Almost a crime, p.81
Almost a Crime, page 81
Everyone clapped. Gabriel went over to congratulate her. ‘If you ever think of going into politics, Mrs Fleming, I’ll be delighted to sponsor you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And I wore my hat specially for you, look.’
Octavia smiled at him. ‘It looks much better here,’ she said. ‘You look much better here altogether. You didn’t suit Barbados. One of my many mistakes.’
‘Not at all. I was an ungrateful swine. Anyway, you look great. Really very, very well.’
‘Oh, God,’ said Octavia, ‘I know what that means, what it always means, people saying that.’
‘What does it mean?’
‘It means I’ve put on weight. Oh, God.’
‘Well, it suits you,’ said Gabriel, ‘if you have. You look terrific. Doesn’t she, Melanie?’
‘All right, I suppose,’ said Melanie, grinning. ‘Yes, of course she does. Why don’t you come and join us, Octavia? We’re having our own little party, over there by the potting shed. Away from all the do-gooders. We’ve got our own hoard of food and everything.’
‘No thanks,’ said Octavia, ‘I must stop eating immediately. I thought my trousers felt a bit tight this morning.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake shut up,’ said Melanie. ‘There are other sizes in the world beside ten, you know. Here, have a sausage roll. They’re magic. Go on, Fleming. Let yourself go just for once.’
Octavia reached for a sausage roll and bit into it. ‘I’m learning to,’ she said very seriously. ‘I think.’
‘Hallo, Dickon,’ said Poppy.
‘Hallo,’ said Dickon. He looked at her rather uncertainly, not returning her smile.
‘It’s nice to see you.’
He didn’t answer.
‘Are you all right?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he said, still not smiling. ‘Yes, I’m all right.’
‘Want to play cricket?’
‘No. Not now.’
He turned his back on her and walked away. Poppy hesitated, then ran after him, grabbed his hand. ‘Dickon, what’s the matter?’
‘Nothing,’ he said, and shook her hand off, looked wildly round him, saw his grandfather, rushed over to him, clung to his legs.
Poppy looked after him thoughtfully, then went over to Megan. ‘Do you know what’s wrong with Dickon?’
‘No. He’s been funny with me, though. I tried to ask him and he wouldn’t talk to me.’
‘Nor me. I like that top,’ she added, ‘it’s the same as Mel B wears. I wanted one but Mummy said I was too young.’
‘They’re like that, mothers,’ said Megan with a sigh.
‘How’s Louise?’ said Octavia to Charles.
‘Oh – you know. She’s had what they now call a complete breakdown. But I think she’s in a much better place this time. That fellow at the Cloisters is a complete idiot, I’ve decided. I feel dreadful about it, insisting she went there, thinking I knew best. Quite dreadful.’
‘Charles,’ said Octavia gently, ‘you must stop blaming yourself. We all must, actually. Louise was always—’ she hesitated – ‘very highly strung. My father always said so, and looking back, I can see we all missed the signs. And she had so much to bear. Impossibly much.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘Yes, I do. And if I can see that, then it must be true,’ she added with a quick, rather awkward smile.
‘You’re very generous,’ said Charles, bending down impulsively to give her a kiss. ‘Too generous, some would say. But you’ve made me feel better. Thank you, my dear. And may I say you’re looking very much better yourself. Extremely well.’
‘I’m really sorry, Charles,’ said Octavia, ‘but I don’t want anyone else to tell me I look extremely well.’
Charles had actually been rather enjoying himself. He had had a very nice and interesting conversation with a rather beautiful old lady called Lucilla, who had spent most of her youth in India, and she had introduced him to Iris Duncan, the new matron of Bartles House. After another glass or two of the excellent wine, and a discussion on the charitable trust that the Duncans told him they had discovered in connection with Bartles House, Charles heard himself offering his services as professional fundraiser.
‘That would be marvellous,’ said Iris Duncan carefully, ‘but I expect you’d want paying rather a lot of money, wouldn’t you? I’ve had some rather unhappy dealings with professional fundraisers, not that I’m sure you’re in the least like that.’
‘No,’ said Charles, ‘I’m not. I’d do it for nothing. Really.’
