Almost a Crime (95 page)

‘Can — can I see?’ she said.

The woman passed her the paper. ‘Those poor boys,’ she

said. ‘Those poor, poor boys.’

The story was bald, there was little detail: only that Diana

had died in the early hours of the morning at La Pitie

Hospital in Paris. Dodi had died too, and so had the driver

of the car. The paparazzi were being held to blame, for

chasing them, forcing the driver to speed, blinding him

with their flashbulbs.

Louise sat reading it, thinking of her, of that lovely tragic

life quenched finally and so much too soon, and began to

weep herself.

When Sandy arrived she was calmer but still pale and

swollen eyed. ‘Isn’t it awful? I feel so sad.’

And ‘Yes,’ he said, knowing at once what she meant.

‘Yes, it is, very sad. Come along, let me get your things,

I’ve seen Dr Brandon, maybe you should go and say

goodbye to him while I put your things in the car.’

Even Dr Brandon seemed upset, said what a beautiful

young woman Diana had been, what a dreadful waste it

was; all the way home, they sat and listened to the radio,

bringing them the endlessly repeated story, the details

slowly filling in. There was no music, not even on the pop

stations; Capital played the National Anthem dutifully with

every bulletin.

Louise was surprised that Sandy was willing to listen to it

all; normally he was impatient with any interest in the

Royal Family. It was only later that she realised he was

grateful for something, anything, to fill in the ugly silence

that existed whenever they were together.

Dickon was rather quiet; he went to sleep on the way back.

‘I expect he’s bored,’ said Sandy briefly, ‘and then he was

rather late last night.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh — we had supper with — with friends.’

‘Which friends? You didn’t mention it.’

‘Pattie David and her little daughter, Megan, you

remember, the one in a wheelchair?’

‘Why on earth did you have supper with them?’

‘They’ve been very kind to us. We’ve been there quite

often, after visiting you.’

‘Oh, yes, I remember now. Dickon mentioned it once or

twice. She seemed very dull to me.’

‘She’s not dull at all actually,’ said Sandy briefly.

‘And Megan is lovely,’ said Dickon sleepily.

‘Well,’ said Louise. A stab of jealousy had shot through

her. ‘I can see I’m going to have some catching up to do;

you’ve obviously been having a high old time without me.

What other new friends have you got?’

‘None,’ said Sandy, ‘don’t be silly.’

He gave her the brief half smile that she was beginning to

know rather well.

‘Darling,’ she said, when they finally reached the house, ‘it

all looks so lovely. You must have worked so hard. And

gorgeous flowers in our room, you are sweet.’

She reached up to kiss him; he half shied away. Gave her the smile again.

‘Your room,’ he said quickly.

‘My room? What do you mean?’

‘I thought you’d want to be on your own. Sleep better

and so on. I’ve moved into the spare room.’

‘Sandy! I don’t want to sleep on my own. One of the

things I’ve been most looking forward to is being with you

again.’

‘Well—’ he hesitated — ‘maybe for a few days at least, I

think it would be best. You know how much I snore.

Perhaps you’ve forgotten.’ He smiled at her, the same smile.

‘Dr Brandon said you needed a lot of rest.’

She felt a shoot of panic suddenly; this wasn’t going quite

right. But — best not to argue now. She could get him into

her bed if she wanted to. And she did want to. She needed

some sex. Rather badly.

She sat and watched the television for a while; it was hideously sad, endless shots of the Royal Wedding, of

Diana with the boys, the heartbreaking sequence of her

arriving on the royal yacht, holding out her arms to the tiny

Harry. People pontificating about the reasons for the crash,

people talking about the paparazzi, the car, the driver, the

road itself, a dangerous underpass it seemed. A heap of

flowers was growing slowly, outside both Kensington and

Buckingham palaces. Ordinary people, weeping into the

camera, said they felt they had lost a friend. The Prime

Minister made an emotional statement about Diana being

the People’s Princess. More shots of Diana with the boys.

