Almost a Crime (91 page)

‘Yes. Yes, all right, Octavia, I’ll come. In the cause of our

joint commercial futures. How does that sound?’

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Thank you very much.’ Somehow it

didn’t seem quite the moment to tell him she was seeing a

solicitor about divorcing him.

‘Darling, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.’

‘I can’t help it,’ said Louise, and she couldn’t. ‘I just hate it there so much, I want to go home so badly. I don’t see why they won’t let me.’

‘I’m sure they have their reasons.’

‘Yes. Getting more money out of you,’ she said, blowing

her nose, trying to smile at him.

‘Nonsense! I have far too much respect for them to think

that. Dr Brandon is a very highly qualified, highly respected

psychiatrist. There is no way he would keep you there

unless he thought it was really necessary. You have been

quite - ill, you know, darling.’

‘Yes. Yes, I know. It’s just that I get so homesick.

Perhaps if you spoke to Dr Brandon, or to Sandy, even. I

don’t think Sandy wants me home, either.’

‘What nonsense. He misses you terribly, of course he

does. Look, I will ring Dr Brandon in the morning, see

what he says. How would that be?’

‘That would be lovely,’ said Louise really lovely.’

Time was running out on her; she had to get home very

soon…

‘I want to ask you something,’ said Tom. He had appeared

at her study door; it was quite late.

‘Yes?’

He looked rather nervous; Octavia wondered wildly if

he was going to make it easy for her, tell her he wanted a

divorce, had seen his own solicitor. She sat back in her

chair. That would be marvellous: really marvellous.

‘It’s about — well, about the morning you went away. I

know it sounds silly, but — are you sure you had your

mobile phone up at your father’s house?’

‘Yes. Quite sure. I went there straight from the office.

Why on earth do you want to know that?’

‘Oh, I’m just querying the bill. It came in while you

were away.’

‘Well, that’s your answer. But where it went after that, I

have no idea. I didn’t use it on holiday, or even that

morning. Okay? Now can I get on, please?’

‘Yes,’ said Tom, ‘you can get on.’

‘I’ve had a letter,’ said Nico Cadogan, ‘it just arrived. By hand.’

‘From?’

‘Miller.’

‘And?’

‘Oh, nothing too important in it. Just that he’s declaring

a bid tomorrow for the company. He’s called a press

conference. At the bank, at noon. That’s all. I wouldn’t

mind quite so much if he actually wanted it. But he doesn’t.

He just wants me. Or rather my head. On a plate. God,

Tom, I could kill the bugger.’

‘Please don’t before tomorrow,’ said Tom.

Felix Miller was just about to go to bed when the front

doorbell went. Damn. Mrs Harrington had forgotten her

key again. She was always doing it, in spite of having at least

three of the things. Stupid woman.

He hauled himself out of the deep leather chair in his

study and walked through the hall. ‘Just coming, Mrs

Harrington,’ he called, fumbling slightly with the two locks.

‘We shall have to find somewhere we can keep a key for

you. There we are, now …’

But it wasn’t Mrs Harrington. It was Tom Fleming.

‘Evening, Felix. Can I come in?’ He looked rather

cheerful; and very spruce, beautifully dressed as always, with

a bottle of what looked like claret in his hand. He held it

out. ‘For you.’

Felix glared at him. ‘I have no intention of asking you

into this house, and certainly not of accepting anything

from you.’

‘Pity. Because I intend to come in. Whether you ask me

or not. I have a — proposition for you. And I think we

might share this bottle while I outline it.’

‘I have no interest in any proposition of yours,’ said

Felix, ‘and that information is all I wish to share with you.

Good night.’

‘Felix, this concerns Octavia. I would advise you very strongly to listen to me. Very strongly indeed. It’s about you. You and her. You and her, and a certain misunderstanding,

just before she went away. Felix, do let me in,

there’s a good chap. You don’t want to hear me out on the

doorstep, I do assure you.’