‘For nothing? Why should you do that?’
‘Well,’ he said carefully, looking across at Octavia who was chatting to Pattie David, ‘let’s say for – for love. Gratitude. That sort of thing.’
‘That sounds wonderful,’ said Iris Duncan, who was sensitive enough not to ask him what he meant, or to pursue the matter any further.
Dickon was standing behind a bush, eating a sausage roll and wondering why he had ever wanted to come today, when he heard someone calling him. Two people. Poppy and Megan. Two people he didn’t want to talk to.
He ducked down, so they couldn’t see him, turned towards the house – and found his way blocked by Megan’s wheelchair. He turned to run; but Poppy’s strong little arm shot out, stopped him.
‘Leave me alone,’ he said crossly.
‘No,’ said Poppy, ‘not till you tell us what the matter is.’
‘Nothing’s the matter.’
‘Well, come and play with us, then.’
‘No, I don’t want to.’
‘Dickon,’ said Megan gently, ‘Dickon, come here.’
‘No.’>
‘Dickon, please,’ said Poppy.
Dickon looked from one to the other of them and burst into tears.
‘Dickon, what is it?’ said Poppy, alarmed.
He gulped, wiped his hand across his eyes. ‘Aren’t you cross with me?’ he said to her.
‘Why should I be cross with you?’
‘Because – because Mummy stole Minty. That’s – that’s wrong.’ His large dark eyes filled with tears.
Poppy hesitated, then she put her arms round him, gave him a hug. ‘My mum said it wasn’t wrong. And she didn’t steal her. Not exactly.’
‘Daddy said that, too. But she did, I know she did.’
‘Well, she took her, yes. But it was because she was so upset. Sort of ill.’
‘Don’t say that,’ said Dickon sharply, ‘don’t say she’s ill.’
‘But Dickon, she is. That’s why—’
‘She’s not ill, she’s not! She’s all right, she’s just gone away for a bit!’ He pulled himself free, ran away again.
Megan looked at Poppy, made a face and propelled her wheelchair across the garden. ‘Mum . . .’
‘Yes, dear?’
‘Where’s Sandy?’
‘I’m afraid I have no idea,’ said Pattie slightly stiffly.
Megan sighed. The lovely day seemed to be going rather wrong.
‘Right,’ said Nico, ‘you’ve had your lunch, which I hope you’ll agree was excellent. Fortnum’s did us proud.’
‘They did,’ said Marianne. She actually felt rather sick.
‘Now, let’s talk about the future. I have a proposition for you.’
‘Nico—’
‘Let me finish.’
‘Nico, I can’t . . .’
‘Can’t what?’
‘I can’t marry you.’
‘I wasn’t going to ask you to marry me,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘Of course I wasn’t. I’m not that insensitive. It’s much too soon. I understand that.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Oh, yes, I see.’ She felt odd, somehow disquieted. She didn’t want it; she wasn’t ready for it. But she felt just the same that something had been taken from her.
‘Look at me,’ he said.
She looked at him, smiled brightly, brilliantly.
‘You’re not – disappointed, are you?’
‘No. No, of course not.’ She felt foolish now, added to the rest. Tears, always near these days, rose to the back of her eyes.
‘I’ve upset you,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’
She was silent. Felt to her horror a tear roll down her cheek. She brushed it irritably away.
‘You’re not crying, are you?’ he said.
‘Of course I’m not.’ What was the matter with her? When she knew quite certainly that she didn’t want to marry him. Wasn’t prepared even to consider it.
‘Look at me,’ he said.
She didn’t move.
‘Look at me, Marianne.’
She raised her head. Reluctantly. Met his eyes. His brilliant, amused eyes. She felt more foolish still. He picked up her hand and kissed it, reached out and smudged the tear across her cheek with his hand.
‘Let me try again,’ he said. ‘I love you, Marianne. Very much. As I’ve been telling you for months now. And I’ve been very patient, wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘very patient. You’ve been wonderful, Nico, it’s just that—’
‘I know. I understand.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘Yes, I do. You don’t want to get married – yet. Although it seems you do feel some kind of interest in the subject. Which encourages me. So could I express my quite extraordinary pragmatism and generosity, and ask you to become betrothed to me? Such a nice, old-fashioned word, don’t you think? And rather more interesting and substantial than engaged. Of course if in five or ten years’ time you feel ready to take things any further, we can discuss it then. How would that be? I’ve got a ring in the car, I think you’ll like it.’
