Almost a Crime (60 page)

coffee cup, said, ‘I think you’ve been bloody good about it

all.’

‘Not a lot of choice. And I certainly don’t deserve any

sympathy,’ said Tom. ‘Now let’s talk about Fleming

Cotterill. Much more important.’

‘Well, basically we have three choices. We can do

nothing, muddle along for a bit longer, try to persuade the

bank to meet the salary cheques, leave the rent and so on:

that’ll give us a week at the most. Or we can go down the

merger route. Or petition to have ourselves declared

bankrupt. That might be best. Cleanest. Get it over and

done with.’

‘I suppose we ought to try for the merger,’ said Tom,

‘but I cannot tell you how wretched it makes me feel.’

‘Maybe not as wretched as the staff will feel if their salary

cheques bounce,’ said Aubrey.

‘Aubrey, I think we have to pay them this month

somehow. Out of our own assets. I could sell a painting or

two, raise the money that way. Before we get everything

seized. How about you?’

‘I might sell my ex-wife’s engagement ring,’ said Aubrey thoughtfully, ‘I made her give it back, you know. It was my grandmother’s. I was keeping it for the next Mrs Cotterill,

but she doesn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry to

materialise. The staff are a more deserving cause.’

‘Fine. Well, let’s do that. And let’s wait till Monday,

make our final decision then.’

‘It’s going to be a long weekend.’

‘Ian, can we go to the house tonight?’ said Zoe.

She had rung him on his mobile at midday. She had got

the cash out of the bank and was longing to be rid of it. It

had practically cleaned her out again, but it was worth it.

‘Not tonight, darlin’, no. I’m having a drink with the

lads. Sorry. Tomorrow be okay?’

‘Oh - yes. Yes, fine.’

‘We’ll go to the Ministry first. Have a really good night.

See you, babe.’

She wished they could have gone that night, but it

couldn’t be helped. And one more day wasn’t really going

to make any difference …

Somehow, perversely that day, Octavia felt better: rather as

if she had been suffering from some near fatal illness that

had reached and passed its crisis, the fever broken, the pain

easing. She felt exhausted, weak and yet mildly euphoric;

she had, after all, survived. And the worst was surely over.

Lying weak and wretched in her hospital bed, hazy with

drugs and pain, contemplating all that she had lost, and the

life that she had tried to leave, Louise became slowly aware

of something other than despair. It was anger: white-hot,

blinding anger. She clung to it; it gave her strength and it

gave her hope. That she could still get what she wanted.

That she would get what she wanted. Somehow. Whatever

she had to do. It wasn’t finished yet.

Octavia went to see her father, to reassure him that she was

all right, for his distress and anxiety over her had been

intense, and told him, amongst other things, about Gabriel Bingham. She was quite surprised to find herself doing so,

but decided it was because she wanted him to stop being so

sorry for her, wanted to stop being the deceived, wronged

wife. It wasn’t exactly a glamorous role. She didn’t tell him

everything, merely that she was seeing a man she liked very

much, an MP, and he was making her feel a great deal

better.

Felix Miller had been disconcertingly benign in his

reaction. ‘My darling, you deserve a little happiness.’

Gabriel had sent her a dozen red roses that day, with a

card that said, ‘From Mr Bingham, with considerable

admiration.’ She had been astonished at the unexpectedness

both of the gesture and the form it had taken; in her

overwrought state, she had burst into tears and then felt

absurdly pleased.

‘Tell me about him, this young man. Would I like him?’

She told him: as little as possible.

‘He sounds very interesting. Very interesting indeed.

Well, I shall look forward to meeting him.’

‘Daddy, it’s not that sort of thing.’

‘What sort of thing? You know I like to meet your

friends. Well, there’s no hurry. If ever you feel like bringing

him, he’ll be welcome. I suppose I should ask after Louise,’

he added, his face very cold.

‘She’s going to be all right. Yes.’

He nodded. ‘I hope Tom appreciates the full extent of

the damage he’s done, and to a great many people. I have to

say I rather doubt it.’

