Almost a crime, p.33
Almost a Crime, page 33
Tom had a very large whisky and then made two phone calls. The first was to Mike Dutton, of Dutton Distilleries, to say they were looking for any kind of clue as to who might have sent the letters: would it be an awful lot to ask if the secretary could check the postmark? Dutton said she’d gone home, but he’d have a quick look in the bin himself; and came back to the phone to say the cleaners had already been and emptied the bins.
‘Sorry, Tom. This is really worrying you, is it?’
‘Oh, not too much,’ said Tom, ‘it’s all such utter nonsense. But forewarned is forearmed and all that.’
‘Yes, of course. Well, cheers. Sorry we couldn’t help. Oh, and, Tom—’
‘Yes?’ said Tom, feeling his bowels turning to water.
‘Please don’t think we’ll be taking any notice of that memo. Couldn’t manage without you, and we know it.’
‘Mike,’ said Tom, ‘you’re a hero.’
The exchange had made the contemplation of the next phone call more bearable: he dialled Felix Miller’s office.
Felix’s secretary said that he was out that afternoon, ‘At your son’s sports day,’ she said. Tom hoped he was imagining the edge to her voice, and said, yes of course, but could she ask Felix to call him in the morning.
‘Yes, of course, Mr Fleming.’
‘Mrs Fleming?’
‘Yes, Mr Bingham,’ said Octavia, smiling into the phone.
‘I rang to see if you were coming down out of the smoke this weekend?’
‘No, I don’t think so. The children have got things on and I’ve got work to do.’
‘Well, it’s a pity. I was hoping to spend some more time coaching Gideon. If you change your mind, give me a ring. In Bath.’
‘Yes. Yes, I will.’
‘Goodbye, Mrs Fleming.’
‘Goodbye, Mr Bingham. Have a nice weekend.’
‘There’d be more chance of it being that if you were coming down,’ he said and rang off.
Octavia sat smiling foolishly at the phone for several moments, tantalised by the thought of another weekend at the cottage. Maybe she could go. At least on Saturday night, after the twins had attended their respective parties. That would give her Sunday there. That would be fun. Only now maybe it would look a bit pushy. She didn’t want him to think she was chasing him. Well, maybe she could ask someone else. Louise and Dickon, for instance. Sandy was away in France on one of his promotional wine tours. That would make it look a lot less calculating. It seemed ages anyway since she and Louise had had any time together. And Louise had said she couldn’t wait to meet Gabriel. Yes, she’d ask her. She dialled Louise’s number. She was out, but the cleaning lady said she’d get her to call back.
‘She’s gone to the dentist. I’ve got Dickon here. Oh, just a minute, he wants to speak to you.’
Octavia was touched. She was very fond of Dickon. ‘Hallo, darling! How are you?’
‘All right. Mummy’s gone to the dentist again. She went the other day too.’
‘Poor Mummy. Has she got toothache?’
‘Yes, but she’s not ill.’
‘Of course she’s not ill. Toothache isn’t ill. I thought you might like to come and see us on Sunday. At the cottage. What do you think? The twins’ll be there. And Minty.’
‘Yes!’
‘Well, tell Mummy to phone me when she gets back. And we’ll try and arrange it.’
‘All right, Octavia. ’Bye.’
‘’Bye, darling.’
Sweet little boy, he was, thought Octavia; obviously still desperately worried about illness. It was so sad.
Mike Dutton phoned Tom Fleming, but was informed he was on another call: would he wait?
‘No, I’m in rather a hurry. Could you just give him a message from me? Tell him my secretary’s just come up trumps. The postmark was Gloucester. He’ll know what it means.’
Barbara Dawson said she would certainly pass the message on.
Tom arrived shortly after lunch at Nico Cadogan’s penthouse office, looking appalling: drawn, pale, heavy eyed. He’d also lost weight: a good half stone, Cadogan reckoned, since their first meeting.
‘You having a bad time with this memo business?’ Cadogan said briefly.
