Almost a Crime (47 page)

‘Yes, all right,’ said Felix, ‘I can see you on Monday. Soon

enough for you?’

Tom thought fast. He could probably string the bank

along for the weekend. And he didn’t want to rush at Felix.

It would be very counterproductive. And at least it would

give him a chance to talk to Octavia about it. That wasn’t

going to be easy. ‘Yes, Felix, Monday morning would be

great. Thanks. And thanks for going to the sports day

yesterday. I hear you covered yourself with glory. More

than I would have done.”Yes, well, it was nice for Gideon to have someone

running in the race. Pity you couldn’t go, Tom. Octavia

was very upset. She sets great store by such things. I don’t

think I ever let her down on one official occasion, all the

time she was growing up.’

‘Really?’ said Tom, feeling his teeth going on edge. ‘See

you on Monday, then.’

‘Yes. Don’t be late.’

‘I’ll try not to be,’ said Tom wearily.

He put down the phone, feeling nauseated. He had never

thought it would come to this. Crawling to Felix Miller.

Asking for his help. Well, he probably wouldn’t get it. At

best he’d get his arse kicked very thoroughly. And if Felix

had got word of his - behaviour … God, it was a miracle

he hadn’t. He still didn’t really understand why Octavia

hadn’t told him. It was extraordinary. He supposed in some

odd way the whole thing reflected back on her, showed her

up as a failure too. Not Daddy’s perfect little girl any more.

Her judgment wrong, her performance as a wife seriously

under question. Though Felix wouldn’t see it like that.

God, no!

Tom diverted his mind from the prospect of Felix seeing

it any way at all, and decided he should call the bank. He

buzzed for Barbara, told her to get David Jackson on the

phone.

‘Sure. Oh, and, Tom, a message from—’

‘Barbara, I don’t want any messages now. Okay? About

anything. It can keep. Whatever it is. Unless it was the

Bank of England waving a hundred grand at me.’

‘It wasn’t,’ said Barbara briskly.

‘Fine. Later, then.’

‘I really do think,’ said Felix, ‘that you only have yourself to

blame. You’ve let those children run rings round you,

encouraged them to do exactly what they want, and now—’

‘I’m sorry, Felix,’ said Marianne, ‘but I really don’t think

I want to listen to this.’

‘Very well. Now, look, about the weekend—’

‘I don’t think I want to talk about the weekend, either,

not just now. Goodbye, Felix.’

She put the phone down, and sat looking at it; its image

blurred suddenly. She felt beleaguered. Zoe’ was behaving

very badly, was being rude and obstructive; she was waiting

to hear if she had a job at a pub near the Tower of London.

So far she had had one trial evening, which had gone badly,

and was waiting for another. She had found the complex

orders, the ‘same again’ rounds, even the computerised tills,

very difficult; for some reason, which Marianne was unable

to understand, it was out of the question for her even to

consider any other work until this was settled. She was

altogether in a strange state, jumpy and irritable and more

than usually protective about her comings and goings,

especially at the weekends. Her financial situation was dire,

and she was in a state of permanent rage with the bank,

whom she saw as entirely responsible for it; Marianne had

drawn a line under any further loans herself, but she knew

Zoe was borrowing from Romilly. Who, as Zoe lost no

opportunity to point out, had more money than anyone in

the family now.

But the real problem was Romilly. At the meeting at

Choice, Marianne (telling herself that, after all, she had

custody of her, so was absolutely within her rights to make

such a decision) had agreed to a limited amount of

modelling work for Romilly during the school holidays,

which (she told herself again) Alec really need not know

about for the time being. What she tried to ignore was a

small, dangerous, truthful voice telling her that legally she

might be within her rights, but morally she was not.

Romilly herself carried with her an air of slightly distant

self-confidence, and even slighter, but unmistakable, superiority;

it astonished Marianne that she could have changed so

much and so swiftly.

