Almost a crime, p.52
Almost a Crime, page 52
‘I’ve brought you a milky cure. I thought you needed one.’
‘Dad! I’m fine.’
‘Octavia, you are not fine. You practically fainted down there, when you said you were going to drive home. You’re exhausted, you need taking care of. I hope this Mr Bingham of yours is going to realise that.’
‘I think he will.’
‘Good. Well, anyway, you drink this. It’s got a dash of whisky in it, and loads of honey. And real, full cream milk.’
‘Daddy, honestly. I’ll put on—’ She realised she was saying absolutely the wrong thing, amended it hastily. ‘I’ll never wake up in the morning. And I have to get packed. And anyway, I have to see Minty, we’re going to be apart for a week.’
‘That’s all right. I’ll wake you up, drive you down to the house. And then you can get a cab to the airport if that’s what you prefer.’
‘We’ll have to be away from Phillimore Gardens by eight.’
‘That’s all right. Not a problem. Oh, by the way, there’s a message from Caroline, the nanny.’
‘Caroline? What is it, is there something wrong?’
‘No, nothing. She says she would like to take Minty to stay with her mother for the weekend, and if she doesn’t hear from you, she’ll do that. She’s left a number.’
‘That’s a very good idea,’ said Octavia, who had been worrying about Caroline and Minty being alone in the house. ‘Oh, dear, it’s a bit late to ring now. Caroline does like her sleep. But I’ll see her first thing of course, when we go down, won’t I?’
‘Yes, of course you will. I presume Caroline is to be trusted, and that her mother is a decent sort of woman?’
‘Daddy, you are such an old snob. Caroline’s mother is an extremely decent sort of woman, as you put it. She went to Roedean, as did Caroline.’
‘Really? How extraordinary. That’s all right, then. Drink that up, darling, before it gets cold. Now look, there’s one thing I’d like you to do for me, out in Barbados. There’s some new legislation coming in apparently, relating to property held by offshore trusts, as of course Mossaenda is. They have to be reregistered in Barbados, and subject to a transfer tax. Bloody nuisance, and probably expensive, but there it is. So you might go and see Nicholas Greenidge, find out a bit more about it, tell him I’d like to have a look at all the bumf. I could do it on the phone and so on, but it’s a bit complex, and I know he’d like to see you. Would you mind?’
‘Of course not. It’s the least I can do. And thank you for being so positive about the sponsorship thing. You’re so good to me. ’Night, Daddy.’
‘Good night, my darling. It’s so lovely to have you home.’
CHAPTER 37
Romilly woke up feeling sick. She looked at her clock: only half past five. Her period had finally started the night before and her stomach still hurt. But she pushed the sheet down, examined her stomach carefully – it was very satisfyingly flat. So it had all been worth it. But she did feel very odd still. She reached out for the small magnifying mirror she kept by her bed, examined her spot. Gone. Quite gone. Just a slight, dry, rough bit of skin where it had been. That couldn’t be a problem. And she’d know what he meant when he told her to do things today, wouldn’t be so nervous. She just wished he wouldn’t call her ‘little baby’ all the time. It really didn’t help.
Caroline was also awake. Minty had been restless and miserable all night; it had been very hot, and she was cutting a huge molar. Anyway, it was nice and cool now. And London was quiet. No traffic, anywhere. Pity they couldn’t leave now for Hampshire. It would only take about an hour and a half.
She heard Minty start to whimper and went in to the nursery. Minty was standing in her cot, her small face crumpled with sleep, the toothcutting side livid and red.
She looked at Caroline, held out her arms. ‘Up up up,’ she said, imperiously.
Caroline picked her out of the cot; she smelt awful, the tooth was taking its toll on her nappies. She went into the bathroom, ran her a bath. Minty sat in it, filling and refilling the plastic beaker that was her favourite toy, her small head bent over it, intent on her task, happy and calm again.
Outside the pigeons were cooing; a small breeze had got up. It was very peaceful, it really would be an ideal time to go.