‘What? Oh, a bit. A couple of defectors, but most people seem to be piling in behind us.’
‘It’s not true about the financial problems?’
‘Lord, no.’
‘Good,’ said Cadogan briefly. ‘Coffee?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘The share price has steadied,’ Cadogan said, ‘and, rather pleasingly, some shares have been bought.’
‘Really? That is good news. Obviously some speculators out there have faith in you. It always happens, of course. Now, strictly between ourselves, I have heard this morning that we are likely to go to referral.’
‘Quick.’
‘Yes, I know. And it’s not official. But your MP got his question asked, there are a lot of signatures on the EDM – there are a great many keen new MPs wanting to look efficient. And the government is anxious to show its mettle. Supporting the individual, that sort of thing. They’re no more bothered about huge conglomerates than the last lot, of course, but they like to be seen to be.’
‘Can I say that in the interview?’
‘Absolutely not! It would almost certainly reverse the decision. But I think you can feel more relaxed. Right, now, if we could just run through—’
‘Sorry to interrupt, Mr Cadogan. There’s an urgent call for Mr Fleming. A Mrs Cornish.’
Nico Cadogan was not given to clichéd thought, but looking at Tom Fleming’s face at that moment, the phrase ‘drained of colour’ seemed totally appropriate. He set down his cup, with a slightly unsteady hand, cleared his throat.
‘Nico, would you excuse me? Just for a moment?’
‘Sure. Want to take it in here, in private? I’ll clear out.’
‘No, no, I’ll call her back. On my mobile.’
‘Of course. There’s a meeting room empty, use that.’
‘Thanks.’
He came back after a few minutes, still looking ghastly, but more in control. ‘Sorry about that. Prospective client. Now then, if we could just run through this list of possible questions . . .’
Mrs Cornish was about as likely to be a prospective client, Cadogan thought, as Fleming Cotterill were to be on sound financial ground.
‘Yes, all right,’ said Felix, ‘I can see you on Monday. Soon enough for you?’
Tom thought fast. He could probably string the bank along for the weekend. And he didn’t want to rush at Felix. It would be very counterproductive. And at least it would give him a chance to talk to Octavia about it. That wasn’t going to be easy. ‘Yes, Felix, Monday morning would be great. Thanks. And thanks for going to the sports day yesterday. I hear you covered yourself with glory. More than I would have done.’
‘Yes, well, it was nice for Gideon to have someone running in the race. Pity you couldn’t go, Tom. Octavia was very upset. She sets great store by such things. I don’t think I ever let her down on one official occasion, all the time she was growing up.’
‘Really?’ said Tom, feeling his teeth going on edge. ‘See you on Monday, then.’
‘Yes. Don’t be late.’
‘I’ll try not to be,’ said Tom wearily.
He put down the phone, feeling nauseated. He had never thought it would come to this. Crawling to Felix Miller. Asking for his help. Well, he probably wouldn’t get it. At best he’d get his arse kicked very thoroughly. And if Felix had got word of his – behaviour . . . God, it was a miracle he hadn’t. He still didn’t really understand why Octavia hadn’t told him. It was extraordinary. He supposed in some odd way the whole thing reflected back on her, showed her up as a failure too. Not Daddy’s perfect little girl any more. Her judgment wrong, her performance as a wife seriously under question. Though Felix wouldn’t see it like that. God, no!
Tom diverted his mind from the prospect of Felix seeing it any way at all, and decided he should call the bank. He buzzed for Barbara, told her to get David Jackson on the phone.
‘Sure. Oh, and, Tom, a message from—’
‘Barbara, I don’t want any messages now. Okay? About anything. It can keep. Whatever it is. Unless it was the Bank of England waving a hundred grand at me.’
‘It wasn’t,’ said Barbara briskly.
‘Fine. Later, then.’
‘I really do think,’ said Felix, ‘that you only have yourself to blame. You’ve let those children run rings round you, encouraged them to do exactly what they want, and now—’
‘I’m sorry, Felix,’ said Marianne, ‘but I really don’t think I want to listen to this.’