A streak of panic went through Felix; he felt slightly

dizzy. He put out his hand to steady himself on the

doorframe. He could see Tom had noticed it as a sign of

weakness, and cursed it.

‘Well,’ he said finally, ‘well, you’d better come in.’

‘It’s very simple,’ said Tom, setting two of Felix’s rather

fine claret glasses down on the dining-room table, ‘very

simple indeed. Really. Where do you keep your corkscrews?

Oh, yes. Right. Now let me just pour this out and

then - no? Well, it’s awfully good, you know. You’re

missing a treat. Margaux, ‘ninety-six. Now where was I?

Oh, yes. This takeover of Cadogan Hotels.’

‘I thought you’d come to talk about Octavia,’ said Felix.

He felt very panicky now. There was a nasty lump in his

throat. Against his will, he took a small sip of the Margaux.

It was extremely good; even in his sick anxiety he could

appreciate that.

‘I have. And about the takeover.’

‘I’m afraid I fail to see my connection whatsoever

between the two.’

‘Well, you will. Now, you’re making the announcement

at this press conference tomorrow, I understand?’

‘I’m afraid I have no intention of discussing any of it with

you. So—’

‘Pity, Felix, you’re obviously not going to make this easy

for me. Or yourself. Now please listen to me, very

carefully …’ He leaned forward, and his dark blue eyes

were very brilliant suddenly, full of menace. Felix swallowed

hard; he could feel his heart thumping, his hands

sweating.

‘Right,’ said Tom. ‘I don’t want you to announce your

takeover bid for Cadogan Hotels in the morning. I want

you either to cancel the press conference or find some other

pretext for calling.it.’

‘Oh, really?’ said Felix. ‘And how do you imagine you

are going to persuade me to do that?’

‘Quite easily. Actually,’ said Tom. ‘You can’t have

Cadogan Hotels. You really can’t, Felix. I’m very sorry.’

‘And why not? How exactly are you and Cadogan going

to stop me?’

‘Oh, Cadogan has nothing to do with it. He has no idea

I’m here. Nobody has. Fortunately for you.’

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘Yes. I suppose so. Now then, Felix, this is it. Unless you

pull out of that bid in the morning and find a feasible reason

for doing so, I shall tell Octavia what you did just before she

left the house that morning. When she was going to

Barbados.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Felix. He felt dizzy again.

‘I think you know what I mean. That you first lied to me

and told me she’d left when she hadn’t. And then you hid

her mobile phone, so that I had no way of contacting her

once she’d left the house. Or of telling her that I wasn’t in

Tuscany with a new mistress, as you had so carefully

encouraged her to think, but in London, desperately trying

to get hold of her. Now, how do you think that would

make her feel about you, Felix? Do you think she would still see you as her knight in shining armour, her perfect and beloved daddy, the source of all goodness, who can do no

wrong, and who shields her from any evil that might come

her way? Eh? What about it, Felix? Do you think she’d love

you quite as much after that?’

‘Darling, don’t be so upset. Please. I’m sure something can

be done.’

‘I’m sure it can’t.’ Megan looked at her mother, tears

streaming down her cheeks. ‘That was last chance.

Stopping them knocking the house down.’

The letter stated quite unequivocally that, in the opinion

of their inspector, the Department of the Environment had

to inform Megan that Battles House, while being an

interesting example of its kind, was of no real architectural

value and could not therefore be considered for listing.

‘So it’ll go. And the land will go and the wood will go

and they’ll build their horrible houses and shops and it’s not

right. It’s just not right.’

‘Look, why don’t we tell Octavia?’ said Pattie. She didn’t

actually feel very hopeful about that either, but it was a way

of diverting Megan from her misery. ‘She’ll know what to

do next.’

‘I don’t think there’s anything we can do next,’ said

Megan. ‘It’s down to chaining ourselves to trees and things

now. We must tell Sandy. He’ll be very sorry.’

‘Sandy’s coming to tea tomorrow,’ said Pattie. ‘You can

tell him then.’ She smiled at Megan.

