A Desirable Residence (18 page)

‘I’ve left some supper for you in the oven,’ said Liz. ‘Vegetable lasagne.’

‘Thanks,’ said Alice. Suddenly she felt very hungry. Piers and Ginny and Duncan often seemed to just drink, without having any food, and by the time she got home she was always ravenous.

She came back into the sitting-room and sat down, balancing her plate on her knee. The final few minutes of a documentary were playing, and when the title music had finished her father silenced the screen with the remote control. He looked up and smiled at Alice.

‘Did you have a nice time this evening?’

‘Brilliant,’ said Alice, her mouth full of lasagne. ‘We played Scrabble.’

‘Scrabble! What fun. We haven’t played that for ages.’ Jonathan looked at Liz. ‘Do you feel like a game of Scrabble?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Liz spoke in a bored voice. Then she smiled. ‘No, actually, that would be nice. Get the board out.’

When he returned, Jonathan was carrying a piece of paper.

‘I’ve got my sponsorship form for the ECO Christmas Parade,’ he said. ‘Will you sponsor me?’

‘How much?’ said Alice. She felt grown-up and generous.

‘You should be going on the parade, Alice, not sponsoring it,’ objected Liz. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be a member of the society?’

‘Yes, well, I gave out leaflets, didn’t I?’ said Alice. ‘I’m not dressing up as a bloody tree again.’

‘It’s birds this year,’ said Jonathan, ‘and don’t swear. We’ve been doing a lot of interesting work in the local woodland. The number of species that manage to survive, just around Silchester, is incredible. But some of them are terribly at risk.’ He felt for his glasses. ‘Anyway, you can fill in the form later. Let’s get on with the Scrabble.’

The sight of the little square pieces in her rack made Alice want to laugh out loud again at the memory of Duncan. She rearranged them for a second or two, then looked up expectantly.

‘Who’s going first?’ she said, in a voice that sounded too loud in this little room. ‘I will.’

‘Have you forgotten?’ said her father, smiling at her indulgently. ‘We all pick a letter out of the bag to decide that. Go on.’ Alice watched in frustration as her father deliberately picked a piece from the bag, then passed it on.

‘I’m first,’ announced Liz. She looked at her pieces. ‘Hmm. What shall I put?’

Alice gazed at her as she peered at her letters, picking one up, putting it back down again, frowning and cupping her chin in her hand. Then she looked at her father, busily drawing up a chart for the scores. He was actually using a ruler. A
ruler
, for Christ’s sake!

‘Here we are,’ said Liz eventually. ‘Temple. Not very exciting, I’m afraid.’

‘Well done,’ said Jonathan. ‘How many’s that?’ There was a silence while he notched up the points. Alice felt like screaming. All the sounds in the room seemed magnified: the clinking of the pieces, the rustle of the bag, her mother’s breathing and her father’s Biro.

‘Alice,’ he said. ‘Your turn.’

Alice stared at her pieces, willing something exciting to happen.

‘Can I have Pete?’ she said eventually.

‘P-E-A-T?’ said her father.

‘No, P-E-T-E,’ said Alice. She looked challengingly at her father.

‘That’s a proper name,’ he said. ‘Not allowed. Try again!’

‘What about Teep? I’m sure there’s such a word as Teep!’ Her voice sounded slightly hysterical to her own ears, and she looked at her mother for a bit of support. She could at least laugh. But her mother was gazing moodily into space and didn’t even seem to have heard her.

‘Really, Alice!’ Her father looked at her in surprise. ‘You must be able to do better than that. Let me have a look.’

Alice passed her letters silently over to him, and felt a crushing sense of misery fall over her. She didn’t want to be sitting in this poky, silent little room. She didn’t want to be here, playing Scrabble with her awful, boring parents. She wanted to be back at twelve Russell Street, playing with Ginny and Duncan and laughing and drinking, and glancing up every so often to see whether, by any remote, delicious chance, Piers might be looking at her.

Early on the morning of the ECO Parade, Anthea drove into Silchester and came back with two big boxes.

‘Boys!’ she called as she came in through the door. ‘Come here and see what I’ve got!’

They arrived in the hall still in their pyjamas and dressing-gowns, munching on Weetabix. Hannah followed behind, holding a mug of the strong, sweet breakfast tea without which she couldn’t function in the mornings.

‘Look!’ said Anthea proudly, and held out a box to Daniel. He peered at it.

‘Owl, ten to twelve,’ he read.

‘This one’s Owl, eight to ten,’ reported Andrew. ‘I wonder what they are,’ he added interestedly.