Marianne looked at him very seriously; then rather reluctantly smiled; and then finally she started to laugh. Her loud, rather hoydenish laugh.
‘That would be absolutely wonderful,’ she said. ‘I accept. As long as it is only a betrothal.’
‘Right!’ Gabriel Bingham stood in the middle of the lawn, clapped his hands. ‘Who’s for cricket?’
There was a roar of pleasure from the children, a slightly more muffled one from the adults, mixed with groans.
‘Sorry. Compulsory,’ said Gabriel. ‘Two teams. I’ll captain one. Gideon here will captain the other. Now, we may not have quite the full complement but . . .’
‘Dickon,’ said Poppy, ‘Dickon, come on, we want you in our team.’ She looked at him; he was hiding behind a bush again, he’d been crying. She put her arm around him. ‘Dickon, please don’t cry. Please. Look – oh, Pattie, hallo.’
‘Hallo,’ said Pattie. ‘Dickon, what is it?’
‘He’s a bit upset,’ said Poppy. ‘I think you’d better . . .’ Her voice tailed away.
‘Of course,’ said Pattie. ‘Look, you go and get on with the game. I’ll see you in a minute.’ She sat down on the grass, took Dickon on her knee. ‘Come on, sweetheart. Tell me what the matter is. Please?’
A few minutes later, Dickon rushed up to Gideon. ‘Can I play in your team?’
‘Yes. You can help Megan be wicketkeeper. Go on, quick, we’re going to start.’
‘What did you say to him?’ Megan said to Poppy later.
‘Nothing. It was your mum. She was brilliant.’
‘She is brilliant,’ said Megan, ‘except when it comes to clothes.’
Lucilla looked on approvingly. This was really a very nice gathering. Charming people, well-behaved children, a genuine sense of community. And Mrs Duncan was a delight. The only flaw in the day had been Nora, who’d suddenly said she was hot and taken off her cardigan, to reveal a ghastly see-through nylon blouse that, she told Mrs Duncan proudly, had come from her catalogue. Still, Mrs Duncan’s eyes and her own had met over Nora’s head; she could see they were going to be allies. How very good life was going to be. And that charming Mr Madison, volunteering to help with fundraising . . . She realised that the other two guests from Bartles House were fast asleep in their chairs, both with their mouths hanging open. How very unattractive old people were at times. Maybe they should get back; she wasn’t tired herself, but Mrs Spencer would be snoring in a minute, and she really couldn’t face that. She signalled to Bert Brand, who had driven them to the party in the minibus, and was now hovering on the edge of the party.
‘Time to go, Bert,’ she said, and then turning to Charles, whom she had been regaling with a long story about how she had once danced the tango with Nehru at the Calcutta High Commissioner’s residence, said, ‘I’m afraid we shall have to go. Those poor old souls over there are clearly ready for their beds. They get so tired, you know.’
‘I expect they do,’ said Charles. He smiled at her. Pattie David had told him Lucilla was at least eighty-six, probably older. He loved old people and the living history they represented, never found them in the least boring. He was going to enjoy his new enterprise: enjoy it a lot.
‘Marianne! How lovely! And Nico.’ Octavia kissed them both. ‘Come on in and have a drink.’
‘We’ve both had much too much to drink already,’ said Marianne. ‘A cup of tea would be nice though.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Nico. ‘A glass of nice chilled white wine would be delightful, Octavia.’
‘I’ll get it for you. It’s so nice you came. How was the house?’
‘Beautiful,’ said Marianne, ‘absolutely beautiful.’
‘Glorious,’ said Nico.
‘Are you going to buy it, Nico?’
‘I am indeed. You’ll love it. I shall throw lots of parties in it, and you will always be guest of honour.’
Marianne took the cup of tea she was being offered, waved away a plate of sandwiches. Octavia stared at her left hand; at an extremely pretty sapphire and diamond deco ring on its third finger.