‘Mum! You’re blushing. You really like him, don’t you?’

‘I do, yes.’

‘He’s very good looking. I’m not surprised.’

‘Now, Megan, don’t be ridiculous,’ said Pattie primly. ‘I don’t like him in that way. Anyway he’s married.’

‘Of course I want her home,’ said Sandy. He felt himself

flush; he forced himself to meet Charles’ slightly reproachful

eyes. ‘But not unless she’s really better.’

‘But it seems she is. I’ve had a word with Dr Brandon,

and really, he feels she could leave early next week. But I

think a call from you would help. To confirm that you

could cope, take a week off, settle her in properly. Apparently, you rather gave Louise the impression that might be difficult. Which — upset her, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, I’m sorry about that,’ said Sandy. He was finding it

very hard to speak.

‘She’s so very vulnerable at the moment,’ said Charles.

‘And she misses you and Dickon so much. She needs all the

love and support we can give her. So — I wonder if you’d

have a word with Dr Brandon. Tell him how much you’d

like to have Louise home. There’s a good chap. I know it

would be best for her.’

‘Have you heard anything from Felix Miller?’ said Tom

casually.

‘No,’ said Nico. ‘Why on earth should I? Today of all

days.’

‘Oh.’ He was mildly disappointed — that would have

been the best, the most dramatic outcome — but not really

surprised. ‘Oh, I just thought you might. As today’s the

day.’

‘Indeed. Today is the day.’

He looked ghastly, Tom thought, white and exhausted,

drained of his vitality. He felt a surge of vast sympathy for

him.

‘Nico, would you excuse me a minute, I just want to

make a couple of calls.’

He went into his office, spoke to a couple of financial

journalists, one at The Times, one at the Mail. Was the press

conference called by Felix Miller still on?

It was. A sliver of unease went through Tom. Maybe this

wasn’t going to work after all. It had been a huge gamble

but he really had thought it would pay off. Had thought

that the spectre of being revealed to his daughter as an outandout

baddie would have frightened Felix into silence.

Suddenly he saw that it could easily not frighten him at all.

He could lie his way out of it. He could lie his way out of

anything. Just the same — surely, surely he would be afraid

that Octavia would at least half believe it. He had his own

mobile phone print-out, showing the time he had called her

that morning; she wasn’t stupid, wasn’t that blind. Even to

Felix’s faults. There was also the fact that it was Felix who

had first put the idea of the Tuscan holiday with Lauren

into her head. It would be a huge risk for him to run.

Surely, surely he wouldn’t do it.

Tom felt himself beginning to sweat. This was going to

be a long morning.

Pat Ford was very tired. Tired and upset. This whole thing

was beginning to get her down. The tension, the waiting,

keeping it from the patients — especially sharp-eared and

-eyed old Lucilla Sanderson. She was beginning to think it

just wasn’t going to happen, that she would be trapped at

Bartles House for the rest of her life, with the endless stairs,

the eccentric plumbing, the impossibility of attracting staff.

And the last straw that had laid itself on her increasingly

narrow back this morning had been when Mrs Tims, one of

the two cleaners, had given notice. ‘I’m going to have to

leave, Mrs Ford. The work is just too hard. Those floors are

murder. And it’s the hours as well, what with the journey

and everything. I’m sorry, but I really can’t stay any longer.

I can get better-paid, easier work in Felthamstone.’

When Mrs Tims had left the office, Pat Ford sat down at

her desk and burst into tears. She was so tired, it hurt.

Suddenly she decided she had to know. Or try and find out.

One way or another. Even if the news was bad, knowing

would help.

She got up and shut the office door; and then did what

Mr Ford had always forbidden her to do — she phoned Michael Carlton. He was such a nice man, so helpful and

reasonable. Surely she could at least ask him if he knew

anything yet, when they might at least be able to look

towards moving. If ever.

Mr Carlton was out, his secretary said; she was very

sorry, could she help?

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Pat. A fresh wave of weariness