Almost a Crime (73 page)

You’re exhausted, you need taking care of. I hope this Mr Bingham of yours is going to realise that.’

‘I think he will.’

‘Good. Well, anyway, you drink this. It’s got a dash of

whisky in it, and loads of honey. And real, full cream milk.’

‘Daddy, honestly. I’ll put on—’ She realised she was

saying absolutely the wrong thing, amended it hastily. ‘I’ll

never wake up in the morning. And I have to get packed.

And anyway, I have to see Minty, we’re going to be apart

for a week.’

‘That’s all right. I’ll wake you up, drive you down to the

house. And then you can get a cab to the airport if that’s

what you prefer.’

‘We’ll have to be away from Phillimore Gardens by

eight.’

‘That’s all right. Not a problem. Oh, by the way, there’s

a message from Caroline, the nanny.’

‘Caroline? What is it, is there something wrong?’

‘No, nothing. She says she would like to take Minty to

stay with her mother for the weekend, and if she doesn’t

hear from you, she’ll do that. She’s left a number.’

‘That’s a very good idea,’ said Octavia, who had been

worrying about Caroline and Minty being alone in the

house. ‘Oh, dear, it’s a bit late to ring now. Caroline does

like her sleep. But I’ll see her first thing of course, when we

go down, won’t I?’

‘Yes, of course you will. I presume Caroline is to be

trusted, and that her mother is a decent sort of woman?’

‘Daddy, you are such an old snob. Caroline’s mother is

an extremely decent sort of woman, as you put it. She went

to Roedean, as did Caroline.’

‘Really? How extraordinary. That’s all right, then. Drink

that up, darling, before it gets cold. Now look, there’s one

thing I’d like you to do for me, out in Barbados. There’s

some new legislation coming in apparently, relating to

property held by offshore trusts, as of course Mossaenda is.

They have to be reregistered in Barbados, and subject to a

transfer tax. Bloody nuisance, and probably expensive, but there it is. So you might go and see Nicholas Greenidge, find out a bit more about it, tell him I’d like to have a look

at all the bumf. I could do it on the phone and so on, but

it’s a bit complex, and I know he’d like to see you. Would

you mind?’

‘Of course not. It’s the least I can do. And thank you for

being so positive about the sponsorship thing. You’re so

good to me. ‘Night, Daddy.’

‘Good night, my darling. It’s so lovely to have you

home.’

Romilly woke up feeling sick. She looked at her clock: only half past five. Her period had finally started the night before and her stomach still hurt. But she pushed the sheet

down, examined her stomach carefully - it was very

satisfyingly flat. So it had all been worth it. But she did feel

very odd still. She reached out for the small magnifying

mirror she kept by her bed, examined her spot. Gone.

Quite gone. Just a slight, dry, rough bit of skin where it had

been. That couldn’t be a problem. And she’d know what he

meant when he told her to do things today, wouldn’t be so

nervous. She just wished he wouldn’t call her ‘little baby’ all

the time. It really didn’t help.

Caroline was also awake. Minty had been restless and

miserable all night; it had been very hot, and she was

cutting a huge molar. Anyway, it was nice and cool now.

And London was quiet. No traffic, anywhere. Pity they

couldn’t leave now for Hampshire. It would only take

about an hour and a half.

She heard Minty start to whimper and went in to the

nursery. Minty was standing in her cot, her small face

crumpled with sleep, the tooth-cutting side livid and red.

She looked at Caroline, held out her arms. ‘Up up up,’

she said, imperiously.

Caroline picked her out of the cot; she smelt awful, the tooth was taking its toll on her nappies. She went into the bathroom, ran her a bath. Minty sat in it, filling and refilling

the plastic beaker that was her favourite toy, her small head

bent over it, intent on her task, happy and calm again.

Outside the pigeons were cooing; a small breeze had got

up. It was very peaceful, it really would be an ideal time to

go—

And then she thought that of course they could. Octavia

hadn’t rung back, so Caroline felt no obligation to wait for

her. Tom had clearly done a runner, probably off with his

ladyfriend, whoever she was. Why wait for the heat and the

traffic to get up and subject herself to a ghastly drive with a

fretful child?

