Wild Oats (49 page)

She tried to suppress a smile at the look on
Hamilton’s face. But it was a minor triumph. At least he was showing some emotion.

‘But the rest of the time, when the shit isn’t happening, we’re in control,’ she carried on. ‘So – you can sit here and moulder in this home till the day you do die – which could be years, because you’re a healthy bugger, despite all the efforts you go to to convince everyone otherwise. And by doing that, you’ll cause distress to all those who love you. Not to mention waste a huge amount of money on the bills. It costs nearly five hundred quid a week to keep you in here. And I’m sure Christopher could think of better ways of spending that money. All you’re doing by sitting in here sulking is lining the pockets of the smug, fat bastard who owns this place. Who incidentally pays me the princely sum of three pounds fifty an hour for wiping the dribble off your chin.’

Again, Hamilton looked shocked. Nolly moved in for the final kill.

‘You should count your blessings. You’ve got a wife who loves you. A son who’s struggling to keep his head above water because of the mess you’ve left him in. And two wonderful grandchildren who deserve to have happy memories of you. It’s up to you.’ She looked at him slyly. ‘Of course, if you really want to end it all, and put everyone out of their misery, including yourself, I can arrange that too. I could, accidentally on purpose, leave a little bottle of something lying around. I’m sure you’d be more than capable of getting the lid off.’

She fixed him with an arch look, eyebrows raised, to show that she meant it. That should call the old bugger’s bluff, she thought.

‘Right, now. Elevenses. Flapjack or cherry slice?’

There was a moment’s silence, which to Nolly seemed to go on for ever. Then he spoke.

‘Flapjack, please,’ said Hamilton, very meekly, his voice hoarse from lack of use. And as Nolly went to fetch his tea, she gave a little skip of triumph. She wasn’t going to let Louisa Partridge get away with ruining yet another marriage from beyond the grave.

30

As usual before a race, Olivier couldn’t face food. And judging by Jack’s attitude towards him, he hadn’t yet found out about his altercation with Jamie. He must have hotfooted it to Sapersley before Jamie was even up. But Olivier felt sure it was only a matter of time before Jack was party to the truth about his betrayal, and in the meantime he was eager to put as much distance between them as possible. He felt awkward in Jack’s company, knowing what he had done, so he took himself off for a walk in the grounds to psych himself up before the start.

As he walked through the cool of the oak trees, Olivier looked again at the photo of Eric he’d found in the barn – hair swept back, laurels round his neck, laughing in victory as he held up the Corrigan Trophy he’d won all those years ago. He looked carefree, not the cynical old miser he had become. Olivier was determined to prove that he could do as well as his father, if only for himself.

He’d excelled himself during the practice laps. His car was running well, and he remembered the foibles of the circuit quite clearly from his outing earlier that year, so he’d found himself coming in first, earning him the honour of pole position. The practice had
demonstrated there was no real competition out of the fifteen entries. There was a magnificent Bentley whose power easily matched that of the Bugattis, but the driver was inexperienced and somewhat lacking in bottle. By contrast, a feisty little Morgan three-wheeler was being driven by a young go-karting champion with an intrepid determination and no fear, but the car didn’t really have the power. The only real threat was Claudia. She’d come fourth in the practice, but Olivier suspected that perhaps this was tactical, that she’d worked out how easy it would be to catch him up once the race proper had started.

At last it was time for the race. Feeling like a total heel, Olivier let Jack think that his detachment was down to pre-race nerves, as his mentor talked him through his tactics and gripped his shoulder in a final gesture of support. As Olivier slid his car into place at the front of the grid, he had to resist looking back at Claudia in triumph. He might have the advantage at the moment, but he hadn’t actually won yet. She was three places behind him, the Bentley and the Morgan in between them. Anything could happen. Otherwise there would be no point in racing.

As the rest of the cars lined up, big, fat drops of summer rain started to fall. Olivier looked up at the sky anxiously – there was plenty of blue amongst the clouds, so it was probably only a shower. They would have to wait a few minutes for it to pass before they started. He tutted to himself in irritation. The track would be wet and greasy, which put a whole new slant
on the way he would be able to drive. Risks he had taken in the practice would have to be reconsidered. Swiftly, he reassessed his strategy, knowing that this was when the benefit of experience came into play, experience he didn’t have. But then, this was a novice race. That was the whole point.

