‘You’ve been such a good friend to her Octavia, thank
you. We’re all so grateful.’
‘Darling Boot, it’s me. Sorry I couldn’t talk before.’
‘Is Dickon all right?’
‘What? Oh, yes. He’s fine. Too many Mr Men yoghurts,
I think. He has a passion for them.’
‘And Sandy?”
‘Oh, he’s all right,’ said Louse dismissively. ‘Just hungry.
Feed the brute, that’s what Mummy always says …’ Her
voice tailed off and there was a long silence.
Octavia frowned. ‘Louise, is something the matter?’
Another silence. Then, ‘Yes,’ she said, finally, in the
same odd voice, ‘yes, there is, I’m afraid. It’s why I rang
you tonight. I’ve had some rather bad news. It’s - it’s
Mummy. She’s ill. Quite ill.’
‘Oh, Louise, no. What, how …’
‘Big C, I’m afraid.’ Louise’s voice was suddenly harsh.
‘Oh, Louise, I’m so so sorry.’ The thought of lovely,
golden Anna, ill, in pain, was horrible. ‘What, I mean
where …’
‘Breast,’ said Louise briefly, ‘so there may be some hope.
Daddy told me late yesterday. She’d gone in for what I
thought was a check-up, but she’d had a biopsy done. Oh,
God. Octavia, it’s so unfair, she’s only fifty-seven.’
‘It’s ghastly. Horrible. But they can do a lot these days.
All those treatments—’
‘All those horrible, hideous treatments. Yes. Well, we’ll
learn more this weekend.’
‘Louise, you should have phoned me earlier, at the
office.’
‘I didn’t want to talk to you there. When you might be
rushed.’
Guilt ripped through Octavia; was she really so fraught at
the office she couldn’t talk to her best friend about such a
thing? Maybe she was.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, for that as much as Anna’s illness. ‘And, Louise, please give her my love, my best love.
And to your dad.’
She felt very upset after that, incapable of doing all the
things she had planned. She sat in the television room
watching a very bad film, waiting for Tom, who had
promised not to be late. He would be upset, he was so fond
of Anna too.
He was: very upset. She was surprised how much. He went
very white, sat down heavily on the sofa beside her.
‘Christ, how awful,’ he said. ‘How absolutely bloody
awful! Poor woman. How bad is it?’
‘I don’t think they’re sure yet. She has to have more tests.
They’ll know better at the weekend apparently.’
‘And Louise told you, did she?’
‘Yes. This evening.’
‘How did she seem?’
‘Oh, you know. Not very good.’
‘But not — well, you know, not how she was after the
baby?’
‘No.’
‘Thank God for that.’
‘Yes. But it’s early days, Tom. If Anna does - die, it will
be very dreadful for her. She adores her so.’
‘Well, we must hope. When did she hear?’
‘Oh, a few days ago, I believe. Why?’
‘I just wondered why she hadn’t told you sooner, that’s
all.’
‘She said she didn’t want to ring me in the office. Where
I was so busy, as she put it. That made me feel bad. Oh,
dear …’ She started to cry herself.
Tom put his arms round her.
‘Darling, don’t. No guilt trips. Louise is lucky to have
you at all. Such a good friend.’
‘I suppose so, but I’m lucky to have her too. She’s just as
good as me.’
‘Yes, maybe.’ His voice was heavy.
It seemed a slightly odd thing to say. She knew he
considered the relationship one-sided, had found it hard to
be patient with her acute anxiety over Louise’s nervous
breakdown. Male jealousy, she supposed. She looked up at
him, but he was smiling down at her, very tenderly.
‘Look, let’s get you to bed. How would you like me to
bring you some warm milk?’
He must be feeling very sorry for her. Her hot milk
habit, as he called it, enraged him normally - it was a
hangover from her childhood when her father would put her to bed with warm milk, laced with honey if she was unwell or upset. ‘Warm milk and love,’ Felix would say,
smiling at her, ‘just what the doctor ordered.’ And then he
would sit and cuddle her to sleep. As soon as she was old
enough, she would do the same for him; he was plagued by
migraine and he said the sweet drink helped him.