‘Very well. Now, look, about the weekend—’
‘I don’t think I want to talk about the weekend, either, not just now. Goodbye, Felix.’
She put the phone down, and sat looking at it; its image blurred suddenly. She felt beleaguered. Zoë was behaving very badly, was being rude and obstructive; she was waiting to hear if she had a job at a pub near the Tower of London. So far she had had one trial evening, which had gone badly, and was waiting for another. She had found the complex orders, the ‘same again’ rounds, even the computerised tills, very difficult; for some reason, which Marianne was unable to understand, it was out of the question for her even to consider any other work until this was settled. She was altogether in a strange state, jumpy and irritable and more than usually protective about her comings and goings, especially at the weekends. Her financial situation was dire, and she was in a state of permanent rage with the bank, whom she saw as entirely responsible for it; Marianne had drawn a line under any further loans herself, but she knew Zoë was borrowing from Romilly. Who, as Zoë lost no opportunity to point out, had more money than anyone in the family now.
But the real problem was Romilly. At the meeting at Choice, Marianne (telling herself that, after all, she had custody of her, so was absolutely within her rights to make such a decision) had agreed to a limited amount of modelling work for Romilly during the school holidays, which (she told herself again) Alec really need not know about for the time being. What she tried to ignore was a small, dangerous, truthful voice telling her that legally she might be within her rights, but morally she was not.
Romilly herself carried with her an air of slightly distant self-confidence, and even slighter, but unmistakable, superiority; it astonished Marianne that she could have changed so much and so swiftly.
But the Christie’s contract was more of a problem. The shoot was scheduled for the beginning of September, and inevitably that was going to run into the start of term. The dates would only overlap by a day or two, but it was a dangerous precedent to set so early. It would also be very high profile. A slowly growing panic was settling itself into a small area of Marianne’s stomach; so far she had managed to hold off on the meeting with Serena Fox at which i’s would be dotted and t’s crossed and she, on Romilly’s behalf, would be required to sign the contract, but she knew it was only a question of days, a week at the most. She had wanted to discuss the whole thing with Felix, get his invariably sound dispassionate judgment on the matter, but . . .
‘Marianne? Nico Cadogan. Why haven’t you returned my calls?’
‘Nico, I—’
‘Look, what are you doing on Sunday? How about dinner?’
‘Nico, no. Really. I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, I—’ She stopped. She had tickets for the last, gala performance at Covent Garden before it closed for refurbishing. She had been going to take Felix as a surprise. It suddenly occurred to her he didn’t deserve it. And what was she doing, turning her back on the one person in the world who didn’t appear to be openly hostile to her at the moment?
‘I know you like opera,’ she said, ‘but how would you feel about a bit of ballet as well?’
‘Passionate,’ he said.
‘I cannot believe you’re going to do that. Seriously. Ask my father for money. After what you’ve done to me. Honestly, I just don’t think I can continue with this conversation. It’s making me feel sick.’
‘Octavia, will you listen to me?’ They were at home, in the drawing room. He stood up suddenly, came over to her, bent down, put his face close up to hers. ‘Fleming Cotterill is on the brink of bankruptcy. The bank is about to foreclose. We’ve already lost two crucial clients, and we’ll probably lose more, thanks to that mailing. We can’t pay the rent or the rates on our building. We won’t be able to pay the staff at the end of this month. Aubrey and I haven’t taken any salary this time round.’
‘My heart bleeds for you.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Octavia! Don’t you realise what will happen to you, if the company goes down? I shall quite possibly be declared bankrupt. The house will go.’
‘Tom, I want a divorce, I don’t care what happens to the house.’
‘Don’t be so fucking stupid! There will be no money, don’t you understand? No money at all. Not for the children, not for you, not for anything. Doesn’t that worry you?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not going to be bankrupt. I have my own income. I’ll look after the children.’
