ asked Michael.
    ‘Fine,’ said Leo. Michael raised a hand to hail a passing cab, and Leo glanced across the road to see Anthony with a blonde girl, walking away up Fleet Street. For a moment he thought there was something vaguely familiar about her, but he couldn’t think what. Dismissing it from his mind, he climbed into the taxi with Michael.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Freddie Hendry woke early – far too early. It always happened these days. The older you got, the less sleep you needed, that was a fact. He could wish that it were not so. He loved sleep, he loved the cocoon of nothingness, the dreams that so pleasantly distorted reality, that allowed him to be with Dorothy again, or to be stumbling happily through nonsensical patchwork landscapes of the past. Nothing in life was so kind as sleep. He hated especially these early parts of the day, when the light through the curtains was greyish and depressing, and the trilling of the waking starlings in the street outside merely shrill and repetitive, quite unlike the varied music of birdsong in the countryside. He was aware, too, of an unpleasant, feverish restlessness that told him he had drunk too much whisky the night before. He knew he should not do that, but some evenings it all grew unbearable, and whisky blunted the wretchedness, made him feel as though the blood coursing in his veins was young and vigorous, not sluggish and old. Then in the mornings he would repent it.
    He looked at his watch, propped up on the bedside cabinet,willing it to be past seven, at least. Six-fifteen. He groaned and lay back on his pillow, his furred tongue probing and licking his toothless upper gums. He would lie awhile and wait for the water to heat up, then have coffee and an early bath. That would fill in a good deal of time. And then he would switch on breakfast television. He disliked it, didn’t really take it in at all, but the colour of bright, lively faces and the sound of voices gave him the illusion of company. Then he would tidy up a bit, write some letters, maybe even do a spot of shopping, though there wasn’t really anything he needed. That would fill in the hours until lunchtime, and after that he would drop in at the library and then set off for the Tube and travel into the City to the offices of Nichols & Co. That was to be