Caroline picked Minty out of the bath, gave her a banana

and a drink, packed a small bag for them both, wrote a

polite, if cool note to Octavia, explaining what she had

done, and was halfway down the M3 before Octavia had

even left Hampstead.

Serena Fox had hardly slept at all. She was very upset. The

affair she had been conducting with a young girl from the

Paris office was beginning to go badly wrong; the girl had

made it very plain that she found Serena unbearably

possessive.

Serena knew she was possessive, it was her worst sin, but

the girl was so very lovely and so very young; Serena knew

perfectly well that at thirty-five, she was regarded by her

more as a meal ticket than a lover. In a few weeks, it would

be quite over, Marie France would have found someone

else, and she would be alone again. It was always happening

to her. And she didn’t like being alone. Solitude frightened

Serena, left her feeling confused and threatened.

Well, today should be fun, a distraction; she and Ritz

were both going to the session with Romilly, and Ritz had

even suggested dinner together. Ritz, who had an

extremely aggressive heterosexual sex life, rather surprisingly

enjoyed such evenings; quiet, introspective, gossipy.

And she had one thing in common with Serena: she had a

very low opinion of men in general, and Alix Stefanidis in particular.

Marianne lay, smiling, in Nico’s arms, in the vast bed at

Number One Devonshire Gardens, one of Glasgow’s most

beautiful hotels. She was flushed with love, with sex, with

triumph, with release; happiness soared through her,

winged, birdlike.

‘My darling, I love you. God, I do.’ He sat up on his

elbow, studied her, his eyes probing her face. ‘And you are

so very very beautiful. And so very, very — young.’

She reached up, pulled him down again, kissed him,

laughing. ‘Nico, you’re allowed to say I’m sexy, and I really

don’t mind you saying I’m beautiful, but I really can’t lie

here and let you call me young. It devalues the rest.’

‘My darling, you are young. You’re not yet forty. To me

that’s a child.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ said Marianne. ‘And don’t present

yourself as an old man either, you’re only forty — what?’

‘Forty-six. I’m hurt that you don’t remember.’

‘Sorry. Anyway, of course I’m not a child, I have three

grownup children of my own.’

‘That’s precisely why you don’t see yourself as young.

Just because you went into this absurd slavery of a marriage

straight from the nursery. Plenty of women of your age are

having their first children these days.’

‘I know. And very silly it is too, in my opinion. You find

yourself dealing with teenagers when you’re sixty. When

you should be having grandchildren.’

‘Nonsense. Absolute bloody nonsense. Imagine you with

grandchildren, sitting in a rocker …’

‘I hope I will be. Well, not sitting in a rocker, I plan to

be a very fun grandmother.’

‘Marianne, you have the body of a twenty-year-old, and

a face your daughters no doubt envy. Do stop talking about

becoming a grandmother. Look, why don’t we go and

climb into that enormous and rather vulgar marble bath and

I’ll order some coffee and we can plan our day. Or we could just lie in the bath - or possibly not even just lie there …”

An hour later, as she lay limp with exhaustion on the bed,

he sat beside her, playing with a lock of her hair, sipping

thoughtfully at a glass of orange juice.

‘I love you,’ he said, ‘I love you very much. Tell me you

love me, Marianne. Please tell me. Or tell me you think

you might be beginning to at least. That’s not very much to

ask, surely.’

And finally, setting the past, her difficult past with Felix,

more firmly in its proper place, she said, ‘I think, Nico, that

I might be beginning to, yes.’

‘You’re up early, Daddy. Are we going to see Mummy

today?’

‘Yes, we are. Just for a bit. Then we’re going on to see

that nice little girl Megan, the one in the wheelchair. I’ve

said I’ll go up to Bartles House with her, to take some

photographs. You know, the one they want to pull down.

And then her mummy has very kindly invited us to lunch.’

‘That’ll be nice. I like her mummy. She has a very good

face.’