‘Marianne,’ said Octavia, ‘you’re not – well, are you – I mean . . .’
‘She means are you going to marry me,’ said Nico. ‘I think.’ He smiled at Octavia. ‘No, she isn’t.’
‘Oh,’ said Octavia. She flushed. ‘Oh – I’m sorry. I feel awful now.’
‘But are we betrothed,’ said Nico. ‘Officially betrothed. That is our new joint status. Does that make you feel better?’
‘Much better,’ said Octavia. She kissed them both. ‘I don’t quite understand, but I hope you’ll be very happy. Betrothed.’
‘I’m confident that we will,’ said Nico Cadogan.
‘I don’t know how I’m going to get home,’ said Melanie, ‘I’m as drunk as a – a Lady.’
‘I’ll drive you home,’ said Gabriel. ‘I’m as sober as a judge.’
‘You can’t. I live in London.’
‘I meant to my home. You can stay with me, pick your car up in the morning.’
‘Angel Gabriel, are you trying to compromise me?’
‘No, of course not. I have an extremely nice spare room. But I might say that any woman who can bowl a cricket ball like you do has an instant place in my heart.’
‘You’re on,’ said Melanie. She leaned rather unsteadily on his arm as they made their way across the lawn to say goodbye to everyone. ‘’Bye, Fleming,’ she said, kissing Octavia, rather feebly. ‘The Angel Gabriel is taking me home with him. To his earthly residence, I trust.’
Octavia watched them go with amusement. As a match, it suddenly seemed rather suitable.
She called the twins, went to fetch Minty who was asleep in Pattie’s old playpen in the corner of the garden.
‘’Bye, Pattie, it’s been a lovely day. So lucky with the weather. Well done. What a success. Goodness, we’re the last. I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ said Pattie. ‘I’m sorry it’s over.’ She went down to the gate, waved them off.
Dickon rushed after them, shouting, ‘See you soon,’ and then rushed back to Megan. They were working their way through the leftovers.
‘He seems quite different,’ said Sandy to Pattie. ‘I saw you talking to him, whatever did you say?’
‘Oh,’ she said quickly, ‘just cuddled him and talked to him for a bit. He’s very afraid of people dying, isn’t he? Thinks if they’re ill, they’re going to die.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. He’s observed that happening rather a lot lately. But what else can I say about – about Louise? It’s better than he should think she’s a criminal.’
‘Of course. Anyway, I said – oh, it’s all so silly. You don’t want to hear.’
‘Yes, I do. He was so upset earlier, I can’t imagine how you could have done that.’
‘Well, I said there was different sorts of illness. And that his mummy was ill in her mind, that nobody ever died of that. I hope that’s all right. It seemed to – make sense to him.’
‘I’m very grateful,’ said Sandy. ‘I hadn’t thought of trying to explain that. It’s quite a difficult concept. For someone of five.’
‘I know. But I’ve always talked to Megan as if she was much older than she is. They do seem to be able to cope with it.’
‘Yes. I can’t thank you enough, Pattie, really.’
‘Don’t try,’ she said quickly. There was a rather strained silence. Then, ‘Well, I’d better go and retrieve what’s left of that wine,’ said Sandy. ‘Not a lot, I think: Gabriel Bingham and that partner of Octavia’s were making huge inroads into it. Not to mention my father-in-law. I hope he’ll get home safely.’
‘He’s gone back to Bartles House,’ said Pattie. ‘Lucilla’s invited him to look at her Indian scrapbooks.’
‘Oh, how nice,’ said Sandy. ‘Well, if you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll just get the wine.’
Pattie suddenly felt very bleak. The lovely day was over: turned from warm Indian summer to chilly autumn. Clouds were filling the clear sky, a dramatic sunset heralded a stormy night. The party was over; and the house would now return to its quiet, half-empty self. No more campaign, no more Bartles House; she would miss it. Of course there was still Foothold, she’d been neglecting that lately, but—
‘I’ll give you a hand with the clearing up,’ said Sandy.
‘No, it’s all right,’ she said quickly. ‘You have a long way to go.’
