Almost a Crime (78 page)

Afterwards, Romilly thought, almost the worst thing was

knowing (again) how stupid, how naive she had been, not

realising at once what was going on. Thinking the girl

introduced to her and Ritz by Serena as a colleague from

Paris, was just that: a colleague or a friend. Misunderstanding

Ritz’s embarrassment, thinking she was being silly in

suggesting she and Ritz leave at once, feeling sorry for

Serena, who was also embarrassed, thinking it was because

she had offered the spare room to her, when the girl from

Paris clearly needed it more. She said that of course she

would go with Ritz, that she wouldn’t dream of staying,

but the girl, whose name was Marie France, said not to rush

off on her account, that she could go to a hotel if necessary.

But ‘Don’t be silly,’ Serena had said. ‘Have some champagne,

Marie France, there’s plenty of room for everybody.

We’ve just been out celebrating Romilly’s success, she is

our new face for the—’

‘Yes, I can see she is your new face. And a very pretty

one too.’ Marie France walked over to Romilly, tipped her

chin up, studied her closely. ‘How old are you, Romilly?’

‘Sixteen,’ said Romilly firmly.

‘Sixteen! Serena, really!’

‘Serena, I think Romilly and I should go,’ said Ritz.

‘No, don’t go,’ said Marie France. ‘We can have a little

party here. All of us. That’s a very nice sweater you have

on, Romilly.’

‘Yes. Isn’t it? It was a present, from—’

‘From Serena. Mine too. She obviously gives it to all her jeunes filles just at the moment.’

Romilly was silent; she couldn’t think of anything

remotely sensible to say.

‘Marie France, come into the kitchen. Let me fix you a

coffee,’ said Serena.

‘I don’t want any coffee, thank you. I will stay with the

champagne. I think we should all sit and have some more to

drink and a little chat. Don’t you, Ritz?’

‘Not really, no,’ said Ritz firmly. ‘Serena, call a cab for

us, would you? I’ll pick up my car in the morning.’

‘Could I just call Zoe on your phone?’ said Romilly. ‘My

mobile’s battery’s run down. I think she might be home,

you see …’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Serena, ‘in there.’ She nodded in

the direction of the study; Romilly went in and shut the

door, grateful to be away from the tension.

She dialled the number at Eaton Square; as she did so, she

must have touched the playback button on the answering

machine. Alix Stefanidis’ voice came out of it.

‘I’m not going to apologise for today,’ it said. ‘It is you

should apologise to me. That girl is crap. She may be pretty,

but she has no real idea. And her skin is lousy. I think you

made a big mistake, Serena, picking her. I think you know

it, too. She’s a silly, awkward little girl. You should find

someone else. I just spoke to Donna, and she’s in agreement

with me.’

Romilly felt tears filling her eyes; it hurt, hearing what he

had said, because it was true. She was quite sure it was true.

She was silly, and she had been awkward and tense. She

didn’t have an instinct for the camera. She hadn’t actually

realised her skin was lousy, but clearly it was. Serena had

indeed made a big mistake. She stood there, taking deep

breaths, trying to cope with the misery and the humiliation,

wondering if they had been thinking this all evening, had

just been humouring her, taking her out, giving her

presents. God, she was a fool, such a fool!

The door opened abruptly; Marie France came in. She

smiled at Romilly, closed the door behind her, stood

leaning against it. She was holding a large wineglass of

champagne, obviously very drunk indeed. She studied

Romilly with her head slightly on one side.

‘Wonderful legs, you have, Romilly. I suppose that’s

what caught Serena’s eye. She loves good legs. Good long

legs. Mine are a little bit short, maybe that’s where I went

wrong.’ She walked towards Romilly. ‘You have a

wonderful figure altogether. You’re a very lucky girl. So

slim and yet so — voluptuous. I wonder, would you mind if

I—’

She reached out suddenly, caressed one of Romilly’s

breasts with her hand; Romilly stood there, just for one

moment, frozen with horror. Then she dashed the hand

away and pushed past her, out of the room, and down the

hall towards the front door.