‘Daddy, of course he does. Very much so.’ Why was she

defending him, for God’s sake?

‘Well, let’s talk about something else. You need a

holiday. You look exhausted. How about my offer of the

cottage?’

‘I really can’t go away just now,’ she said. ‘I’ve not been

fulfilling my commitments at work. I’ve upset clients, let

people down, I have to put some really long hours in.’

‘Hard on the children.’

‘Yes, but there’s the weekends. We’re going down to the

cottage this weekend.’

‘Seeing the new boyfriend?’

‘No, I’m not.’ Gabriel had wanted to see her, but she had

told him he couldn’t: that the children should have her to

themselves for the weekend at least.

‘What about Tom, has he moved out yet? He should.

And we should have a chat about the divorce. I’ve alerted

Bernard Moss that we want to see him, told him why.’

She felt a surge of surprisingly strong anger, heard Tom’s

voice saying, ‘I’m afraid there is a lot of your father in you.’

‘You shouldn’t have,’ she said sharply. ‘It’s absolutely no

business of yours.’

‘Octavia!’

‘Sorry, Daddy. Sorry. But I really do want to do this in

my own way. In my own time. And I don’t want it all

talked about publicly before I’m ready.’

‘Well, of course it won’t be. Bernard is very discreet. But

I do beg of you, don’t let the grass grow under your feet. If

Tom is going to go down financially, then you need to get

your—’

‘If Tom is bankrupt, I have absolutely no intention of

pursuing him into the ground,’ said Octavia. ‘Now please,

Daddy, can we leave it just for now? I appreciate your

concern, but I really want a bit of time to work all this out.’

‘Well, I sincerely hope you know what you’re doing,’

said Felix Miller.

‘Look,’ said Marianne. ‘I may be — away tomorrow night.’

She felt terribly guilty about it, not only leaving the girls,

but for going away in search of fun, after the drama and the

horror of the past few days. But Octavia was all right,

Louise was all right, Felix wasn’t speaking to her, and she

felt a need for normality quite badly.

They both looked at her; she felt a flush rising, cursed it,

got up and went over to the kettle, switched it on. ‘What

are you two doing?’

They assured her, clearly amused, they were both busy:

Zoe was going to the Ministry with friends, Romilly to spend the evening with Fenella.

‘Anyway, Mum,’ said Zoe, ‘where’s he taking you?’

‘Who?’

‘Felix. Of course.’

‘Oh — no, I’m not going with Felix. I’m seeing friends.

Out of town. For dinner.’

‘Sounds cool.’

‘She’s going out with the new one,’ said Zoe to Romilly

later.

Romilly looked up; she was reading on her bed. ‘Who

is? What are you talking about?’

‘Mum. Rom, do get a grip. With her new boyfriend.’

‘Oh — yes. I spoke to him. He sounded rather nice.’

‘Mm.’

‘Well, good. I never thought Felix was nice enough to

her. And who are you going out with tomorrow night,

Zoe?’

‘Lucy. Going back to hers.’

‘Got a key?’

‘What?’

‘I said have you got a key?’

‘Rom, what-‘are you talking about?’

‘You’ll need a key to her house. She’s away. Just gone.

They all have. To Florida. I met her on Tuesday in the

Kings Road.’

‘Oh,’ said Zoe, ‘well, I must have got it wrong.’

‘Yes, you must. Who is he, Zo? I won’t tell Mum.’

‘Oh, just someone I met,’ said Zoe vaguely.

Sandy went upstairs. How was he going to get through this,

stand the pain? He kept being sick as well. Every time he

thought of Louise, in bed with Tom, the bile rose in his

throat. He would lie in bed, staring into the darkness,

watching them, her lovely slender body, and — and his.

Moving with him, one with him, talking through it as she

always did with sex, telling him how she felt, what she liked, crying out, as she always did, as she came. It was obscene, hideous. And then — and then becoming pregnant

by him. Nurturing his child. Tom’s child, inside her body.