Behind him, Claudia cursed the impromptu rainfall. She thought she was going to explode with frustration. She just wanted the race underway, to be able to focus on what she was sure would be her victory. It was even more important to her now to win. Olivier had given a look of pure disdain earlier that had cut her to the quick. She wasn’t going to go crawling to him. She’d rather die. The only way she could think to regain his respect was by winning fair and square, then embarking on some sort of damage limitation exercise.

She looked up at the sky. The rain seemed to be easing off as quickly as it started – one of those flirtatious summer showers whose only purpose was to annoy. The commentator was announcing the start of the race. She turned on her engine and the exhaust fumes hit her like a blast of amyl nitrate, giving her the sudden, mind-blowing rush of blood to the head she needed to focus.

Jamie pushed her way through the crowds, searching the seats for Jack, ignoring the strange looks she was getting. She knew she must look deranged, bedraggled
from the shower, her face puffy and swollen from crying, but she didn’t care. She had sobbed all the way from Havelock House, trying to come to terms with what Rosemary had said to her. Of course, she’d wanted to dismiss it as the ranting of a grieving woman, but combined with what Olivier had said the night before, a horrible picture of the woman she’d loved best in the world was emerging.

Time and again Jamie had told herself it wasn’t true; that both Olivier and Rosemary had their reasons for being spiteful. But Jamie couldn’t deny that little memories were emerging to substantiate their stories. Bitchy remarks that Louisa had made over the years; visions of her mother engaged in what she had thought was innocent flirtation; periods when Louisa had disappeared for days on end, or descended into a black gloom. All of these reminders combined to give Jamie good reason to doubt her mother’s innocence. But she clung on to the hope that Jack would refute the slurs Olivier and Rosemary had made.

The commentator was burbling away, winding the spectators up for the start. It seemed as if the summer shower had gone as quickly as it had arrived; the sun had emerged apologetically from behind the clouds, and all around the circuit umbrellas were being shaken and folded up in relief.

At last she saw him, standing by the pit lane, his ancient Burberry mac over his shoulders, his eyes glued to the starting grid. The air was filled with the
rich smell of fumes. As the Union Jack came down, and the cars surged forwards, she arrived at Jack’s side. He looked startled to see her.

‘Jamie! I didn’t think you were coming.’

‘I want to know the truth, Dad.’ She was standing there, jaw clenched, fists in a tight ball.

‘What about? What’s happened?’ Jack looked alarmed, as well he might.

‘I want to know the truth about Mum.’

Jack looked nonplussed.

‘What truth? What do you mean?’

‘About her affairs. With Hamilton. And Olivier’s dad. And whoever else. I want to know everything.’

All colour drained from Jack’s face.

‘Who’s been talking to you?’

‘Who hasn’t?’ said Jamie bitterly.

‘Jamie – I don’t think this is a good time. The race has just started –’

‘Bugger the race. I don’t care about the race!’

Jamie realized she was shouting, though the roar of the engines meant that she wasn’t attracting as much attention as she might. All eyes were on the racetrack; people craned their necks to watch the cars’ progress, not remotely interested in their domestic crisis. Nevertheless, Jack looked about him uncomfortably and put an arm round her.

‘Ssh – calm down.’

He drew her away from the trackside, away from the noise, away from the spectators.

‘I need to know!’ Jamie persisted, not caring if the
entire audience heard what she was saying. ‘Did she have affairs with them? Hamilton and Eric?’

She was trembling with fury. And the fear of what she was about to discover. Jack sighed.

‘Yes. Yes, she did. But you mustn’t think ill of her, Jamie. It’s just the way she was.’

‘What do you mean – the way she was? You can’t say that about Mum!’

‘Jamie, I’m sorry. But it’s the truth.’

‘How many other people?’

Jack shrugged helplessly. Jamie persisted.

‘Rosemary said there were lots of other people. That she did it all the time. Who?’

‘I’m not going to stand here and name names. Not when she’s not here to defend herself.’