‘Open it and see,’ said Anthea. Daniel looked up at her. He had a dawning, awful suspicion as to what might be in the boxes. But dutifully he began to tug at the ties which held the lid on. Andrew got there before him.

‘It’s feathers!’ he said.

‘It’s a costume!’ said Anthea. Daniel finally got the lid of his box off and looked inside. An owl’s face looked back at him. With slightly shaking fingers, he picked it up. It was a whole hollow head, made out of brown feathers and furry material. There were two big yellow eyes with eyeholes punched in them, and an orange plastic beak. And curled up inside the box was a furry, feathery owl’s body.

‘It’s got wings that you can flap as you walk along,’ said Anthea in a pleased voice. Andrew and Daniel exchanged glances.

‘Do we have to wear them?’ asked Daniel. ‘Couldn’t we just have face paint like last year?’ Anthea looked surprised.

‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘Don’t be so silly. Now, when you’ve finished your breakfast you can go and put them on. We’ve got to leave at eleven.’ She looked from Daniel’s glum face to Andrew, who was staring thoughtfully at his costume. ‘Come on, both of you,’ she exclaimed. ‘Look a bit more cheerful! This parade’s going to be fun! And you’ll both look splendid.’ She glanced at Hannah. ‘Won’t they, Hannah?’

‘Splendid,’ echoed Hannah, in indeterminate tones. Anthea peered suspiciously at her, then started to walk briskly up the stairs.

‘Now hurry up with your breakfast,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘We don’t want to be late for the start of the parade.’

When she had gone round the corner, Daniel turned agonized eyes on Hannah.

‘We can’t wear these!’ he said. ‘We’ll look like complete nerds!’

‘It won’t be so bad,’ said Hannah. ‘No one will know it’s you inside.’

‘They will,’ said Andrew. ‘They’ll know it’s us because Mummy will tell them.’ Hannah started laughing.

‘You’ve got a point there,’ she said. She looked back at Daniel, who was miserably fingering his costume. ‘Look, Daniel,’ she said kindly, ‘put it on when you’ve finished your breakfast, and if it looks too awful, maybe your mother will say you don’t have to wear it.’

‘OK,’ said Daniel. He dropped the box on the floor and gave it a little kick. ‘But I bet she won’t,’ he added gloomily.

Marcus was sitting at the breakfast table, sipping his coffee, utterly oblivious to the arrival of the costumes. He looked as though he was reading the newspapers spread out before him, but in fact his mind was elsewhere. The night before, Leo Francis had popped round to Witherstone’s, ostensibly for a simple goodwill meeting between local solicitor and local estate agent. When the door had closed on Suzy, he had leaned over to Marcus.

‘You’ll be glad to hear,’ he murmured, ‘that the Panning Hall estate has been granted probate, and sold privately at the asking price you suggested.’

‘Ah, good,’ replied Marcus softly, ignoring the nervous thrill that leapt through his chest. ‘And your clients were satisfied with that?’

‘Wholly satisfied,’ Leo said, smirking at Marcus. ‘Living, as they do, in the States, they have very little appreciation of the current state of the British property market. I had warned them that the estate might not fetch a great deal, and I believe they were rather pleased with the amount that they received.’ Marcus paused, and studied his blotter. He wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to be playing this meeting. Was it done to ask direct questions? Or did the whole conversation have to be carried out as though it were being recorded as evidence against them?

‘And the purchaser?’ he said eventually.

‘The property was bought as an investment,’ said Leo smoothly, ‘by a small private company.’ He smiled at Marcus.

‘Aha,’ said Marcus, nodding wisely. ‘A private company.’ Owned by Leo, obviously. He wondered briefly how it was that Leo had the money to make such a huge purchase. Perhaps he was in partnership with someone. Or perhaps he had amassed a fortune from having pulled similar scams in the past. After all, on this deal alone, he stood to make a good million profit from selling the estate on. Minus the cut of twenty per cent that he would give to Marcus.

Marcus smiled at Leo again.

‘And will this company perhaps be looking to sell the estate fairly soon?’ he said, then wondered if that was too blatant. But Leo grinned even harder.

‘Imminently,’ he said. He paused, and looked out of the window. ‘I understand the market has rallied lately,’ he said distantly.

‘It has been doing better,’ agreed Marcus. ‘Considerably better.’

Now his attention was caught by a headline on the front page.
Property prices down
. Not in Panning, he thought, and silently smirked to himself. The whole thing had been ridiculously easy. Two hundred thousand pounds, for six days’ work. What was that as an hourly rate?

As he was trying to work it out, the phone rang.

