Almost a Crime (74 page)

out of the front door. Octavia’s mobile phone, placed by

him in the kitchen drawer under some tea towels ten

minutes earlier, was still ringing intermittently as he drove

down the street…

Zoe looked at her watch: time she and Romilly left. She

went to the bottom of the stairs and called her.

‘I’m just coming.’

Romilly appeared in the hall; she was wearing a white

very low-cut top, new black satin skintight trousers and

high-wedge trainers, and she had tied her hair up on top of

her head. She had made up her eyes with very heavy

shadow and her lips with a rather dull, flat colour, outlined

in heavy pencil. She looked older, less fresh; Zoe felt she

was making a mistake, but didn’t say so. Romilly was

nervous enough already.

‘How do I look?’

‘Fine. Great. Really great.’

‘You don’t sound exactly sure.’

‘Well, I suppose I’m used to how you usually look.

That’s all.’

‘You sound like Mummy! I am just sick and tired of

being seen as a silly little baby. Even the photographer calls

me little baby! I’m not, I’m nearly sixteen and I just happen

to have signed a very big contract with a cosmetic

company. So clearly I’m not just a silly little baby. And it’s

time I stopped looking like one, okay?’

‘Yes, Rom, okay.’

Ritz and Serena were waiting in the studio reception.

Zoe liked Ritz; she was a bit less sure about Serena. She didn’t actually trust either of them, but Ritz she felt was an honest rogue.

‘Hallo, Zoe. Nice to see you,’ said Ritz. ‘Goodness,

Romilly, you look very grown up.’

Zoe could tell from her voice she didn’t like what she

saw.

Romilly looked at her warily. ‘It’s only because I’m not

in my school clothes.’

‘Yes. Yes, of course. Well, we have a make-up artist and

everything here, so we may change what you’ve done a

bit.’

‘I realise that.’ Romilly’s voice was just slightly irritable.

‘Is Mix here?’

‘No, not yet. He’s going to be late, apparently. Out on

the tiles last night. Anyway, we can start getting you ready.

Come in here. This is Frances, she runs the studio.’

Frances was tiny, skinny, with spiked black hair; she was

wearing ripped cutoffs and a top that revealed almost all

her breasts. ‘Hi. This way, Romilly. Jan, who’s going to do

your hair and make-up, has just popped out. She’ll be back

in a minute. Want a coffee or a Coke or anything?’

‘Look,’ said Zoe, ‘I’ve just got to go and do a few things.

I’ll be back later. Romilly doesn’t want me hanging around

anyway, do you, Rom? Or shall I wait?’

‘No,’ said Romilly. ‘I’ll ring you on your mobile when

we’re through. I mean, we might be hours.’

Sandy looked at Louise warily. She did appear to be better.

She had put on a bit of weight, there was some colour in

her face and she was rather full of having had her hair done,

had told him now the hairdresser came every Friday, it was

so nice, and on Monday a beautician came as well, she was

going to have a massage and a facial.

‘Daddy said he’d treat me. He’s been so wonderful, came

in three times this week. I missed you, Sandy.’ Her voice

was reproachful.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, trying not to sound short, ‘I do still

have a business to run and a small boy to look after. And it’s

quite a trek over here from Cheltenham.’

‘Sandy! I know that. But I get very lonely, you know.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I’m sorry.’

How could she talk to him like this, after what she’d

done, how could she behave as if everything was all right, as

if she’d just had an operation or something? He was about

to try and make her at least understand how difficult life was

for him, when he caught himself back; he must try to

remember what the doctor said; that however difficult, he

had to realise she had been, indeed was, extremely ill, that

he must be patient, must try to understand what had been

happening in her poor, confused brain.

It was all right for the doctor; he hadn’t loved Louise,

hadn’t thought she loved him, hadn’t properly had to realise

what she had done, hadn’t had to confront the thought not

only of her infidelity, but of her carrying another man’s

child. They all seemed to think that when Louise was better

she would come home again; how could he even contemplate

living with her again? And what could he do instead?