And then she thought that of course they could. Octavia hadn’t rung back, so Caroline felt no obligation to wait for her. Tom had clearly done a runner, probably off with his ladyfriend, whoever she was. Why wait for the heat and the traffic to get up and subject herself to a ghastly drive with a fretful child?
Caroline picked Minty out of the bath, gave her a banana and a drink, packed a small bag for them both, wrote a polite, if cool note to Octavia, explaining what she had done, and was halfway down the M3 before Octavia had even left Hampstead.
Serena Fox had hardly slept at all. She was very upset. The affair she had been conducting with a young girl from the Paris office was beginning to go badly wrong; the girl had made it very plain that she found Serena unbearably possessive.
Serena knew she was possessive, it was her worst sin, but the girl was so very lovely and so very young; Serena knew perfectly well that at thirty-five, she was regarded by her more as a meal ticket than a lover. In a few weeks, it would be quite over, Marie France would have found someone else, and she would be alone again. It was always happening to her. And she didn’t like being alone. Solitude frightened Serena, left her feeling confused and threatened.
Well, today should be fun, a distraction; she and Ritz were both going to the session with Romilly, and Ritz had even suggested dinner together. Ritz, who had an extremely aggressive heterosexual sex life, rather surprisingly enjoyed such evenings; quiet, introspective, gossipy. And she had one thing in common with Serena: she had a very low opinion of men in general, and Alix Stefanidis in particular.
Marianne lay, smiling, in Nico’s arms, in the vast bed at Number One Devonshire Gardens, one of Glasgow’s most beautiful hotels. She was flushed with love, with sex, with triumph, with release; happiness soared though her, winged, birdlike.
‘My darling, I love you. God, I do.’ He sat up on his elbow, studied her, his eyes probing her face. ‘And you are so very very beautiful. And so very, very – young.’
She reached up, pulled him down again, kissed him, laughing. ‘Nico, you’re allowed to say I’m sexy, and I really don’t mind you saying I’m beautiful, but I really can’t lie here and let you call me young. It devalues the rest.’
‘My darling, you are young. You’re not yet forty. To me that’s a child.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ said Marianne. ‘And don’t present yourself as an old man either, you’re only forty – what?’
‘Forty-six. I’m hurt that you don’t remember.’
‘Sorry. Anyway, of course I’m not a child, I have three grown-up children of my own.’
‘That’s precisely why you don’t see yourself as young. Just because you went into this absurd slavery of a marriage straight from the nursery. Plenty of women of your age are having their first children these days.’
‘I know. And very silly it is too, in my opinion. You find yourself dealing with teenagers when you’re sixty. When you should be having grandchildren.’
‘Nonsense. Absolute bloody nonsense. Imagine you with grandchildren, sitting in a rocker . . .’
‘I hope I will be. Well, not sitting in a rocker, I plan to be a very fun grandmother.’
‘Marianne, you have the body of a twenty-year-old, and a face your daughters no doubt envy. Do stop talking about becoming a grandmother. Look, why don’t we go and climb into that enormous and rather vulgar marble bath and I’ll order some coffee and we can plan our day. Or we could just lie in the bath – or possibly not even just lie there . . .’
An hour later, as she lay limp with exhaustion on the bed, he sat beside her, playing with a lock of her hair, sipping thoughtfully at a glass of orange juice.
‘I love you,’ he said, ‘I love you very much. Tell me you love me, Marianne. Please tell me. Or tell me you think you might be beginning to at least. That’s not very much to ask, surely.’
And finally, setting the past, her difficult past with Felix, more firmly in its proper place, she said, ‘I think, Nico, that I might be beginning to, yes.’
‘You’re up early, Daddy. Are we going to see Mummy today?’
‘Yes, we are. Just for a bit. Then we’re going on to see that nice little girl Megan, the one in the wheelchair. I’ve said I’ll go up to Bartles House with her, to take some photographs. You know, the one they want to pull down. And then her mummy has very kindly invited us to lunch.’
‘That’ll be nice. I like her mummy. She has a very good face.’
‘She does, doesn’t she?’