‘Marcus? It’s Miles.’

‘Miles, hello.’ For some reason, hearing Miles’s voice made Marcus feel suddenly guilty. He searched quickly around for something innocuous to say.

‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’ he exclaimed brightly at last. ‘The boys are going on that big parade later on. Should be a good event.’ Oh, for Christ’s sake, now he was gabbling.

‘Marcus, I just wanted to ask whether you and Leo Francis had a meeting yesterday.’ Marcus’s heart began to thump.

‘Oh. Er, yes, as a matter of fact we did.’ There was a short silence. Marcus forced himself not to plunge in with unasked-for, incriminating explanations. What was wrong with having a meeting with Leo, for Christ’s sake?

‘Have you been doing business with him?’ Marcus flushed.

‘Well, you know,’ he said. ‘The odd bit. Why do you ask?’ he added, suddenly feeling annoyed with Miles. What right did he have to phone up like this and start quizzing him?

‘I only mention it,’ Miles paused in his deliberate fashion, ‘because I thought you might not be aware of Leo Francis’s reputation.’

‘Reputation?’ Marcus could feel his voice edging slightly higher. ‘What do you mean? Inefficiency?’

‘No, Marcus, not inefficiency. I’m sure he’s very efficient at what he does.’

‘Well, then, what?’

‘I have only hearsay to go on.’ Miles’s voice came quietly and calmly over the line. ‘But general opinion is that Leo Francis may not be completely above board all of the time. George Easton altogether refuses to deal with him. Apparently there was once a case at Easton’s in which a junior member of staff was persuaded by Francis into some sort of minor fraud. Nothing was ever proved, but since then—’

‘What happened to the junior member of staff?’ said Marcus, without meaning to. Oh Christ. What was he saying? There was a startled pause.

‘I’m afraid I don’t know,’ said Miles eventually. ‘Marcus—’ His voice was drowned by the sound of Daniel and Andrew coming into the kitchen, amid a flurry of scuffles.

‘Stop it, Andrew!’ Daniel was shouting. ‘It’s not funny.’

‘Boys!’ Marcus put his hand over the receiver. ‘Quiet! I’m on the phone! Sorry, Miles,’ he said into the phone. ‘What were you saying? There’s a bit of hoohah going on here.’

‘I won’t take up any more of your time, then. But please—’

‘What?’ Marcus was aware that he sounded childish and belligerent.

‘Nothing. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.’

As Marcus put the phone down, he felt suddenly fearful and uneasy. Did Miles know something? Was he trying to warn him? If so, he was too late. It had all been done. For a brief, terrifying moment, he imagined that Miles had somehow found out; had overheard their conversation. Then he deliberately thrust those thoughts aside. It was impossible. Unthinkable. He forced a smile onto his face and looked up.

‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ he said. He peered at Daniel’s disconsolate face, then glanced at Hannah. She shrugged at him meaningfully and went to put on the kettle. ‘Boys? Daniel?’

‘Mummy’s making us wear these awful costumes,’ burst out Daniel suddenly. ‘We’re going on the ECO parade and she’s got owl suits for us.’

‘Owl suits?’ Marcus gave an uncertain laugh. ‘Why owls?’

‘You have to be a bird,’ said Daniel, sitting down hopelessly. ‘It’s a parade for birds.’ He stared miserably at his half-eaten bowl of Weetabix and pushed it around.

‘Well then,’ said Marcus jovially. ‘I think owl suits sound like fun.’

‘No you don’t,’ retorted Daniel with sudden scorn. ‘You’d never wear one, would you?’

‘I might,’ said Marcus. ‘Or perhaps not an owl. I think I’d look good as a moorhen. How about you, Hannah?’ He smiled at her with the good-humoured veneer of a television presenter, hoping she would pick up the cue. Hannah was notoriously unpredictable at saying the right thing to the children; on one occasion Anthea had nearly sacked her for making some chance reference to the joys of cannabis.

But now she smiled back brightly at Marcus and said, ‘I think I’d be a good penguin.’ She looked at Daniel. ‘And I think you’ll make a brilliant owl.’

‘No I won’t,’ said Daniel vehemently. ‘I’ll look like a wanker.’

‘Daniel!’ Anthea’s voice rose, outraged, from the doorway.

‘What’s a wanker?’ asked Andrew at once. Marcus looked helplessly at Hannah, who started giggling into her mug of tea.

‘Daniel, how dare you use such language!’ Anthea neared the table and looked suspiciously at Hannah.

‘What’s a wanker?’ said Andrew again. Daniel blushed.