Almost a Crime (27 page)

breakfast on the Sunday. ‘I really need to get back. If you

and the children want to stay, you can drive me over to

Warminster. That’s fine by me.’

Louise had phoned and said they wouldn’t come in that

case: Sandy had been reluctant to spend the day with just

the two of them. ‘Giggling, as he puts it. Sorry, Boot. You

know how awkward he can be.’

‘Well, if that’s okay. How’s Anna?’

The lovely voice became heavier. ‘She’s very bad. I can’t

believe how fast it’s happening.’

‘I’d like to see her again. When could I come?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. You say. You’re the busy one.’

She sounded slightly hostile; Octavia was stung. ‘Not that

busy. How about—’ she looked at her diary - ‘Thursday

afternoon? I could easily do that.’

‘If it’s easy.’ Again the note of hostility in the voice;

Octavia struggled not to mind. It was understandable.

‘It is. I’ll see you then. ‘Bye, Lulu.’

The children did want to stay; she drove Tom to

Warminster, in silence. He got out and kissed her briefly.

She wondered suddenly if he was going to see Her. She

hadn’t thought of that. She turned her head away from him,

and drove off ignoring his wave.

After lunch, eaten in the garden, she said brightly to the

children, ‘I want to show you something.’

‘What? A bird’s nest or something?’ said Poppy, her

voice heavy with sarcasm.

‘It’s about half an hour away, and it’s something very important to me.’

‘It will be a bird’s nest,’ said Gideon to Poppy.

She had been afraid there would lots of people at Battles

Wood, picnicking, tramping through it, but it was almost

deserted. One small happy-looking little family was standing

on the small stone bridge, playing pooh sticks, and as

they walked into the wood itself, Octavia carrying Minty,

for it was too bumpy to push the buggy, a young couple

came out, holding hands. Her dress was very creased.

‘They’ve been snogging,’ said Gideon, with all the

worldly wisdom of the nearly nine. ‘Come on, Mum,

where’s this exciting thing, then?’

‘This is it,’ said Octavia, smiling into the dim sunlight.

‘This is Bartles Wood. Look, did you see that dragonfly?

And there’s a whole duck family, look.’

‘Great,’ said Poppy. ‘Oh my God. Wow. Ducks.’

‘Poppy, don’t be silly. It is a lovely place and what’s

exciting is that they were trying to build shops and houses

on it and now they’re not. Well, hopefully not.’

‘What, here?’ Even Gideon sounded shocked.

‘Yes. Here. Cut the wood down, knock a big house

down that’s just-up the hill, divert the stream, build a

housing estate”.’

‘That’s awful,’ said Poppy.

‘Let’s go in a bit further. There’s a little clearing there,

look, we can sit down and Minty can crawl about. She’s

getting very heavy.’

They walked under the trees, out into the clearing. The

news that the wood might have disappeared endowed it

with interest, and the twins began looking around them,

arguing about where the houses might be and where the

shops.

The sun was very hot; Octavia put suncream on Minty,

argued briefly with the twins about whether they should

have some too, then watched them disappear towards the

stream and the shade with some relief. They wouldn’t get burned there. Minty crawled towards some bracken fronds, pulled at their curls tentatively, smiling with pleasure as they curled back again.

Tall foxgloves grew amongst the bracken; a large bee

buzzed lazily in and out of the bells. Octavia suddenly felt

very happy and at peace.

The twins were building a dam on a small tributary of the

stream, arguing about techniques; Minty sat looking round

with large dark eyes, then reached up and stuffed a piece of

bracken into her face.

‘I wouldn’t eat that if I were you,’ said a voice, and a

young man came into the clearing. He smiled at Octavia

and she smiled back. He was rather attractive, in an untidy

way, with wild brown curls and large hazel eyes. His mouth

was wide, and his teeth slightly crooked; it was somehow

engaging, a welcome change from rigid orthodontic

perfection. He was tall and thin, and was wearing corduroy

trousers and a check shirt and heavy black farmers’

Wellingtons: obviously a local.

‘It’s lovely here, isn’t it?’ she said, smiling at him.