When she had said never, never again, I couldn’t bear it,

Sandy, don’t ask me to risk it … All those lies: ‘I’m going

to see Mummy, don’t ring me there, they hate it when

they’re so worried, I’d like to stay down there tonight, just

in case, I’m ill because I’m so upset.’ All that ugliness, that

capacity for tortuous deceit, behind that beautiful, sweet

face, all those lies told so gently in that beautiful husky

voice …

Sandy felt the tears rising, buried his head in his hands.

He had fled Rookston, and Charles; he was too fond of

Charles to confront him with Louise’s wickedness — he and

Tom had agreed on that one thing, that he shouldn’t know.

But he found seeing the pictures of her everywhere in the

house, and of Anna who looked so like her, and Charles’

adoration of her, his aching concern for her, unbearable. If

it wasn’t for Dickon he would have killed himself. He

knew that, with great certainty.

‘Very nice,’ said Ian, ‘very nice indeed. Like it.’

It was a new dress: she had bought it with the few

pounds remaining of her allowance, black Lycra, extremely

short, extremely low cut. Half the men in the pub had

stopped talking as she walked in, and up to Ian, kissed him

very full on the mouth; she felt really good. And really sexy.

‘Let’s have a few drinks here, then we’ll go to the

Ministry. What do you want, babe?’

‘Oh, vodka and black. Thanks.’

‘I’ve got some really good grass on me,’ he said, patting

his leather jacket, ‘for when we get back to the house. And

I’ve got the truck, so we don’t need to mess with taxis.

Cheers, babe, here’s to a really great night.’

‘Cheers,’ said Zoe.

‘Now come along,’ said Nico. ‘It really is time you

admitted it.’

‘Admitted what?’ said Marianne, laughing.

She was quite drunk already and they were still waiting

to go into the dining room. Several glasses of champagne

sipped outside on the lovely terrace of the Swan in

Marlborough, watching the sky slowly darken, had gone

deliciously to her head.

They had spent the day together, looking at beautiful and

rather large houses - far too large for just one person,

Marianne felt. She had said so; Nico had laughed and said

that as he intended that she should be there for much of the

time, they were not for just one person at all, and that was

why her approval was essential, as he didn’t want her living

in a house she didn’t like. She had said there was no

question of her living in any house with him, however

much she liked it, and he had said nonsense, she didn’t

know what she was talking about.

‘It’s time you admitted,’ he said again, ‘that you want to

go to bed with me. Very much.’ He picked up her hand,

traced the palm with his fingers. ‘Almost as much as I want

to go to bed with you.’

‘I don’t know how much that is,’ she said, trying not to

meet his eyes, knowing what he would see there.

‘Immeasurable,’ he said. ‘I want you more than I can

remember wanting anyone for a very long time.’ He looked

at her very intently, raised her hand to his lips. ‘Thou hast ravished my heart,’ he said and smiled. ‘Song of Solomon.

But of course you’ll know that.’

‘No,’ said Marianne, staring at him. ‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Most beautiful words in the English language. In my

humble opinion.’

‘Nico, none of your opinions are humble,’ said

Marianne, laughing.

‘True. And neither am I. And I am feeling extremely and

unusually confident at this very moment. I suppose I

shouldn’t tell you that, should I?’

‘Not really, no,’ said Marianne. ‘Women don’t like it.’

‘Then forget it. I was lying. I am racked with nerves

and self-doubt. Now come alone, let us go and eat our dinner. You can’t make love on an empty stomach, in my experience.’

‘Shit,’ said Ian.

‘What?’

‘I left my money behind. The money for the Ministry.

What a sod. You got any money, babe?’

‘No. No, I haven’t,’ said Zoe quickly.

‘Thought you got your allowance this week.’

‘I did, but—’

‘Well, we could go to a cash machine, then. Come on,

Zo, won’t hurt you just for once.’

It wouldn’t give her any more; she’d already tried. The

new dress had cleaned it out.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ said Ian. ‘I can’t stand girls who’re

tight with money. Jesus, Zoe, I’ve paid for everything, ever

since we started going out. Well, let’s call it a night, then,