‘Really? Look, I can’t talk about it now. Can I get back
to you?’
‘Yes, of course. Of course. We could have a drink
maybe. Talk about it. I’ll ring him, see what I can fix. Then
get back to you. How’s that?’
‘Maybe. I’m sorry not to be more responsive. Bit difficult just at the moment.’ He was clearly making an effort to be
nice.
‘Of course. I’ll phone you at your office.’
‘Thanks, Lauren.’
‘My pleasure. I’ll see you soon. Look forward to it.’
‘Me too.’
He was gone. She smiled into the phone, dialled the
offices of Oliver Nichols Pharmaceuticals, pic, in the City.
‘I’d like to speak to Mr Nichols,’ she said, ‘immediately,
please. It’s Mrs Bartlett speaking. It’s quite urgent.’
Tom got back to Fleming Cotterill at one thirty. Barbara
Dawson looked at him through rather bleary eyes. ‘I wish
you wouldn’t do this to me,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a dozen
calls, all urgent. Please let me at least give you the really
important messages.’
‘Barbara, I can’t take any calls until mid-afternoon. I told
you.’
‘Not even from Nico Cadogan? He’s rung again. Twice.’
‘No, sorry. Not yet.’ He looked at her. ‘You all right?’
‘No, I think I’m getting flu. I feel ghastly.’
‘Look, why not go home? Now. Get someone to sit in
here, just say no calls. I’ll take one from Cadogan in — let’s
see — an hour, and I’d also like a Mrs Bartlett put through
then, she’s trying to do me a favour. Otherwise, everyone
can wait.’
‘All right, Tom. Thanks.’
It was neither Barbara’s fault nor Tom’s that this message
became just slightly garbled and the temporary from the
accounts department who was the only person free to take
the calls conveyed a message to Mrs Octavia Fleming that
she was very sorry but she had strict instructions only to put
through calls from a Mr Cadogan and a Mrs Bartlett and no
one else at all until after four o’clock.
‘Bastard!’ said Octavia. She sat staring at her telephone.
‘Absolute bastard.’
‘Is it your husband of whom you speak?’
‘What? Oh — yes, Mells. Who else? He won’t even speak
to me. Only taking calls from Nico Cadogan and — and wait for this, Melanie - Lauren Bartlett. God, I hate that woman.
He’s off already. Louise hardly out of his bed. I just don’t
understand it, Melanie, I really don’t.’
‘Look, I don’t ever like to give a man the benefit of the
doubt,’ said Melanie, ‘but is there even a possibility here
that the message was wrongly conveyed? It sounds very
unlikely to me. Anyway, funnily enough I just came in to
say I’ve got the costings on the day at Brands Hatch. Could
you bear to look at them or not?’
‘All right, then,’ said Octavia fretfully. ‘What do I care
what she’s up to with my husband? She’s welcome to him.
She really is. Give them to me, Mells. I’m a professional,
aren’t I, for God’s sake?’ She managed a rather feeble smile.
‘That’s my girl. And you’ve got the Angel Gabriel. Don’t
forget that.’
‘No,’ said Octavia, thoughtfully, ‘no, I won’t forget that.
Not again.’
‘Right, that seems to be about it,’ said Tom, pushing back
his chair, handing the bankruptcy petition to Aubrey for
signature. ‘I’ll take it back right now. Get it over. Stop
hanging about. Now the great thing is, can we afford three
hundred and fifty pounds to make the application?’ He
grinned slightly shakily. ‘Quite a lot of money, just to go
bankrupt, isn’t it? Let’s have a cheque, Aubrey, there’s a
good fellow.’
‘Right. Shall we have a last drink? On Fleming
Cotterill?’
‘I think I’d rather do that when I get back. Give me
courage for the next stage. Breaking the news.’
‘Fine. I’ll have it ready for you. Cheers, Tom.’
‘Cheers, Aubrey.’
‘Look,’ said Nico Cadogan, ‘I don’t care if he’s with God. I
want to speak to him. It’s terribly important. Now will you please put me through?’
‘I can’t, Mr Cadogan. He’s just gone out.’