Tom woke at seven thirty feeling appalling. Bloody hell, where was he? Not at home, surely? Maybe in some hotel room – yes, in some hotel room. Jesus, he needed a pee; he swung his throbbing legs over the edge of the bed, closed his eyes again against the whirling room.
The room whirled further; better get the eyes open, then it would steady again. He opened them determinedly, and found himself staring into the kindly face of Bob Macintosh.
‘God, Bob,’ he said, ‘what on earth have we been up to?’
And then made it to the bathroom just in time.
‘I have to get home,’ he said twenty minutes later, sipping alternately iced water and weak tea. ‘I have to sort out this bloody mess with Octavia before she goes to Barbados. She probably still thinks I’ve gone to Tuscany with that wretched woman . . .’
‘Oh, no!’ said Octavia. ‘They’ve gone. I wondered why she didn’t answer the phone. Daddy, this is awful. I haven’t even seen Minty, haven’t kissed her goodbye. Oh, I feel so terrible—’
Her eyes filled with tears, staring at Caroline’s terse note; she felt terribly remorseful. How could she have done that, stayed away from Minty just because she didn’t want to see Caroline?
‘I’m such a lousy mother,’ she said. ‘I don’t deserve those children.’
‘My darling, you’re a wonderful mother. You do as much as you possibly can. More, if anything. That’s why you’re so exhausted. Look, Minty will have a wonderful time with Caroline and her mother, and it is only a week.’
‘I know,’ she said, blowing her nose, ‘I know. But – well, it’s too late now. I’ll try and phone Caroline from the airport, she’ll be at her mother’s by then. I’d better go and sort out my stuff.’
It was almost eight when Tom finally phoned Phillimore Gardens, Bob Macintosh having persuaded him that attempting to get there under present circumstances was not only unwise but virtually impossible. Felix Miller answered the phone.
‘Felix? Felix, it’s Tom.’
‘Tom? Oh, really. Where are you calling from?’
‘The Mayfair Hotel.’
‘The Mayfair? I thought you were in Tuscany.’
‘Of course I’m not in bloody Tuscany! There never was any question of my going to Tuscany, and I need to talk to Octavia to tell her so. Is she there, Felix, can I speak to her?’
‘No, Tom, I’m sorry, she’s not. She’s on her way to the airport. She’s going to Barbados, you know. With this man Gabriel Bingham. Who, I might say, seems to have a little more respect for her than you do. I really cannot begin to tell you—’
‘Yes, Felix, I know what you cannot begin to tell me. Well, I’ll just have to ring her on her mobile.’
He slammed the phone down.
‘Daddy! Was that the cab? I’m just about ready. Oh, damn, I’ve forgotten my sunglasses. Hang on – shit, they’re in the study, I remember. I’ll have to go and get them. Now what was I saying – oh, yes, was that the cab?’
‘Yes,’ said Felix Miller, ‘yes, that was the cab. Just coming down the street now apparently. Now goodbye, my darling. Have a wonderful time. Don’t worry about anything, just enjoy yourself. And eat something, every day. Promise me.’
‘I promise you. I’ll just get my glasses. Hold my bag, would you, just a second . . . Right. Here I am. You don’t think I ought to try and get hold of Caroline, do you? Before I go?’
‘No, I don’t. Go on, darling, quickly, you don’t want to keep the cab waiting. Here’s your bag. ’Bye, sweetheart. Send your old daddy a postcard.’
‘I will. Big hug.’
As the car pulled away, Octavia realised, just slightly anxiously, that she didn’t after all have her mobile phone with her. Odd, she’d been so sure she’d put it in her bag. Well, too bad. It wouldn’t be much use to her in Barbados. She could ring Caroline from the airport. That would be all right.
Felix Miller, left alone in the house, carefully rinsed out the coffee cups he and Octavia had been using, checked that the burglar alarm was on and all the gas taps off, and went out of the front door. Octavia’s mobile phone, placed by him in the kitchen drawer under some tea towels ten minutes earlier, was still ringing intermittently as he drove down the street . . .