‘Octavia, with the greatest respect, your salary will hardly cover the food and clothes bills. Certainly not anywhere for you to live, certainly not things like school fees.’
‘We could—’ She stopped herself.
‘Go and stay with your father? Yes, of course you could. Without me. And what do you think that would do to the children? What sort of message would that send out?’
‘Nothing like the message your behaviour will send out to them,’ she said, ‘when they hear about it.’
‘Well, what they hear is entirely up to you.’
‘I suppose you want me to lie to them? Pretend you’re the perfect father still, that we’re just going to live in separate houses for a bit?’
‘Something like that, yes. Don’t look at me like that, Octavia. I’m not looking for protection for myself, it’s them I’m thinking of. Whatever I’ve done, do you really plan to rub their noses in it? If you’re really hellbent on this divorce, we owe it to them to make it as painless as possible. They don’t have to know—’
‘That you’re a cheat and a liar?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘No, they don’t. And they shouldn’t. They’ll be hurt enough by the very fact of our separating. I think we should tell them the usual things; that we’re not getting along very well any more, that we’re still friends, that we think we’ll be happier living apart.’
‘That would be very much nicer for you, wouldn’t it?’
‘God, you’re a bitch,’ he said, and he looked down at her with such distaste that she felt chilled suddenly. ‘Of course I’ve behaved badly. Appallingly. I don’t feel very happy about it, you know. I feel ashamed and wretched. I’ve been trying to put it right. As best I can. They shouldn’t be made to feel ashamed and wretched about me. If you go down that path, it’ll be an own-goal for you, Octavia.’
‘Tom, I’m sorry, but you should have thought of that.’
He sighed, turned away from her. ‘All right. Have it your own way. Do what you think best. But what’s best for them has to be for things to go on as much as possible the same way. Staying in the same house, going to the same schools, seeing the same friends. I’ll move out, if that’s what you want—’
‘Of course it’s what I want.’
‘I’ll go and live in some hovel. But let’s not hurt them more than we have to. It isn’t fair.’
She stared at him. ‘I can’t believe you’re talking of fairness.’
But he had touched something in her, some core of common sense for the children. He was right. They did deserve protection. From the truth, the ugliness. If she loved them, she should do that for them. It wasn’t fair, it was hideously unfair. But it was what she should do.
She sat looking up at him, thinking how much she hated him. ‘All right, Tom. Talk to my father. I won’t make things any more difficult for you. But sooner or later, he’s going to find out, and then God help you.’
CHAPTER 24
‘I don’t know how you can ask me that,’ said Louise. Her large blue eyes were shocked. ‘Me of all people. Your best friend. Of course I think you should divorce him. And give him the most horrible time possible. Bastard! He doesn’t deserve you, Octavia, he really doesn’t.’
‘I know, but what he said about the children: it’s true. They really are the innocent ones in all this. They shouldn’t have to suffer.’
‘What about you?’
‘Me! Oh, Lulu, nothing is ever just one person’s fault, is it? I must have done something wrong, a lot probably, to have made Tom be unfaithful.’
She pulled fretfully at a long, trailing arm of honeysuckle that was dangling down on to the table; they were sitting outside the cottage, watching Poppy patiently playing catch with Dickon. Minty was on her knee; every so often she dropped a kiss on the top of her small dark head.
‘Octavia, stop it,’ said Louise. ‘That is just nonsense. You can’t think like that, you mustn’t. Tom is a cheat and a bastard. He didn’t deserve you in the first place. He doesn’t deserve anyone half decent.’
Octavia sighed. ‘I must say, I have hoped that whoever she is, this woman, she’s putting him through hell. Absolute hell.’
‘How’s his company now?’
‘Very bad. One of the things I was going to tell you was that he’s going to—’
‘Mummy, can we take Dickon for a walk? It’s getting so hot.’
‘Not just yet, darling. Mr Bingham is coming over.’
‘Why?’
‘We have some business together, he and I.’
‘What sort of business?’
