Almost a Crime (82 page)

you what, though,’ she said, smiling a dazzling smile at

them, ‘why don’t you both come to lunch on Thursday? At

the house. We’re having a small party.’

‘That would be heavenly,’ said Octavia. ‘Wouldn’t it,

Gabriel? Their house is glorious, one of the old plantation

houses, I’d love you to see it.’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that sounds very nice.’ His desire to kiss

Clem had died.

He felt instinctively that even a new shirt would hardly

cover a lunch party with the Richardsons. His headache had

come back; beating right through him, down his neck and his back. As he got up to follow the Richardsons to their table, he saw Bertie turn, take in his baggy flannel trousers

and distinctly crumpled white shirt, saw his expression of

slight disdain.

Bertie saw that he had seen, adjusted his expression

hastily, clapped him heavily on the back to make amends, said, ‘After you, dear boy.’

The last thing in the world Gabriel wanted was to be

Bertie’s dear boy. And the clap had hurt his sore shoulders

terribly.

‘I simply cannot understand it,’ said Alec. They hadn’t gone

to Martha’s Vineyard. Alec was sitting in the drawing room

in Eaton Square. Marianne had decided he should know

everything, that she owed it to her children that there

should not be the slightest necessity for deceit or connivance.

It had taken great courage, but she had done it. Had

asked him to come to London, saying there were problems

with the girls, had met him off the first available flight and

told him what the problems were on the drive from the

airport. At least she was able to tell him Zoe had been let off

with a caution.

He had listened in silence, his jaw taut and set, his mouth

downturned and supercilious, physical manifestations of the

mental superiority he had always assumed over her. The

intense dread that seeing them induced in her had been one

of the major reasons for finally deciding to leave him.

When they got back to the flat, he saw the girls

separately; Zoe first. She never told her mother what he

had said to her, but she emerged from the drawing room

white faced and shaking, and ran up the stairs to her room.

When Marianne went up, asked if she was all right, she told

her to go away.

‘Zoe! Please! Let me come in.’

‘Mum, I’m all right. I just can’t take any more, okay?’

Romilly emerged from her interview brilliant eyed and

defiant, less subdued than Zoe. She smiled at her mother,

kissed her briefly, said, ‘I told him none of it was your fault.

None of it. But he does seem to think it was. I can’t

understand it.’

Marianne, who could, but who was none the less

outraged that Alec should express such a view to Romilly,

went into the drawing room. Alec gestured to her to sit

down.

‘I’ll stand, thank you, Alec’

That was when he told her he couldn’t understand it.

‘Leaving the two of them, Romilly still a child, and at the

mercy of those dreadful people. You knew I was opposed

to it, Marianne, I’m appalled you should have allowed it to

go ahead at all, let alone without your being there with her.

I really can’t remember when I felt so — shocked.’

She was silent.

‘As for Zoe, I am completely defeated. It seems she has

no moral code of her own, she clearly needs constant

guidance.’

‘Alec, she was led astray. That’s all.’

‘And how was that, Marianne? How did that happen,

that you allowed such a thing?’

‘I can’t watch her every minute of the day, know where

she is, what she’s doing…’

‘Well, I’m afraid it seems that is what she needs. If she’s

not properly and constantly supervised, she’ll end up in

prison.’

‘Oh, Alec, really.’

‘Marianne, she’s been arrested, caught in possession of

drugs—’

‘Two Ecstasy tablets!’

He stood up then, stalked over to her; his face literally

livid with rage. ‘How dare you talk like that! You, her

mother, supposed to be responsible for her, granted custody

of her. Dear God, I wonder why. Only two Ecstasy tablets,

was it, Marianne? I can hardly believe I’m hearing you

correctly. It’s that sort of attitude that has allowed her to fall

into this situation. Next you’ll be saying only a hundred

pounds.’

‘No,’ said Marianne quietly, ‘no, I won’t be saying that.’

God, she felt terrible about that hundred pounds. If only

she’d had the time, time and attention to spare for Zoe, she

might have noticed how distressed she was, might have got

the whole story out of her.

‘How long has she known this boy?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t know he was — well, he was in

her life at all.’

‘You didn’t know! How is that possible, Marianne, how

can you not know what sort of boys your daughter is

spending her time with? What have you been busying

yourself with for the past few weeks, for God’s sake? Your

golf?’

The withering contempt with which he said that hurt

Marianne so much that tears stung her eyes. She blinked

them away. She couldn’t start crying. Not now. She’d

never stop.

‘Does Felix Miller know about any of-this?’

‘No, of course not. Anyway, I haven’t seen much of

Felix lately.’

‘Oh, really? So who were you in Glasgow with, then?’

‘A - friend.’

‘A man friend?’

‘Alec, I really don’t think that is anything to do with

you.’

‘I disagree. I think everything in your life is to do with

me. Insofar as it affects the way you are looking after, or

rather failing to look after, our children.’

‘Yes, all right, Alec. I get the idea. Yes, it was a man.’

‘I see. So you were in Glasgow, with a man, while one of

our children, underage, was left alone to fend for herself in

a situation which any fool could see was potentially

dangerous. Who was looking after her, in God’s name?’

Useless to go into the explanation: to travel down the sad

series of coincidences that had left Romilly alone. As useless

to try to explain how it was that Zoe could have been

allowed to have had a boyfriend who was so dangerously

influential. She was silent.

Alec stood up. ‘Well, I think I should still take them to

Martha’s Vineyard. It will do Romilly good to get away, and although Zoe doesn’t deserve a holiday, I can keep a

very close eye on her, and sailing and so on will be a lot

better for her than dragging round the nightclubs of

London. I’ll just phone my secretary, see if she can organise

their flights.’

‘I can do that,’ said Marianne.

‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ he said. ‘I’d rather you didn’t have

anything to do with the girls for a few weeks at least.

You’re clearly very busy with your own life. You’d better

confine your energies to that, I think. It would benefit

everyone.’

At which point she really did have to hurry out of the

room and shut herself in the downstairs cloakroom where

she sat on the lavatory and cried, like a naughty child ticked

off by her headmaster.

They left at four that afternoon, Zoe sullen and

miserable, Romilly quietly excited. Alec had been right

about that at least: getting away was exactly what she had

needed. He had made a curt phone call to Serena Fox,

telling her that she should consider any contract with

Romilly terminated, and that it would be followed by a

letter. She could see that Romilly was actually relieved to

have matters taken so totally out of her hands.

I should have seen that myself, Marianne thought, I

should have known how frightened and threatened she felt.

Her only comfort was that Zoe had flung herself into her

arms at the last minute, and said how sorry she was, and

how she mustn’t blame herself for a moment.

But Marianne blamed herself totally. She, who prided

herself above all in being a good mother, had sacrificed her

children and their welfare on the altar of her own vanity

and emotional requirements. She wasn’t fit to have the care

of those children. She couldn’t ever remember feeling so

wretched.

Few things were able to shake Nico Cadogan’s self

confidence; the interview with his ex-wife that morning did so. For at least five minutes after she had left, he sat staring at the space she had occupied opposite his desk; then

he picked up the phone and rang Tom Fleming.

‘I think we have a problem,’ he said.

‘I feel so much better,’ said Louise. She smiled at the

doctor. ‘Really so much better.’

‘Good. I’m delighted. And the nurse in charge tells me

you’re sleeping better too, with less medication.’

‘Yes.’ She wasn’t; but she wanted to go home, and she

knew the insomnia worried them. It was the Prozac

apparently; a little-known side effect. They were afraid

they’d have to take her off it. And that would mean,

possibly, staying at the Cloisters longer. So she lied. It was

quite easy. Well, the lying was easy. Not sleeping was very

difficult. It meant less escape, less oblivion. But if she could

get home it would be worth it.

‘At this rate,’ he was saying, ‘you’ll be home in a few

weeks.’

A few weeks. That wasn’t soon enough. She needed to

be out by Sunday, 7 September. It was essential.

She smiled at him. ‘I do miss them so much, you know,

my husband and my little boy. They don’t — that is, they

can’t come to see me very often. And then it upsets Dickon,

terribly, seeing me here. And of course that upsets me …”

‘Well, let’s see how you are in a few days. Are you

getting more physical exercise now?’

‘Oh, yes. I went for a long walk yesterday, with Alice,

you know?’

Alice was one of the nurses; Louise hated her. ‘She’s so

kind and she seemed happy to come with me. We must

have walked miles. I love the outdoors so much. I always

feel better there.’

‘Yes, well, it’s important you do the things you enjoy.

You certainly look better.’

She felt better: in spite of being so tired. It was having

the plan: that was what was getting her through.

Pattie David was lost in Ambridge when the phone rang:

she jumped. ‘Hallo?’

‘Pattie? It’s Sandy Trelawny. You all right? You sound a

bit - odd.’

‘Oh - yes, I’m fine. Sorry. Listening to the radio.’

‘Look, we’re coming over to see Louise on Saturday

again. I wondered if Megan needed any help with her

application. To get the house listed? I have to tell you, I’m

not very hopeful. But don’t let her know that.’

‘Of course not. It’s been so good for her, all this.

Actually, she’s sent the application off. Did it on Monday.

But I’m sure she’d like to see you. And, Sandy, stay to

lunch, won’t you? Megan would love it.’

‘Well—’ he hesitated — ‘we don’t want to intrude …’

‘You wouldn’t be. I’d like it too,’ she added, surprising

herself.

Octavia looked at Gabriel and had to try very hard not to

laugh. He was wearing his baggy Boy Scout shorts, a Tshirt

that was just slightly too small, and a panama hat that

was more than slightly too big. It slithered down over his

forehead, almost meeting his eyebrows: the combination of

that and his pink, peeling nose and slightly pained

expression was very funny indeed.

‘I think the hat’s a bit big,’ she said finally.

‘So what, if it’s comfortable?’

‘Fine. Of course. But we might try and get you one the

right size. In Cave Shepherd.’

‘Octavia,’ said Gabriel, and there was a distinctly raw

note to his voice, ‘I have no intention of buying another

panama hat. This one is brand new, it cost me twenty-five

pounds, I like it, all right?’

‘Yes,’ she said hastily, ‘yes, all right.’ His temper was not

as equable as she had imagined; she was learning to respect

it. ‘Well, let’s go. Got your swimming things? We pick the

boat up in Bridgetown.’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘It’s a gorgeous day. Last time I did this trip was with Dad and it rained all day. We were warmer in the water than out of it.’

‘It sounds rather nice to me,’ he said.

She felt a stab of irritation. He didn’t make much effort

to hide his antipathy to the sun. Or to people, come to that.

He’d been less than charming to Clem and Bertie

Richardson the night before; on the other hand, he had

apologised on the way back, pleaded a bad headache. She’d

made some joke about his avoiding sex, but he hadn’t

laughed. He hadn’t made love to her either …

‘While we’re here, I have to go and see my father’s

lawyers,’ she said. ‘There’s some change in regulation about

property ownership here. He wants the records and so on.’

He shrugged. ‘Fine.’

‘Right. Let’s go.’

She liked Bridgetown, it was so alive, swarming with

people; liked the central square by the big bridge, with its

statue of Nelson; liked particularly the toytown dense

suburbs edging it, street after street of little wooden houses,

all painted different colours, perfectly kept. She drove