And who could he talk to about that, who would not be

shocked that he felt he hated her, never wanted to see her

again, felt incapable ever of even beginning to forgive her?

‘Well, I’m sorry,’ he said again, his voice very quiet.

‘I’m sure Dickon would like to see me more, wouldn’t

you, darling?’

‘Yes, I would. I keep asking Daddy.’

‘Well,’ said Louise with her sweet, quick smile, ‘you’ll

have to ask some more.’

‘We’re going to do something so exciting,’ said Dickon.

‘Really?’ Her voice was sharp. ‘What’s that?’

‘Go to a car race. With Octavia.’

‘A car race! Sandy, what is he talking about?’

‘Oh, it’s some charity do of Octavia’s. At Brands Hatch.

Everyone’s dressing up and there will be vintage car racing.’

‘And Octavia has asked you?’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes, she has. Very kindly.’

‘How extraordinary,’ she said. She was flushed. ‘When is

it?’

‘September the seventh,’ said Dickon. ‘I had a postcard

from Poppy this morning. Daddy read it to me. It said see

you on the seventh. She’s going. Maybe you’ll be better by

then, Mummy, maybe you could come.’

‘Maybe I could,’ said Louise, ‘if anyone was kind enough

to take me.’ Her voice was very sharp, then it changed

again, swiftly. She smiled at Sandy. The soft, flirtatious

smile. ‘Sandy, I would love to go out. Lots of the people

here do. I would love it. The doctor said maybe next week

I could. Just for a drive, and maybe tea. But only with you.

Or Daddy of course. I’m sure Daddy would take me. Only

I’d much rather go with you. You and Dickon.’

‘Yes, all right, Louise. I’ll — well, I’ll see what I can do,’

said Sandy.

He felt sick suddenly; he didn’t want Louise sitting in the

car beside him. He didn’t want to see her again. Ever. He

had actually found himself wishing sometimes that she had

died from her overdose. Having to entertain that thought in

his head kept him from sleeping, was driving him mad …

‘I really will try,’ he said firmly, trying to make amends

for the thought.

‘Octavia? I thought it was you!’

Gabriel looked up. There was a man smiling down at

Octavia, whom he didn’t like the look of at all. He was

rather as he had imagined Octavia’s husband must be: tall,

slim, tanned, very smooth, very well dressed. Only he was

American.

‘Fergie! How very, nice to see you. Where have you

sprung from?’

‘First class, darling. You know I never slum it in club.

I’ve been asleep, but I thought I heard your name earlier

and I came to look for you. Nice surprise.’ He smiled rather

uncertainly at Gabriel.

‘It is a nice surprise,’ said Octavia. ‘For me, anyway.’

‘Tom on board?’

‘Er - no. No, he’s not. This is — this is a friend, Gabriel Bingham. Gabriel, this is Fergus Payne. Our fathers were it

Harvard Business School together.’

‘Hi, Gabriel,’ said Fergus Payne, with a brief flash of

perfect teeth.

‘How do you do,’ said Gabriel. He knew it was absurd to

feel hostile to this person, but he couldn’t help it.

‘Gabriel’s coming out to stay for a few days, at

Mossaenda. Where are you staying?’

‘At Cobblers Cove. You must come and have a drink

one night. Both of you.’

‘That’d be lovely. I’ll phone you there. You on your

own?’

‘Yes and no. I’m with a friend. Divorce just came

through. Third time lucky, I hope.’ He hesitated, clearly

hoping, Gabriel could see, Octavia was going to volunteer

some information about her own marital state; she smiled at

him.

‘I’d heard. I’m sorry. Very sorry.’

‘Anyway, darling, better get back to the safety of first

class. See you at the airport maybe.’

Octavia looked at Gabriel rather intently as Fergus Payne

disappeared up the stairs. ‘Not your type?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘He’s okay. I’ve known him since he was about ten. He’s

a wonderful tennis player.’

‘How very nice for him.’