‘Oh, Jesus. Is Mr Cotterill there?’
‘Well - yes.’
‘Look,’ said Nico, ‘you sound a bright girl. If they fire
you for putting me through, I’ll take you on in my
company. It’s a deal. How’s that? Go on,’ he said, ‘live
dangerously.’
She put him through.
Rather less than two minutes later, she was startled to see
Mr Cotterill running extremely fast through reception and
down the stairs.
‘Look, I know it’s only a piss in a pot,’ said Nico Cadogan
modestly, ‘but you can have it. Five months’ fee, in
advance. That’s a hundred grand. Any good to you?’
For one terrible moment, Aubrey Cotterill thought he
might break down. Then he rallied, reached for the bottle
of Chivas Regal and poured three very large glasses.
‘A great deal of good,’ he said, ‘and I have no idea why
you should be doing it.’
‘Easy,’ said Cadogan. ‘I’m impressed by excellence. I’ve
found it here. Cheers!’
‘Come on, Mrs Fleming. Come over here and have a good
old-fashioned cuddle.’
She looked at him; he was sitting on a rather lumpy sofa
in the sitting room of his flat in Pimlico.
‘It’s all right. I’m not going to try and seduce you. I’m
perfectly resigned to our first and rather splendid sexual
encounter being our last.’
‘Gabriel—’
‘All right. Not perfectly resigned. But temporarily at any rate. Right now I don’t feel very inspired anyway. And I want to tell you something. I think it might take that
shrivelled look off your face.’
She went over to the sofa and he put his arms round her.
It was soothing, cosy, brought back her childhood …
‘It was this,’ said Gabriel. ‘Now, I’m not very used to
having this sort of conversation, so you’ll have to be patient
with me. But I — well, I do find myself extremely …
engaged by you. I can’t stop thinking about you, and I
haven’t been in love with anyone for a long time.’
‘Gabriel! What about the fiancee?’
‘That was a long time ago. When it began. But I think I
could be now. In love, I mean. Only I know this is a
dreadful time for you, and you probably don’t know what
you think about anything.’
‘I don’t,’ said Octavia, ‘that’s exactly it. I don’t know
what I’m doing half the time, I can’t remember my own
phone number, and I got in the car this morning and I
literally couldn’t remember where to put the key.’
‘Not the dynamic Mrs Fleming at all.’
‘Not at all. And I hate it. Hate feeling out of control. All
the things that were important to me, that I was sure about
- my marriage, my career, my best friend — none of them is
there any more. And the other really important person in
my life—’
The?’ said Gabriel hopefully.
‘Well…’
‘It’s all right. I know I’m a new ingredient. Your father?
Your omnipotent father?’
‘Yes. At any time at all I could go to him for help and
advice. I’d learned not always to take it, but at least it was
there. Now I just daren’t. He’d kill Tom if I so much as
indicated I’d like it. He’s out to destroy him professionally
as it is.’
‘Can he do that?’
‘Well, he can make things much more difficult for him.’
‘And does that matter to you?’
‘There’s nothing I’d like more in some ways than to see
Tom destroyed. But in another — it wouldn’t help the
children. It won’t help me. And — oh, God, I don’t know.’
She found she was crying again. ‘Sorry, Gabriel, I’m so sorry.’
‘I think,’ he said carefully, handing her one of the large
unironed handkerchiefs he always seemed to have in good
supply, ‘I think actually you still care about Tom. Rather a
lot.’
‘Oh, no, I don’t, Gabriel. I actually think I hate him. I
find it hard to be in the same room as him. At this very
moment he’s with some woman.’
Tom had phoned her, apologetic, had said could they
defer their conversation, he had urgent business to see to,
and a meeting with—
‘Lauren Bartlet,’ she had said. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t
been talking to her because I know you have.’ And clearly
too taken by surprise to deny it, he had said yes, actually, he
had, and she had arranged a meeting with a friend of hen
who just might be able to help him.
‘Good for him,’ she had said and put the phone down.