‘Very lovely.’

‘Let’s hope it stays this way.’

‘Ah! You mean the development. You’ve read about it

in the papers, I suppose,’ he said, studying her (horribly

townie-looking, she thought, in her Armani jeans, her

Cutler & Gross sunglasses, Minty in her Baby Gap

dungarees).

‘Yes. And I saw the signs,’ she said quickly. ‘Back by the

bridge and the entrance.’

‘And did you see what had been written on them?

Saved!’

‘Which it has been, I believe?’

‘For now. We shall have to see what happens.’

‘I presume you’re in favour of keeping it. Not developing

it.’

‘Well — yes and no,’ he said carefully. ‘It would be a

shame to build on it, but we do need housing round here,

quite badly.’

‘Of course you don’t,’ said Octavia briskly. ‘There’s far

too much housing already, empty buildings everywhere in

the city centres.’

‘I hadn’t noticed many of those in Bath,’ he said.

‘Well, maybe not Bath. But Bristol and Frome and

Warminster. The town centres are dying.’

‘And you’d like to live in one of those empty buildings,

would you?’ he said. ‘In the town centres?’

‘Well …” She hesitated.

‘Where do you live?’

‘London.’

‘And we’ve got a cottage, near Bath,’ said Poppy, who

had come over to view this stranger, ‘where we come for

weekends.’

‘How very nice for you,’ he said, and the hazel eyes were

just slightly contemptuous as he looked at Octavia. ‘You

must know all about the area, then. And its needs.’

‘Look,’ she said, longing to tell him, not daring, of her

involvement in the fight, ‘I’m not really like that.’

‘No?’

‘No. Of course I think people should be be decently

housed. But why can’t the brownfield sites be developed,

why can’t the city centres be improved, the houses that are

already there refurbished? It would cost no more. Probably

less.’

‘You sound rather well informed. And there may be

some truth in what you say. But people want to live in the

countryside, want to bring up their children in the

countryside. And I think they should have a choice. Not be

told where they’ve got to live. And they can’t all afford

country cottages,’ he added heavily.

‘But there won’t be any country left soon,’ she said

heatedly. ‘Surely it’s better for there to be some left, so

people can visit it, than every inch covered in - in

executive homes.’

‘And what’s wrong with executive homes?’ he said,

sitting down beside her, looking at her intently.

‘Well, they’re pretentious. And hideous.’

‘According to you.’

She felt herself beginning to lose her temper, then

suddenly smiled. ‘This is silly. We only met because we

both like it here.’

‘True.’ He held out his hand. ‘Gabriel Bingham.’

‘Oh, my goodness,’ said Octavia. ‘Now I understand.

You’re the MP here, aren’t you?’

‘I am indeed. How do you know that?’

‘Oh, local friends. Anyway, I’m Octavia Fleming.’

‘Nice name. And do you work for your living, Octavia

Fleming?’

The question was just faintly patronising. Clearly he saw

her as spending her life and her husband’s money in idle

self-indulgence.

‘Yes. I run my own company,’ she said firmly.

‘Do you?’ He was clearly surprised. ‘And what does it do,

your company?’

‘Er, marketing,’ she said hastily. This was getting rather

close to home.

‘Marketing! Very trendy. Well, it’s been very nice

meeting you. I’d like to continue our discussion, but I have

to get back.’ He gently removed Minty, who was trying to

climb on to his legs, and stood up, towering above her.

Octavia looked up at him, then stood up herself. ‘To

your own family?’

‘No, no. Nearest to that is a putative fiancee.’

‘Only putative?’

‘Yes, she’s not quite sure about me yet. Well, not quite

sure enough. But I do have work to do. Good day to you.’

He smiled, held out his hand again. Octavia looked

down at it: a strong, brown, very large hand. She took it,

and it folded round her own. For some reason she felt quite

literally weak at the knees.

Anna was being sedated now, needed stronger painkillers;

but for most of the time she was blithely brave, pretending

for them all that she would soon be better.

Charles looked at her over his teacup, smiled at her.