‘Gabriel! Don’t look like that. Honestly, he’s very nice

when you get to know him. Which you will, I hope. I’d

like you to see Cobblers Cove, it’s a gorgeous hotel, the

nicest on the whole island.’

‘I thought we were going to be on our own?’

‘Well, we will mostly. But you might get tired of me.’

She smiled at him. She seemed much happier now; she had

been in tears at the airport, unable to get hold of Caroline,

the nanny, hadn’t said goodbye to Minty.

‘You don’t understand,’ she had said, ‘I didn’t even kiss her goodbye, or the twins, I feel so terrible about it all—’

Gabriel said he thought he did understand, just, but that

it was only a week, and he was sure Minty would be all right, then when she continued to be distressed, even suggested cancelling the whole trip, ‘But the twins are away

anyway, so—’

Octavia had said of course they couldn’t cancel the trip, and that of course Minty would be all right, she knew that.

‘It’s me that won’t be. Oh, dear. I am a complete disaster.’

Gabriel tried to tell her she was nothing of the sort, but

she continued to berate herself until long after the plane was

in the air, when she surprised him by suddenly falling

asleep. He looked at her tenderly; she was clearly completely

exhausted…

‘More of the Californian chardonnay, Mr Bingham? Or

would you like to try something else? And would you like a

cigar?’

Gabriel said he’d have some more of the chardonnay, and

that he’d like a cigar very much. If you couldn’t beat the

buggers, and he clearly couldn’t, you might as well join

them. It was only for a week. And it did have its brighter

side…

‘Now come on, little baby, you’re not thinking. This

business is all about thinking, you know, what goes on in

your head. Concentrate, really concentrate on me now.

Nothing else. Give it to me now, now, come on, come on

- that’s it. Yes! Good! And again and again, now a little

little smile — no, no, too much, too much, back, back — no,

darling, I don’t mean move, I mean — oh, God. Frances, get

me some more cigarettes, would you? And, Tang, bring me

those polaroids again. And send this film off for clipping,

please, now now now.’

Tang, moving on his silent, slippered feet, his blank pale

race turned permanently away from her, gave Romilly the

creeps. They were all alone in there, in the studio, just the

three of them; she felt desperately uncomfortable. Alix had

had a screaming row with Ritz before the session began and Ritz had stormed out of the building, returned ten minutes

later and apologised horribly publicly — it had clearly been

demanded of her — and even then Serena and she had been

banned from the actual studio, were confined to the

reception area.

Frances was sent in and out with the polaroids, asking

them for comments, which Alix was quite clearly ignoring.

Once she came in and said, her cool little face quite

amused, that they had said he was not to go below shoulder

level; that they wanted the pictures cropped really tightly.

He had looked at her and raised his eyebrows and grinned,

that awful grin, and said, ‘They have the wrong photographer,

I think, darling, don’t you? Tell them I crop where

I fucking crop, darling,’ and turned back to peering at

Romilly through the camera.

He had made Romilly take off the white T-shirt she had

worn last time, and wrap a length of muslin round her

body, just above her breasts, so that her shoulders were

bare. She had tied it quite high up, but he had come and

eased it down, not actually very low, but she had hated the

feel of his hands on her. She had begun to get cross with

him then; it had helped with the nervousness.

And for a bit it had all gone better.

‘It’s the place where she had the pimple. It’s going to

show, look, here, see? Dry, rough little patch. Darling, can

you do anything about it? Anything at all?’ He was in the

dressing room now, lounging on the stool, talking to Jan.

Romilly sat down on the stool in front of the mirror.

Jan stood back looked at her. ‘Yes, I see what you mean.

Thing is, Alix, if I put more on now, it’s going to get a

build-up. Really I should start again.’

‘Well, darling, start again. We have to try and get it

right.’ He made it sound an extremely unlikely outcome.

They were both looking at her, talking about her, as if

she was ajar of cream or a piece of furniture, not a person,

not there at all. It was horrible. Calm down, Romilly, don’t

get upset, it won’t help.