‘Oh, my God,’ said Zoe. ‘Oh, my God!’ The second time

the words came out like a wail, punctuating the thick, rich

pleasure that was being pulled from her, slowly, agonisingly

by Ian. This was like nothing, nothing she had ever known

before, deeper, longer, stronger, it was unbearable, it was

agonising … She tensed, held herself, wanting to keep it

there, there, now. ‘Now,’ she shouted, and again, ‘Now

now now!’

‘Shut up,’ he said suddenly, ‘shut up, Zoe.’ She stopped,

frozen, the pleasure suspended, frightened by the urgency

in his voice.

And as she lay there, fear slowly crawling into her, she

heard the front door open, and then shut, the thud of

luggage put down and a girl’s voice saying, ‘Darling, those

builders are the absolute end, there’s a light on up there, up

in our bedroom, and why isn’t the alarm on, the door’s not

even double locked?’ and then, unable to move, unable to

do anything, heard footsteps on the stairs and then the door

opening very slowly, and a man’s voice saying into the fear

and the horror, ‘Lyndsay, call the police. Now. Quickly.’

God knew what the time was in England, Gabriel thought

confusedly. He had hardly slept; an extraordinary noise,

shrill, insistent, which Octavia had said was the tree frogs

‘calling for sex’, had filled the hot night, replaced now by

the sweet throbbing of birdsong. It was still half dark; he

looked at his watch. Seven o’clock. Octavia was fast asleep,

relaxed as he had never seen her; he eased himself out of the

bed, out of the mosquito net that hung around it and

walked over to the window. Yet another mosquito guard

filled that; the window itself was wide open, letting in the

sweet morning air and the sound of the sea, fifty yards away,

just beyond the garden. The steep, sloping beach was

overhung with trees, not the palm trees he had expected,

but great tall things with sweeping, drooping branches that

could have stood in an English wood, and then the

wonderfully coloured warm water which could not. It was

very beautiful. Nobody could deny that.

He had begun to feel better as soon as they had arrived;

the cottage — actually quite a large, four-bedroomed house,

white painted, grey roofed, with a long verandah at garden

level — was built backing on to the beach, Gibbes Beach, a

perfectly curving small bay with water that was not the

characterless blue he had feared but a most distinctive

greeny-blue. ‘We’ll swim straight away,’ said Octavia after they had greeted Elvira, ‘cool ourselves down. You’ll feel better then, Gabriel.’

He had: immediately. The water was perfect, silkily

warm, the beach tipping swiftly into deep water, with

gentle waves lurching on to the bleached-gold sand, and breaking as well on to a small edge of rocks a hundred yards out.

‘Those rocks are lovely, lots of pretty fish, we can snorkel

on them tomorrow. But don’t put your feet on them they’re

a mass of sea urchins.’

Octavia swam swiftly out to sea, then returned to him

smiling, her hair slicked back, her lashes starry with water.

She looked absurdly young, almost childlike. He told her

so.

‘Already! Goodness. I always thought this place had

magical properties. Doesn’t the house look lovely from

here? You see those trees in the garden, with what looks

like bunches of pink Kleenex hanging from them? They’re

mossaenda trees, and that’s why the house is called

Mossaenda. And those trees all along the beach, they’re

manchineal trees — don’t even touch the fruit, it’s poisonous.

So poisonous that if you stand under them in the rain, you

can get blistered.’

‘Rain?’ said Gabriel hopefully.

‘Yes. It never stops in the rainy season. But that isn’t

likely now, don’t worry.’

They swam for a long time; then went in and sat on the

verandah, and drank the most delicious rum punches made

for them by Elvira. He liked Elvira; she was large and

cheerful, and clearly very fond of Octavia. The relationship

between her and the servants intrigued him; it was friendly,

easy, as close to equal as could be imagined. If anything,

Octavia was almost deferential to them.

Later, as they ate a wonderful dinner offish and rice, she

talked about the island: in affectionate, rather proprietary

terms, a bit like a parent talking about a child.

