Almost a Crime (105 page)

back.’

‘No, honestly, there’s no need.’

‘I know that, but I’d like to. And I could meet your sister and- ‘ah, hallo. You must be Marc’ He held out his hand.

‘Nico Cadogan. Nice to meet you.’

‘How do you do, sir,’ said Marc. ‘Is there any news?’

‘No. Not at all. Still, I’m sure it will all be all right in the

end. Zoe, why don’t you make us all a pot of coffee? That’s

what we need.’

‘Yes, all right,’ said Zoe. She looked very white, and

almost dazed. ‘Any news from Mum, Marc?’

‘Only that she’s staying there for a bit longer. Said she’d

be home about nine.’

‘I wish she was here now,’ said Zoe and burst into tears

again.

‘Now look,’ said Nico sternly, ‘I take that as a personal

insult, your crying because your mother’s not here. I’m

here, and that should be a perfectly good alternative. Just for

now. Come on, Zoe, come over here and let me give you a

hug. I hope that doesn’t seem presumptuous when I haven’t

known you very long, but I do know what to do with girls

when they cry. Here, take my hanky. Marc, you fix the

coffee, there’s a good chap. And oh, hallo, you must be

Romilly. I’m Nico, how do you do? Got any spare

Kleenex, Romilly? I think we’re going to need them.’

Nobody walking into the Muirhead kitchen at that

moment would have dreamed that Nico Cadogan was not a

family man of considerable experience.

‘Coffee?’ said Melanie.

‘Yes. Thanks.’

Octavia had stopped talking, was sitting silent, staring out

of the window at the beginnings of the dusk. ‘I might just

ring the hospital again,’ she said, putting the cup down. ‘It’s

at least something to do.’

She did: the news was the same.

‘Poor Daddy. How horrible for him, to be there, all

alone. At least Marianne’s there. It’s very good of her. I

wonder if…’

‘Tell me about Marianne,’ said Melanie.

‘Do you really want to know?’

‘Well - sort of. Yes.’

Octavia smiled at her. ‘You’re a good friend,’ she said.

‘I’m doing my best. And I am quite interested in

Marianne. And your father. Good Lord! Look at that old

caravan in the field. We had one just like that when I was a

child. My father used to take us all over England in it. I love

caravans, they’re so— Octavia, are you all right?’

‘What did you say?’ said Octavia. Something in there had

been important. Had stirred something important. What

was it? She couldn’t think. ‘Marianne is wonderful,’ she

said, ‘I’m sorry she couldn’t have been here today. She’s a

real life enhancer and—’ She stopped. There had been

something. ‘Melanie, what did you say then? Apart from

asking me to tell you about Marianne.’

‘I said I was interested in your father.’

‘No, it wasn’t that. Something else.’

‘I don’t think so. Except that I said my parents had once

had a caravan. That’s seriously interesting, isn’t it? Now tell

me some more about Marianne. She’s rather beautiful, I do

remember her from your party.’

One of the policemen came in. ‘Nothing very positive

yet, I’m afraid,’ he said, ‘and we’re calling off the search

now. It’s getting dark.’

‘I know,’ said Octavia. The growing darkness had been

frightening her: it was the childhood thing, of there being

more to be afraid of, more things you couldn’t see. And

Minty hated the dark …

‘But we’ll start again in the morning,’ said the policeman,

seeing her face. ‘First thing. And do a door-to-door in the

area. The husband’s been interviewed, of course.’

‘Sandy! Why, he’s hundreds of miles away, he doesn’t he

couldn’t …’

‘Still her husband. He might know something that we

don’t.’

‘You don’t understand,’ said Octavia, ‘he’s the nicest

man in the world. He’d have told me—’

‘Mrs Fleming, no one’s saying he knows where your

baby is. But it’s possible he might have heard his wife say something, talk to someone. You’d be surprised how the smallest thing is important.’

‘Yes. Yes, I suppose so,’ said Octavia. She sighed. ‘And —

nothing else?’

‘No, nothing concrete. I would advise you to try and get

some rest, Mrs Fleming. I know it’s hard, but why don’t

you book into the Thistle Hotel here? It’s very comfortable

and you’ll still be — well, available.’