But the Christie’s contract was more of a problem. The

shoot was scheduled for the beginning of September, and

inevitably that was going to run into the start of term. The

dates would only overlap by a day or so, but it was a

dangerous precedent to set so early. It would also be very

high profile. A slowly growing panic was settling itself into

a small area of Marianne’s stomach; so far she had managed

to hold off on the meeting with Serena Fox at which i’s

would be dotted and t’s crossed and she, on Romilly’s

behalf, would be required to sign the contract, but she

knew it was only a question of days, a week at the most.

She had wanted to discuss the whole thing with Felix, get

his invariably sound dispassionate judgment on the matter,

but …

‘Marianne? Nico Cadogan. Why haven’t you returned

my calls?’

‘Nico, I—’

‘Look, what are you doing on Sunday? How about

dinner?’

‘Nico, no. Really. I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, I—’ She stopped. She had tickets for the last, gala

performance at Covent Garden before it closed for refurbishing.

She had been going to take Felix as a surprise. It

suddenly occurred to her he didn’t deserve it. And what

was she doing, turning her back on the one person in the world who didn’t appear to be openly hostile to her at the

moment?

‘I know you like opera,’ she said, ‘but how would you

feel about a bit of ballet as well?’

‘Passionate,’ he said.

‘I cannot believe you’re going to do that. Seriously. Ask my

father for money. After what you’ve done to me. Honestly,

I just don’t think I can continue with this conversation. It’s

making me feel sick.’

‘Octavia, will you listen to me?’ They were at home, in

the drawing room. He stood up suddenly, came over to

her, bent down, put his face close up to hers. ‘Fleming

Cotterill is on the brink of bankruptcy. The bank is about

to foreclose. We’ve already lost two crucial clients, and

we’ll probably lose more, thanks to that mailing. We can’t

pay the rent or the rates on our building. We won’t be able

to pay the staff at the end of this month. Aubrey and I

haven’t taken any salary this time round.’

‘My heart bleeds for you.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Octavia! Don’t you realise what will

happen to you, if the company goes down? I shall quite

possibly be declared bankrupt. The house will go.’

‘Tom, I want a divorce, I don’t care what happens to the

house.’

‘Don’t be so fucking stupid! There will be no money, don’t you understand? No money at all. Not for the children, not for you, not for anything. Doesn’t that worry

you?’

She shrugged. ‘I’m not going to be bankrupt. I have my

own income. I’ll look after the children.’

‘Octavia, with the greatest respect, your salary will hardly

cover the food and clothes bills. Certainly not anywhere for

you to live, certainly not things like school fees.’

‘We could—’ She stopped herself.

‘Go and stay with your father? Yes, of course you could.

Without me. And what do you think that would do to the

children? What sort of message would that send out?’

‘Nothing like the message your behaviour will send out

to them,’ she said, ‘when they hear about it.’

‘Well, what they hear is entirely up to you.’

‘I suppose you want me to lie to them? Pretend you’re

the perfect father still, that we’re just going to live in

separate houses for a bit?’

‘Something like that, yes. Don’t look at me like that,

Octavia. I’m not looking for protection for myself, it’s them

I’m thinking of. Whatever I’ve done, do you really plan to

rub their noses in it? If you’re really hellbent on this

divorce, we owe it to them to make it as painless as possible.

They don’t have to know—’

‘That you’re a cheat and a liar?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘No, they don’t. And they shouldn’t.

They’ll be hurt enough by the very fact of our separating. I

think we should tell them the usual things; that we’re not

getting along very well any more, that we’re still friends,

that we think we’ll be happier living apart.’

‘That would be very much nicer for you, wouldn’t it?’

‘God, you’re a bitch,’ he said, and he looked down at her

with such distaste that she felt chilled suddenly. ‘Of course

I’ve behaved badly. Appallingly. I don’t feel very happy

about it, you know. I feel ashamed and wretched. I’ve been

trying to put it right. As best I can. They shouldn’t be made

to feel ashamed and wretched about me. If you go down

that path, it’ll be an own-goal for you, Octavia.’