More pontificating; more flowers. In the end she couldn’t

bear it any longer. Her own happiness, fragile at best, was

threatened, damaged by it; she began to feel frightened, to

feel a panic attack lurking somewhere in her head. She

switched off the television and left Sandy cooking the lunch

while she took Dickon for a walk.

‘Tell me a bit more about your new friends, the Davids,’

she said to him.

‘The People’s Princess indeed,’ said Tom. ‘I wonder who

wrote that line for him.’

‘Don’t be so cynical,’ said Octavia. She felt very upset.

‘Anyway, even if they did, whoever it was did better than

William Hague’s speech writer.’

‘Yes, that’s true. Oh, God, this is going on for ever. I

think I might go for a walk. Want to come, anyone?’

‘Can we bring our rollerblades?’

‘Yes, if you like.’

‘Mummy, will you come?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Octavia quickly. She needed some

time on her own; Fiona had given her a long form to fill in,

and she needed to think; about what she was going to do,

how and when she was going to tell Tom about the

divorce. She still hadn’t done it. Almost the last thing he

had said before they fell asleep together on Friday night had

been, ‘What did you want to talk to me about?’

And ‘Nothing,’ she had said. Of course. How could she

have told him then? Really, she needed some advice: but

how could she ask for it? ‘Er - Fiona, I slept with my

husband on Friday night. Does that matter?’

Oh, God. Why had she done it, why? One fit of madness

and she’d endangered her whole case. And made her

relationship with Tom far more complex. And since then

he’d been sort of quietly confident. As well he might be.

God, what a mess. It wasn’t as if she’d been unwilling

either, that she could claim any kind of pressure from him.

She’d been hideously, horribly enthusiastic. Rushing

upstairs with him, tearing her clothes off. Making such a

noise he’d put his hand over her mouth, telling her she’d

wake Minty. Fallen asleep against him, heavily, happily

sated by him. And then woken to remorse, anxiety,

confusion.

It had been the money, she decided, that had done it.

Well, not the money itself, of course, but the way he had

given it to her. What was the biblical expression? Oh, yes.

Do good by stealth. But then, did that cancel out doing bad

by stealth? It had been very bad, what he had done, and

very stealthy. She was still damaged, deeply damaged and

humiliated. She could still not think about him with

anything other than mistrust. The foundations of her life

had been shaken: by something which, measured on a

Richter scale of emotion, had not just rocked but come

very near to ruining it. And ruining her. And how was she

to know it would not happen again? When remorse had

faded, memories become shadowy, pain eased? She wasn’t

to know it; she couldn’t. For the rest of her life she would

mistrust him; and she didn’t think she could cope with that.

Better, far better to make a break, as clean and as final as it

could be. That was what she had decided: nothing had

really changed. Except a piece of truly appalling folly …

‘It’s dreadful, isn’t it?’ said Lucilla. ‘So terribly sad. Such a

beautiful young woman, such a waste. And those poor,

poor boys. I cannot imagine how they will be able to bear it.’

‘Neither can I,’ said Pattie. ‘And poor Prince Charles as

well, he must feel so guilty.’

‘With good reason, in my opinion,’ said Lucilla briskly.

‘They all should. I’m sure she was very difficult, but she

should never have been robbed of her royal status. And her

bodyguard. If she’d had a decent English bodyguard, I feel

quite sure she would have been safe. Animals, they are,

those photographers.’

‘Did you see the pictures of the flowers?’ said Megan.

‘Haven’t seen anything, my dear. The TV’s on the blink.

All I’ve heard all day is people moaning about that, not

poor Diana at all. Of course, a couple of the old people—’

she always referred to her fellow residents at Barries House

as old people, as if she herself was young — ‘have their own

televisions. But I don’t care for any of them, so I’ve seen

nothing. Just the radio. Oh, Nora, dear, do you want to

join us? This is a friend, Mrs David, and her daughter

Megan. They’ve been trying to help save the house, and the

wood, of course. But I’m afraid, as I was saying, we rather

seem to have been beaten. Progress and greed once again

are triumphing. And a little more of England is going under

concrete.’