‘AD right,’ said Octavia, ‘yes, I suppose I could.’ He was

nice; he seemed to understand how she felt about staying

there. Where Minty had been.

‘I’ll stay with you,’ said Melanie.

‘No, don’t.’ Suddenly she wanted to be alone. Quite

alone. To think, to think about Minty. She didn’t want to

talk any more.

‘I won’t be a bother,’ said Melanie, reading her thoughts.

‘Of course, you won’t. But — no, Mells, you must get

back. It’s Monday tomorrow, there’s all the follow-up on

today.’

‘Fleming! Do you really think I’m concerned about that?’

‘Well…’

‘No, I’ll stay,’ said Melanie. ‘I can’t bear the thought of

you being here all on your own. I won’t even have dinner

with you if you don’t want to, just stay quietly in my

room.’

‘Melanie! I’ll be all right. I swear. If I feel really bad, I’ll

get Tom to come down. It’ll only take him just over an

hour, with the roads clear.’

‘Well, if you’re sure …’

‘I’m sure. I really appreciate the offer, but I think I want

to be by myself

‘I’ll try not to take it personally. I shall probably weep

tears of rejection all the way back to London.’

Octavia smiled at her. ‘Like I said, you’re a really good

friend.’

After Melanie had gone, she did feel very alone. Alone and

scared. Visions kept rising in front of her of Minty: Minty

crying and frightened, Minty hidden away from her somewhere, Minty threatened, Minty — so far at that point

she managed to drag her mind away.

She booked into the Thistle Hotel, went up to her room,

stared out of the window for a bit, wondered what on earth

she was going to do. It was only eight thirty; she couldn’t

sleep, she didn’t want to eat, she had nothing to read,

anyway, she wouldn’t be able to concentrate. She had a

rush of panic. Why had she sent Melanie away: why?

Melanie. She was the best sort of friend: understanding,

supportive, loyal, funny. And quite tough when it was

necessary.

Melanie. What was it now? She’d been talking and

something had stirred. Muted, almost imperceptible and

then gone again, rather like the first tug of pain that

heralded labour. She’d been talking about Marianne. And

her father. And - what? No, she couldn’t remember.

She was rummaging through her bag looking for her

mobile when the tug came again: slightly stronger, troubling,

determined.

She sat down on the bed. Think, Octavia, think. What

was it, what did she say, why did it matter?

Her phone rang. It was Tom. They were home, the

children were watching Star Wars, they didn’t seem so upset

any more. ‘I think they’re too exhausted.’ He’d handed

Dickon over to Sandy. Sandy had been very low. ‘I felt so

sorry for him,’ he said.

The irony that it was Tom who had been the immediate

cause of most of Sandy’s troubles did not escape Octavia.

But she didn’t say so.

‘And your father? I haven’t rung. Any more news?’

‘No. He’s the same. Marianne is still there. I think she

feels it’s something she can do. It’s very good of her.’

‘I’m here,’ he said, ‘if you need me. I can get down

there, in no time.’

‘Yes, I know. Thank you.’

‘Well — goodbye for now, I’ll ring again.’

‘I think I’ll just go for a walk for a bit,’ said Zoe, ‘I can’t

stand sitting here waiting for the phone to ring any longer.’

Nico was leafing through the Sunday supplements, a

large gin and tonic by his side. He looked at ease, very

much at home. ‘Of course. Good idea.’

He was trying to find something to read that wasn’t

about Diana and the funeral when Marc came in.

‘Hi,’ said Nico, smiling at him. Nice boy; very nice. Her

children were a great credit to Marianne.

‘Hallo. Where’s Zoe?’ said Marc.

‘Gone for a walk, feeling claustrophobic. Can I get you a

drink? If that wouldn’t sound too presumptuous in your

own house?’

‘No, it’s okay. I’ve had a few beers.’ He clearly had; and

he looked dishevelled, upset. ‘It’s very - kind of you to stay

here, with us.’

‘Not at all. I didn’t think you should be alone. Specially

Zoe. And your mother could be in something of a bad way

when she gets home.’

‘Yeah. Doesn’t sound as if Felix is going to make it.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. He’s very strong.’ He looked at

Marc. ‘I expect you’re very — fond of him.’