‘Tom, I’m sorry, but you should have thought of that.’

He sighed, turned away from her. ‘All right. Have it your

own way. Do what you think best. But what’s best for them

has to be for things to go on as much as possible the same

way. Staying in the same house, going to the same schools,

seeing the same friends. I’ll move out, if that’s what you

want—’

‘Of course it’s what I want.’

‘I’ll go and live in some hovel. But let’s not hurt them

more than we have to. It isn’t fair.’

She stared at him. ‘I can’t believe you’re talking of fairness.’

But he had touched something in her, some core of

common sense for the children. He was right. They did

deserve protection. From the truth, the ugliness. If she

loved them, she should do that for them. It wasn’t fair, it

was hideously unfair. But it was what she should do.

She sat looking up at him, thinking how much she hated

him. ‘All right, Tom. Talk to my father. I won’t make

things any more difficult for you. But sooner or later, he’s

going to find out, and then God help you.’

‘I don’t know how you can ask me that,’ said Louise. Her

large blue eyes were shocked. The of all people. Your best

friend. Of course I think you should divorce him. And give

him the most horrible time possible. Bastard! He doesn’t

deserve you, Octavia, he really doesn’t.’

‘I know, but what he said about the children: it’s true.

They really are the innocent ones in all this. They shouldn’t

have to suffer.’

‘What about you?’

The, Oh, Lulu, nothing is ever just one person’s fault, is

it? I must have done something wrong, a lot probably, to

have made Tom be unfaithful.’

She pulled fretfully at a long, trailing arm of honeysuckle

that was dangling down on to the table; they were sitting

outside the cottage, watching Poppy patiently playing catch

with Dickon. Minty was on her knee; every so often she

dropped a kiss on the top of her small dark head.

‘Octavia, stop it,’ said Louise. ‘That is just nonsense. You

can’t think like that, you mustn’t. Tom is a cheat and a

bastard. He didn’t deserve you in the first place. He doesn’t

deserve anyone half decent.’

Octavia sighed. ‘I must say, I have hoped that whoever

she is, this woman, she’s putting him through hell. Absolute

hell.’

‘How’s his company now?’

‘Very bad. One of the things I was going to tell you was that he’s going to—’

‘Mummy, can we take Dickon for a walk? It’s getting so

hot.’

‘Not just yet, darling. Mr Bingham is coming over.’

‘Why?’

‘We have some business together, he and I.’

‘What sort of business?’

‘Oh — work. It’s very complicated.’

‘You always say that,’ said Poppy, ‘when you don’t want

to tell us something. Anyway, how long’s he going to be?

Me and Dickon are getting bored, aren’t we, Dickon?’

Dickon, who would have jumped off a fifty-foot

building if Poppy had told him it was all right, nodded

vigorously.

‘I’ll get you some drinks,’ said Octavia. ‘Or what about

an ice lolly?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Louise?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Louise, laughing. ‘They make my

teeth hurt.’

‘How are your teeth?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Weren’t you at the dentist on Friday?’

‘Oh, yes. Only a check-up, though.’

‘You had toothache before,’ said Dickon.

‘No, I didn’t, darling.’

‘Yes, you did. When you went to the dentist the other

time. When you had all those letters to post. And we went

to the McDonald’s when you got back and—’

‘Oh, then. Yes, I’d forgotten that,’ said Louise. She

smiled at Octavia. ‘Lost a filling. Always horrid, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, horrid,’ said Octavia. ‘I wouldn’t forget it so

quickly.’

‘It was ages ago,’ said Louise.

‘No, it wasn’t,’ said Dickon, ‘it was just the other day.’

‘Dickon, it wasn’t.’

‘It was. I remember—’

‘Mrs Fleming. Good afternoon.’

Octavia jumped up, smiling, feeling absurdly nervous.