‘You go up to bed,’ Tom said now, and I’ll bring it up
to you. Go on, pretend I’m your father.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, smiling through her tears, but
she was very surprised. Her relationship with her father was
usually much too serious a subject for him to be able to joke
about.
Nico Cadogan had proposed that he and Tom meet
without Felix: ‘It would delay things by at least forty-eight
hours, and I daresay you and I could manage a brief chat on
our own.’
Tom agreed that they could and asked Nico to meet him
for a drink at the Ritz.
He was intensely excited at the prospect of getting this
account. Cadogan was a chain of medium-range hotels,
with a few jewels in its crown, most notably the three
Cadogan Royals, immensely expensive hotels in Edinburgh,
Bath and London. Western Provincial, who had
made the bid, were also a hotel chain, most of them motels.
George Egerton of Western had long had his sights on the
Cadogan chain: mostly because he was an arriviste of huge
personal as well as corporate wealth, and longed for the
cachet of some five-star hotels.
Tom’s first impression of Cadogan was that he would
find him extremely tricky to work with. He was tall, dark,
patrician looking, surprisingly young — he’d put him at
about forty-five — with an exaggeratedly public school
accent, and a bombastic manner.
‘I know all about your consultancy from your father-in
law,’ he said, interrupting Tom as he began to outline what
Fleming Cotterill might do for him. ‘Obviously it’s very
sound. And anyone recommended by Felix Miller can command my attention. What I need is swift action. And an assurance that you can deliver it.’
‘What stage are things at?’
‘Egerton has told me he’s going to be making a bid.
That’s all the information I have at this time. I’ve been
expecting it: we’re a very tempting proposition, and the last
two sets of results haven’t been too good. The shareholders
would look very carefully at any offer.’
‘Why haven’t the results been good?’
‘Largely because of heavy investment. Getting the
Cadogan Royals off the ground has cost a great deal. But
actually, it’s the Cadogans that have been costing the
money. They’ve been over-resourced in terms of staff, and
I’ve spent a fortune on installing a computer system to sort
that out.’
‘So you’ll be able to make some savings now?’
‘Oh, without doubt. But it’ll take time to turn round,
and meanwhile there’s not a lot of profit in it. So Egerton
thinks it’s going to be easy.’
‘And why shouldn’t it be?’ said Tom. ‘Sorry to play
devil’s advocate, but it doesn’t sound too good.’
‘Well, I’ve hired a new MD. Bright young chap, setting
the whole place on fire, lots of ideas. And I think we could
take it to the Monopolies Commission. His midrange
hotels and mine are in direct competition. I don’t need to
tell you what that means in terms of keeping prices down.
What do you think? I want advice on how to approach
them. Can you help or not?’
‘It’s not simple at all, I’m afraid.’ Tom’s voice was at its
easiest, his smile its most professionally engaging. ‘There’s a
bit more to do than just talk to the MMC, and they
wouldn’t even get involved at this stage. Cases have to be
referred to them by the Office of Fair Trading. And there’s
no guarantee it would be. If we are to act for you, the first
thing we need is an immediate and very full working
knowledge of your company, its assets, its history, its future
plans. Then I can give you some indication of whether this
is a likely one for referral or not.’
‘Yes, of course. I realise that. I’m perfectly prepared to
take you right through it, make anything and anyone
available to you that you need.’
‘Yes, and I’d certainly need it fast,’ said Tom. ‘We’re
talking if not the eleventh hour here, then certainly the
tenth.’
‘I realise that as well. But that’s why I would be hiring
you - to short-circuit things. Can you do that?’
‘I don’t know. Honestly. Until I have the information.
And short-circuiting is not what we’re about, so much as
moving swiftly and efficiently through. You can’t ignore
legislation, dance round it. Or indeed Whitehall.’
‘Well,’ Cadogon said, draining his glass (a double whisky
sour — obviously a strong head, thought Tom), ‘I’m a bit
disappointed. Miller said you would be able to fix it for me,
get on to the big boys straight away.’
‘Unfortunately,’ said Tom, ‘he doesn’t understand ray
business, any more than I understand his. And I can’t walk
on water.’