CHAPTER 38
Zoë looked at her watch: time she and Romilly left. She went to the bottom of the stairs and called her.
‘I’m just coming.’
Romilly appeared in the hall; she was wearing a white very low-cut top, new black satin skintight trousers and high-wedge trainers, and she had tied her hair up on top of her head. She had made up her eyes with very heavy shadow and her lips with a rather dull, flat colour, outlined in heavy pencil. She looked older, less fresh; Zoë felt she was making a mistake, but didn’t say so. Romilly was nervous enough already.
‘How do I look?’
‘Fine. Great. Really great.’
‘You don’t sound exactly sure.’
‘Well, I suppose I’m used to how you usually look. That’s all.’
‘You sound like Mummy! I am just sick and tired of being seen as a silly little baby. Even the photographer calls me little baby! I’m not, I’m nearly sixteen and I just happen to have signed a very big contract with a cosmetic company. So clearly I’m not just a silly little baby. And it’s time I stopped looking like one, okay?’
‘Yes, Rom, okay.’
Ritz and Serena were waiting in the studio reception. Zoë liked Ritz; she was a bit less sure about Serena. She didn’t actually trust either of them, but Ritz she felt was an honest rogue.
‘Hallo, Zoë. Nice to see you,’ said Ritz. ‘Goodness, Romilly, you look very grown up.’
Zoë could tell from her voice she didn’t like what she saw.
Romilly looked at her warily. ‘It’s only because I’m not in my school clothes.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course. Well, we have a make-up artist and everything here, so we may change what you’ve done a bit.’
‘I realise that.’ Romilly’s voice was just slightly irritable. ‘Is Alix here?’
‘No, not yet. He’s going to be late, apparently. Out on the tiles last night. Anyway, we can start getting you ready. Come in here. This is Frances, she runs the studio.’
Frances was tiny, skinny, with spiked black hair; she was wearing ripped cut-offs and a top that revealed almost all her breasts. ‘Hi. This way, Romilly. Jan, who’s going to do your hair and make-up, has just popped out. She’ll be back in a minute. Want a coffee or a Coke or anything?’
‘Look,’ said Zoë, ‘I’ve just got to go and do a few things. I’ll be back later. Romilly doesn’t want me hanging around anyway, do you, Rom? Or shall I wait?’
‘No,’ said Romilly. ‘I’ll ring you on your mobile when we’re through. I mean, we might be hours.’
Sandy looked at Louise warily. She did appear to be better. She had put on a bit of weight, there was some colour in her face and she was rather full of having had her hair done, had told him now the hairdresser came every Friday, it was so nice, and on Monday a beautician came as well, she was going to have a massage and a facial.
‘Daddy said he’d treat me. He’s been so wonderful, came in three times this week. I missed you, Sandy.’ Her voice was reproachful.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, trying not to sound short, ‘I do still have a business to run and a small boy to look after. And it’s quite a trek over here from Cheltenham.’
‘Sandy! I know that. But I get very lonely, you know.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I’m sorry.’
How could she talk to him like this, after what she’d done, how could she behave as if everything was all right, as if she’d just had an operation or something? He was about to try and make her at least understand how difficult life was for him, when he caught himself back; he must try to remember what the doctor said; that however difficult, he had to realise she had been, indeed was, extremely ill, that he must be patient, must try to understand what had been happening in her poor, confused brain.
It was all right for the doctor; he hadn’t loved Louise, hadn’t thought she loved him, hadn’t properly had to realise what she had done, hadn’t had to confront the thought not only of her infidelity, but of her carrying another man’s child. They all seemed to think that when Louise was better she would come home again; how could he even contemplate living with her again? And what could he do instead? And who could he talk to about that, who would not be shocked that he felt he hated her, never wanted to see her again, felt incapable ever of even beginning to forgive her?
‘Well, I’m sorry,’ he said again, his voice very quiet.
‘I’m sure Dickon would like to see me more, wouldn’t you, darling?’
‘Yes, I would. I keep asking Daddy.’
‘Well,’ said Louise with her sweet, quick smile, ‘you’ll have to ask some more.’