‘It isn’t over yet,’ said Pattie, ‘and we haven’t lost. We’re

planning protests, a legal challenge, all sorts of things.’

‘Waste of time, I’m very much afraid,’ said Lucilla.

‘They’ll tell you it’s all gone through the democratic

process, as they’re so fond of saying. About as democratic a

process as Stalin’s purges!’

‘Lucilla, dear, that’s a slight exaggeration.’

‘Not at all. It’s appalling what these councils get up to.

Everyone with their hands in everyone else’s pockets,

bribery and corruption wherever you look — Nora, dear,

would you like a drink? The sun’s getting over the yard arm

now. Not that you can see much of the sun. So different

from yesterday.’

‘I won’t, thank you,’ said Nora. ‘I’m terribly tired. And I can’t sleep at the moment. I know you like those bats, Lucilla, but they frighten me. And they make a dreadful

noise up there in the roof. right above me, you know. I

hate them.’

‘Bats are sweet things,’ said Megan. ‘Like dear little flying

mice.’

‘Quite right,’ said Lucilla, ‘a girl after my own heart.

They are very sweet little things. I adore them. I think of

them as my friends, my companions here, sharing my

home.’

‘Well, I wish they didn’t share mine,’ said Nora. ‘I wish

they lived outside. I really do.’

This was like Sunday used to be in the ‘fifties, Nico

Cadogan thought to himself, as he drove through a series of

seemingly deserted Wiltshire villages. It was very strange;

the entire country was still and grieving, indoors with their

television sets and the images of their beloved Princess.

Even the weather had changed, as if in sympathy, with the

tragedy; it had become cloudy and windy, the warm golden

sunshine of the day before quite gone. He felt very odd

himself; the exhilaration of Felix Miller’s withdrawal, of

having his company safely restored to him, had slightly

faded now, to be replaced by a certain melancholy at having

no one to share it with. Well, Tom Fleming had done his

best, of course; but it wasn’t quite the same. He missed

Marianne dreadfully; he would not have believed how

much. They had, after all, only been together a very short

time. But it had been a very intense, a very joyful time; it

had changed him, irrevocably.

But not her, it seemed; she had remained in thrall to

Felix. Had preferred Felix to him. And whether that was

working or not was fairly irrelevant. Nico had no intention

of playing understudy to anyone. His pride would not allow

it.

‘I just cannot believe it.’ Lauren’s voice was heavy, not with

the grief that might have been expected, from one who had

professed friendship with Diana, but exasperation. ‘What are we going to do? How can we have our day now? Or do

you think it’ll be all right?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Octavia slowly. ‘If the funeral’s

going to be on Saturday it’ll definitely cast a bit of a shadow. But on the other hand, if we cancel we’ll lose so much money.’

‘It’s a bloody disaster,’ said Lauren. She put her coffee

cup down on Octavia’s desk rather sharply: then, seeing

Octavia looking at her, hastily adjusted her expression. ‘Of

course it’s heartbreaking. I feel devastated myself. And those

boys, those poor little boys. Forced to go to church like that

yesterday, it’s appalling.’

‘Yes,’ said Octavia, ‘it is all very sad. But as you say, we

have a practical problem. Let’s see what Melanie says. She!

be here in about ten minutes.’

‘Fine. Twins all right?’

‘Yes. Yes, they’re fine. They had a wonderful time thank

you so much again for taking, them.’

‘My pleasure. Thank you for the flowers, sweet of you,

quite unnecessary. And you enjoyed Barbados? I presume

Tom couldn’t go?’

‘No,’ said Octavia quickly, ‘no, he couldn’t.’

‘Well, it’s marvellous his company is doing so well. I

always think it’s so clever, the way you two work away

together. What does he think about Sunday, by the way?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Octavia. She hadn’t thought to ask