‘I see.’ Cadogan looked at him. ‘In that case, may I say I
admire your honesty. I never managed to walk on water
either. Maybe between us we could construct a lifeboat?’
He grinned at Tom. ‘When can you come in?’
‘Monday morning,’ said Tom. ‘First thing. As I said, we
can’t afford to waste any time.’
‘Good man! I thought Miller couldn’t have got you
wrong. How is he as a father-in-law, by the way?’
‘Oh — fine,’ said Tom. ‘Great.’
‘If we’re going to work together,’ said Cadogan thoughtfully,
‘you mustn’t lie to me. I’m extremely discreet.’
Tom was to remember those words a great deal in the
months to come.
‘Fleming, this won’t do. Crying in office hours is not
allowed.’
Octavia wiped her eyes, blew her nose, tried to smile.
‘Sorry, Mells.’
‘I wasn’t serious, you know.’ Melanie’s face softened.
‘Anyway, it’s after office hours, so you can blub away.
What’s the matter?’
‘Oh, friend of mine. Louise, you know? Well, she
phoned last night. Her mother’s got cancer. I’m just really
fond of her. And it was a shock.’
‘Of course. Poor woman.’
‘Yes. She’s only fifty-seven. And now Tom’s going to be
away tonight and I thought we were going to have an
evening on our own. Just for once. Oh, it sounds silly, but I
feel so down, and—’
‘Want to have a meal with me? I’m not doing anything.’
‘No, I don’t think so. Thanks all the same. Nanny’s night
off and all that.’
‘Where’s Tom going?’
‘Oh, Birmingham way. He’s got a client there who’s in
trouble, and then some sales conference he decided he
ought to go to at Leamington Spa. And then we’ve got a
gruelling weekend with some Americans. I could do
without that, I tell you. They want to see Les Mis. That’ll
be the fourth time. And it’s so long …’ She blew her nose
again, smiled weakly at Melanie.
‘Poor old thing. Well, you’d better go on home, and
have an early night. Sorry about your friend.’
‘Thanks, Melanie.’
‘Look at this,’ said Tom. He waved the Mail on Sunday at
her. ‘You did that.’
She looked; a picture of Bob Macintosh, sitting on the
sofa in his drawing room, one arm round Maureen, the
other round his elder daughter’s shoulders. The younger
children were on the floor in front of them, together with the yellow Labrador.
‘The millionaire’s wife, the MP, and the lies that make
Maureen Macintosh see red,’ screamed the headline across
the top of the page, followed by a long interview with
Maureen, headed ‘The value I put on my marriage
‘Yes, about three million,’ said Octavia. ‘Excuse me
while I throw up. And what do you mean I did it?’
‘This is the result of your brilliant idea. The bargain, you remember?’
‘Ye-es. What did he get in return?’
‘Some realistic discussion in the corridors of power about
the bloody Euroregs,’ said Tom.
‘I don’t remember suggesting that.’
‘No, the small print is down to me. Broad canvas
sketched in by you. What a team!’ said Tom. ‘And it’s even
made the broadsheets.’
‘Very clever,’ said Octavia, smiling at him. He was
stretched out on the sofa in the drawing room, his long legs
encased in jeans, a cashmere sweater draped over his
shoulders. He looked like a picture in an upmarket
leisurewear catalogue, she thought, rather than a machiavellian
schemer. It occurred to her, quite suddenly, that she
wouldn’t like to be on the wrong side of that scheming.
And then wondered why she’d thought it, as if it was even
remotely likely.
She sighed. Her head ached, and she had promised to
take the twins to the adventure playground in Holland Park
when the Americans had gone. And now they had.
‘That was a very good weekend,’ said Tom, ‘with the
Bryants. They’ve gone home very impressed.’
‘I’m glad it wasn’t all in vain,’ she said. ‘It certainly was
hard work.’
‘Darling! Hardly hard work. Theatre, dinner at Langan’s,
a shopping trip with Mrs Bryant, brunch at the Connaught
…’
‘Yes, and hearing about every possible complex relationship