‘Shall I tell you something? Something nice? I think Louise

might be pregnant again.’

Anna’s eyes were puzzled, watchful suddenly. ‘Why do

you say that?’

‘Oh, call it masculine intuition. When she was here last

week she had that pale, dark-eyed look. And Dickon told

me they had to stop for her to be sick coming over. I just

think she might be, and it would be the best possible thing,’

‘I’m not sure that it would,’ said Anna slowly. ‘And

anyway, she — well, it’s very unlikely. Very. Darling, I’m

hurting a bit, is it time for me to have a pill yet?’

‘Of course it is. More than time. You’re doing well.’

She took the pill, sat looking at him, smiling. ‘I love you,

Charlie.’

‘I love you, too. Now, why do you think it’s so unlikely?

About Louise being pregnant?’

But she was asleep again, drifting off into her drug

induced peace.

Tom was at home for breakfast on Tuesday morning. He seemed edgy, nervous, making a great performance of reading and opening letters.

‘You do know I’ve got a late meeting tonight?’ he said

finally, looking up.

‘I’d forgotten,’ Octavia said coolly. ‘What is it you’re

doing? Exactly?’

‘Oh, meeting a group of environmentalists who are

trying to form an all-party committee. Asked me to join

them.’

it doesn’t sound quite your style,’ she said, briskly.

‘Tom, have you seen Bartles Wood?’

‘Yes, of course I have. But Carlton’s development — as

you would see if you took the trouble to look at the plans will

blend in extremely well with the surrounding countryside.’

‘Tom,

don’t talk such total garbage!’ said Octavia, and

then, after a pause, ‘I suppose you met the local MP down

there?’

‘Gabriel Bingham? Yes. He came to one of Carlton’s

meetings. Bit of a Bollinger Socialist.’

‘You mean he went to public school? Dear oh dear,

Tom, are we ever going to see that particular chip fall off

your shoulder? Terrible sign of insecurity, you know.’

He flushed, but didn’t respond. ‘So what are you doing

today?’ he asked, making a clear effort to keep the

conversation on a positive level.

‘Oh, endless meetings. Including one with Lauren

Bartlett. Look, I must go, I have to take the twins to

school.’

‘By the way, if you want to fix that drink with the

Bartletts, if it would help, that’s fine by me. Thursday

would be okay, or Tuesday next week.’

‘Right. Thank you.’ He must be feeling guilty. Very

guilty. ‘And will you be back tonight?’

A pause, then, ‘Possibly. I’ll see how the day goes. I’ll let

you know.’

‘Fine,’ she said, keeping her voice carefully level.

‘Goodbye, Tom.’

‘Goodbye, Octavia.’

‘Good news, Pattie.’ Meg Browning, one of the Save

Bartles Wood committee, put down the telephone and

looked across her kitchen at Patricia David. ‘That was

Gabriel Bingham. He says he’ll come tonight. To our

follow-up meeting.’

‘Really? Marvellous.’ Patricia’s thin face flushed with

pleasure. ‘I never thought he would.’

‘He says he doesn’t want us to think he’s automatically

on our side, merely that he wants to be as well informed as

possible on all the issues, and to inform us on party policy in

the light of Mr Carlton’s determination to appeal.’

‘I see. Well, that’s terrific. Golly, I don’t suppose Octavia

would come to this meeting, would she?’

‘You could ask her.’

Patricia David phoned, and Octavia said that, much as

she’d love to, it would be very unwise.

Lauren had brought her sidekick to the meeting at Capital

C, an appalling woman called Fiona Mills who argued with

every point Octavia and Melanie made. She was wearing

her husband’s money on every inch of her, including,

Octavia decided, her very tautly lifted jawline.

‘We are fairly confident of a certain person’s involvement,

aren’t we, Lauren?’ she said. ‘If not officially, then

unofficially. You know who I mean?’

Melanie said she presumed she meant Princess Diana and

Fiona Mills said possibly, discretion was everything in these

matters.

‘Well, that’s marvellous,’ said Melanie. ‘Simply marvellous.’

‘Now,