‘It’s the size of the Isle of Wight, but there are half a

million people living here and the white population is only

about two per cent. They wouldn’t inter-marry, but they have great respect for one another. The posh white Bajans

go to private schools, and are very snobbish. The high-up

black Bajans are equally snobbish, with titles bestowed upon

them by the British government, and really important jobs.

Honestly, Gabriel, this place provides the most fascinating

social study in the world, I think. You could have a ball

here.’

He said he found Elvira’s accent hard to understand. ‘It is

till you get used to it,’ she said. ‘It’s a sort of cross between

Southern States American and West Country English.

There’s a settlement here called Chalky Mount, where

Cromwell sent a whole load of unrepentant English aristos

who have kept absolutely to themselves. Now they’re very

poor, and look terrible, very pale, almost albino-looking,

because of all the inter-marrying. But you could just find

the true heir to the Duke of Marlborough there.’

‘My God,’ said Gabriel, ‘I must hurry over.’

‘Yes, I thought that would intrigue you. Truly, it is the

most fascinating place. More wine?’

‘Yes, please.’

She poured him some, and a glass for herself.

He looked at her. ‘You’re drinking! You had a rum

punch, too.’

‘Yes, I always do here. I feel so - oh, I don’t know…’

‘Safe?’

She hesitated. ‘Yes. Yes, maybe that’s it. Well, I risk it

anyway. Let’s go for a walk on the beach.’

She took his hand and they walked towards a small haze

of light to their left.

‘That’s Glitter Bay over there. Very expensive hotel.

Very glitzy. You’d love it.’ She looked up at him and

smiled.

He put his arm round her, kissed the top of her head. ‘I

could try it. You seem to be undergoing a personality

change. Perhaps I will, too.’

‘Perhaps you will.’

Huge crabs scuttled away from them, and a picture-book moon had risen and was gleaming on to the water. The soft sound of the waves was very soothing, very musical. Gabriel

felt hugely happy suddenly: happy and absurdly grateful and

tender towards her for bringing him.

‘Let’s go back to the house,’ he said, ‘I feel an urge to get

into bed with you …”

He had expected too much of himself and of her, he

realised; the heat and the length of the day, the strong

cocktails, the wine, the dinner, combined with a certain

anxiety, all conspired to make them both tense, and

‘Uninspired, I’m afraid,’ said Octavia, as she kissed him,

reassured him that she had not even wanted to make love

that night, had been surprised that he had been able to

arouse her at all. It was sweet of her, he thought; but he had

still fallen asleep distressed at himself. It had been all right;

but only just. Tomorrow, he had thought, as he drifted into

an awkward, hot sleep, tomorrow would be different.

Surely. Yes, it would.

He was sitting out on the verandah, eating a chunk of

extraordinarily sweet pineapple and gazing slightly gloomily

at the sea, when Octavia suddenly appeared, smiling, still slightly hazy with sleep; she bent and kissed him, then sat down, holding out her hand for the pineapple. He had

never seen her like this; he told her so.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘Everyone says that. Even Daddy says

I’m different here.’

She was: happy, easy, less watchful of herself.

She stretched, yawned, looked at the sea. ‘We should

swim now. Then we could drive along to Glitter Bay. They

do a mean breakfast at the hotel.’

‘Wouldn’t I have to look - glitzy?’ he said.

He was joking, but she took the question seriously,

looked at him, her eyes thoughtful. ‘Not for breakfast. Just

bring a T-shirt and some shorts. Which reminds me,

tonight we’re going over to Cobblers Cove to meet Fergus

for a drink. It’s beautiful, there. Stunning. You sit right on a

terrace on the edge of the beach looking over the sea and

drink the best cocktails on the island.’

‘Why should my clothes remind you of that?’

‘Well, because it’s very upmarket and you’ll need to look

just a bit smart. Nothing too much obviously, but a shirt

and a pair of decent trousers. Shall we swim now, do you