‘He’s - okay.’

Nico was silent, turned his attention back to the paper.

‘He’s an old friend of yours, I believe?’ said Marc after a

moment.

‘Well, more of a business associate really.’

‘Zoe said - she said you’d been really cool about her little

adventure.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I like Zoe, she’s great fun. And she

bob very like your mother, which is an advantage as far as

I’m concerned. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen your mother

much since then.’

‘No. No, she told me. We - do talk a bit. We get on

very well.’

‘Yes, I see. She’s very nice to talk to, I discovered that.

She’s very nice altogether. I’ve missed her. Quite a lot.’

There was a silence; Nico stood up, poured himself

another drink, sat down again, staring into it. He probably shouldn’t have said that; he’d embarrassed the boy now.

‘She’s missed you too,’ said Marc. He had spoken

suddenly, as if taking some dangerous leap, impelled by a

sudden surge of courage.

‘Oh, really? I’m afraid not. I had the impression she was

very happily back with Felix Miller.’ He certainly shouldn’t

have said that.

‘No. No, she isn’t. It didn’t work out. She’s really

miserable about it.’

‘I see,’ said Nico Cadogan politely. He wondered where

this was leading.

‘Yeah. She told me—’

The phone shrilled; Marc leaped up to answer it. He

stood there, pushing his hands through his hair, saying ‘yes’

and ‘no’ and ‘I see’, and then finally, ‘No, we’re fine. Mr

Cadogan’s here, with us. Yeah, that’s right. He’s being very

kind. Yes, I will. Cheers, Mum.’ He put the phone down,

looked at Nico, opened another can of beer. ‘She said to

thank you.’

‘How’s Felix?’

‘About the same.’

He nodded; went back to the papers. He felt confused,

almost irritable; without knowing quite why. It was all very

well, Marc telling him Marianne was no longer with Felix;

she was keeping a deathbed vigil by him, which by any

standards would seem to indicate a fair degree of commitment.

He sighed.

Marc looked at him, drained the can, pulled open yet

another.

‘Sir,’ he said. ‘There’s something — that is—’ and then

stopped again.

‘Look,’ said Nico Cadogan, ‘nothing to do with me, but

you’ve had an awful lot of those. And I’ve had several of

these. Why don’t I make us both some coffee?

‘Yeah, cool,’ said Marc.

Marc felt awful: awkward, miserable. But somehow the

drama of the occasion, liking Nico, his anxiety about both his mother and Zoe — and, he supposed, being rather drunk - all these things combined to make him feel he not only

could, but should, talk to him. He had to try to explain. For his mother’s sake.

Cadogan came back into the room, with a large jug of

coffee. ‘Now look,’ he said, ‘forgive me if I’m wrong, but I

get the impression you want to tell me something.’

‘Yes,’ said Marc, half afraid to speak at all, ‘yes, I do.’

‘About?’

‘About—’ He hesitated. ‘About Mum. But I - well, I

promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone.’

‘You’d better not, then,’ said Nico Cadogan firmly.

‘Definitely not gentlemanly behaviour.’

Marc felt a flood of relief. It was true. It was better not.

He’d done his best, he’d tried, and if Cadogan didn’t think

he should go on, then he certainly shouldn’t.

‘Especially,’ Nico went on, ‘especially as my relationship

with your mother is over.’

He sighed, picked up his coffee. He looked genuinely

wretched. That did it really for Marc. The pair of them

being wretched. When he could probably help.

‘But it shouldn’t be,’ Marc said quickly, before he could

stop again, ‘that’s the whole point. That’s why she’s so

miserable. She’s really upset about it. She said — she said …’

‘Yes?’ said Nico.

‘She said you made her really happy, were really good for

her. She said she—’ He stopped. God, this was difficult.

Embarrassing.

‘Liked me?’ said Nico, carefully helpful.

‘Um - well — yes. Yes. A lot,’ said Marc. He looked into

his coffee cup. ‘But Felix kind of stopped her feeling it. I

mean, God, I don’t really understand. It seems very

complicated. But that’s what she said. And she said,’ he

grinned, feeling with relief his way back into safer territory,

‘she said in a game of chess it would be checkmate. I