‘She does, doesn’t she?’

Tom woke at seven thirty feeling appalling. Bloody hell,

where was he? Not at home, surely? Maybe in some hotel

room - yes, in some hotel room. Jesus, he needed a pee; he

swung his throbbing legs over the edge of the bed, closed

his eyes again against the whirling room.

The room whirled further; better get the eyes open, then

it would steady again. He opened them determinedly, and

found himself staring into the kindly face of Bob Macintosh.

‘God,

Bob,’ he said, ‘what on earth have we been up to?’

And then made it to the bathroom just in time.

‘I have to get home,’ he said twenty minutes later,

sipping alternately iced water and weak tea. ‘I have to sort

out this bloody mess with Octavia before she goes to Barbados. She probably still thinks I’ve gone to Tuscany

with that wretched woman …’

‘Oh, no!’ said Octavia. ‘They’ve gone. I wondered why she

didn’t answer the phone. Daddy, this is awful. I haven’t

even seen Minty, haven’t kissed her goodbye. Oh, I feel so

terrible—’

Her eyes filled with tears, staring at Caroline’s terse note;

she felt terribly remorseful. How could she have done that,

stayed away from Minty just because she didn’t want to see

Caroline?

‘I’m such a lousy mother,’ she said. ‘I don’t deserve those

children.’

‘My darling, you’re a wonderful mother. You do as

much as you possibly can. More, if anything. That’s why

you’re so exhausted. Look, Minty will have a wonderful

time with Caroline and her mother, and it is only a week.’

‘I know,’ she said, blowing her nose, ‘I know. But well,

it’s too late now. I’ll try and phone Caroline from the

airport, she’ll be at her mother’s by then. I’d better go and

sort out my stuff.’

It was almost eight when Tom finally phoned Phillimore

Gardens, Bob Macintosh having persuaded him that

attempting to get there under present circumstances was not

only unwise but virtually impossible. Felix Miller answered

the phone.

‘Felix? Felix, it’s Tom.’

‘Tom? Oh, really. Where are you calling from?’

‘The Mayfair Hotel.’

‘The Mayfair? I thought you were in Tuscany.’

‘Of course I’m not in bloody Tuscany! There never was

any question of my going to Tuscany, and I need to talk to

Octavia to tell her so. Is she there, Felix, can I speak to her?’

‘No, Tom, I’m sorry, she’s not. She’s on her way to the

airport. She’s going to Barbados, you know. With this man

Gabriel Bingham. Who, I might say, seems to have a little more respect for her than you do. I really cannot begin to tell you—’

‘Yes, Felix, I know what you cannot begin to tell me.

Well, I’ll just have to ring her on her mobile.’

He slammed the phone down.

‘Daddy! Was that the cab? I’m just about ready. Oh, damn,

I’ve forgotten my sunglasses. Hang on — shit, they’re in the

study, I remember. I’ll have to go and get them. Now what

was I saying — oh, yes, was that the cab?’

‘Yes,’ said Felix Miller, ‘yes, that was the cab. Just

coming down the street now apparently. Now goodbye,

my darling. Have a wonderful time. Don’t worry about

anything, just enjoy yourself. And eat something, every day.

Promise me.’

‘I promise you. I’ll just get my glasses. Hold my bag,

would you, just a second … Right. Here I am. You don’t

think I ought to try and get hold of Caroline, do you?

Before I go?’

‘No, I don’t. Go on, darling, quickly, you don’t want to

keep the cab waiting. Here’s your bag. ‘Bye, sweetheart.

Send your old daddy a postcard.’

‘I will. Big hug.’

As the car pulled away, Octavia realised, just slightly

anxiously, that she didn’t after all have her mobile phone

with her. Odd, she’d been so sure she’d put it in her bag.

Well, too bad. It wouldn’t be much use to her in Barbados.

She could ring Caroline from the airport. That would be all

right.

Felix Miller, left alone in the house, carefully rinsed out the

coffee cups he and Octavia had been using, checked that

the burglar alarm was on and all the gas taps off, and went