‘Why did you let her, Dad? I don’t understand…’

‘It was the only way,’ said Jack simply. ‘I loved her. And it was the only way I could keep her, to turn a blind eye. If I’d tightened the reins, she’d have been off. She always came back to me, because she knew I was the only one who could manage her. No one else would have put up with it.’

He paused, and the babble of the commentator rose to a higher level of excitement as the cars completed their first circuit. Jamie put her hand to her throbbing head, trying to take in what she’d been told. It was as if her whole life had been turned upside down: the two people she’d loved best in the world weren’t who she thought they were, and she was struggling to make sense of it.

‘I always thought it was you who played the field.’ She said it almost accusingly, as if she wanted that to be the case. Which perhaps she did – she was used to the idea of Jack the lady-killer. Not Louisa the man-eater.

Jack gave a sad smile.

‘Yes, well, there you go. I spent my life covering up for her, flirting with the wives so they would feel flattered and wouldn’t notice what their husbands were up to.’

‘Why didn’t you ever tell me? All my life I’ve blamed you for things you weren’t to blame for.’

‘I didn’t want to spoil your illusions about your mother. Because whatever her faults, she was a very special person. Our relationship was very complex, and hardly conventional. I would never have been able to make you understand.’

‘Well, I don’t,’ said Jamie. ‘I don’t understand. It just seems so unfair.’

‘What you’ve got to realize, Jamie, is that I was very happy with the way things were.’ Jamie saw that her father was on the brink of tears himself. ‘Fifty per cent of Louisa was better than nothing at all.’

Jamie looked at Jack with new eyes. All those years she’d thought he was weak. All those times she’d berated him for being spineless. When he’d had to be so strong. She thought of all the harsh things she’d said to him over the past weeks, how he took her criticism unflinchingly and never defended himself when he had every right.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ he said. ‘If I hadn’t liked it, I’d have walked away. And just remember, none of this changes how she felt about you. She was a wonderful mother to you. Don’t let what you’ve found out spoil any of your memories.’

Jamie felt as if she needed to be hugged. Badly. And looking at Jack, she thought perhaps he did as well. He looked tired and drawn, as if the revelations about Louisa had taken it out of him. With a shudder, she thought how close she had come to rejecting him completely, how last night she had been so despondent about her life she would have packed up and left the country for two pins, leaving Jack all alone. If it hadn’t been for Olivier…

Olivier! How appallingly she’d treated him too, accusing him of lying, banishing him from the house. She had to apologize, make it up to him.

‘Olivier. I need to speak to him –’

Simultaneously, they both turned to look at the track. Three cars were leading the field – Claudia in front, followed by the little Morgan and then Olivier. As they approached the next bend, a gap opened up between Claudia and the Morgan. Olivier suddenly seemed to surge ahead, lining himself up to insinuate his way between them.

‘Jesus!’ said Jack. ‘He’s never going to make it. Not at that speed.’

Olivier’s teeth were gritted; his fingers gripping the wheel like a vice, even though he kept telling himself
to relax. He couldn’t believe he’d let Claudia pass him – and the Morgan – but he’d been erring on the side of caution because of the wet track. Now he realized caution was not the way to win. They were approaching the bend known as the Devil’s Elbow: he knew from Claudia’s past performances that she didn’t have the killer instinct on cornering; that it was her weak spot. He could get by her if he didn’t let his nerve fail him; if the car gave him all she’d got. Which he knew she would…

He dropped down a gear and put his foot down. He knew it was reckless, like the craziest game of chicken, but it would give the spectators something exciting to watch. They didn’t want cars pootling sedately round the track. They wanted risks and drama and madcap foolhardiness, and that’s what they were going to get.

After all, he reminded himself, he had nothing to lose.

He was past the Morgan. He could get past Claudia, if he could just summon up a few more miles per hour. Grinning like a maniac, Olivier pressed his foot right to the floor and lined himself up, hoping against hope that his eye was accurate. An inch either way at this speed and he’d be toast…

Christopher sat in the pub. He and Tiona were having a late lunch. She’d gone into the main bar to order their prawn baguettes, and he was brooding over a
glass of red wine. He didn’t usually drink at lunch, but today he needed it.