‘Now listen,’ Gabriel said, ‘all I’m trying to say is that for
the foreseeable future, I’m here if you want me. And I’ll
bugger off if you don’t. How’s that?’
‘It’s pretty good,’ she said, smiling. ‘Thank you.’
She bent to kiss him; he was nice to kiss, gentle,
responsive, careful. Just for a moment, she wanted to do
more; but only for a moment. It was too soon; too soon and
too confusing.
‘For various complex reasons,’ said Tom, ‘I think we can
still survive. Just about.’
‘I presume you mean Fleming Cotterill,’ said Octavia,
‘rather than us? Much more important of course.’
Tom looked at her and sighed. ‘Yes. Yes, I do mean that.
We’ve had some pretty tangible expressions of loyalty.
Which is nice.’
‘Very nice. Good.’
‘Octavia, the Macintoshes are in town tomorrow.
They’ve asked us to dinner.’
‘Tom, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Of
course I’m not going out to dinner with you and the
Macintoshes. It’s over. You’ve seen to that. I no longer wish
to function as your wife. You’ll have to take someone else
to dinner. What about Lauren Bartlett?’
‘Don’t be so bloody silly,’ said Tom. ‘Octavia, I’ve told
you so many times. I cannot stand Lauren Bartlett.’
‘Then why instruct your secretary to put her calls
through and block mine?’
‘Oh, Jesus. That was a stupid mistake. Look— can we just
keep to the matter in hand? It’s terribly important. If you’d
only come out to dinner tomorrow. With the Macintoshes.
He’s so fond of you and—’
‘Well, in that case, he’ll understand why I’m not there.’
‘Octavia!’ He stood up suddenly, moved across the room, smashed his fist down on the small table next to her.
She jumped, stared up at him. ‘Will you please listen to
me?’ he said, and the expression in his eyes was frantic,
almost violent. ‘I can imagine how you feel. About me,
about everything. But can’t you get it into your head I am
fighting to survive? Yesterday I went down to the courts, to
file a petition for my own bankruptcy. It seemed the only
thing to do. There was nowhere else to go, nothing else to
do. If that had happened, we would have lost everything.
The house, our personal assets, everything we’ve worked
for. God knows what you think that would have done to
the children. Oh, I suppose you could have gone to your
father, but - anyway. We were saved by Nico Cadogan.’
‘Nico!’
‘Yes. He came forward with a hundred grand.’
‘Why on earth did he do that?’ said Octavia. She was
genuinely amazed.
‘I imagine because he felt we were worth it. That’s what
he said anyway.’
‘My God. I wonder if my father knows about that.’
‘I have no idea. Neither do I care. Anyway, as a result,
we’re in a position to battle on a bit longer. But we’re still
on a knife edge. The bank won’t let us have another penny,
we need a couple more accounts, and above all I need to
keep the ones we’ve got. Even that hasn’t been easy. As you
know. Anyway, Bob has been an absolute brick. And this is
not a business occasion tomorrow; he phoned and said he
reckoned things must have been very tough and he’d like to
give us a nice evening. I don’t want to throw that in his
face.’
‘Take Aubrey. What’s wrong with that?’
‘I am taking Aubrey. But he specially asked for you as
well. He’s terribly fond of you, so is Maureen.’
‘Tom, I really don’t believe he’ll withdraw his account if
I don’t come.’
‘He won’t. Of course he won’t. But it will be easier,
happier if you do, it will mean one less thing for me to sweat through, have to smooth over. I don’t want to hurt him, I don’t want to throw his kindness and support back in
his face — Jesus, Octavia, I run that company for all of us,
you know, for the children, for—’
‘No, you don’t. You run it largely for your own
gratification. To feed your own ego.’
Even in her own hurt and misery, she could feel that one
going home. She stared up at him, actually saw him wince
physically.
‘All right,’ he said after a pause, ‘have it your own way.’
And walked out of the room.
She sat there for a long time after that; she felt shaky. Shaky
and something else. Uncomfortable. Uneasy with herself.
She had no idea why. She had every justification for saying
anything at all to him, she knew. He had absolutely no
claims on her loyalty, no right to call on her kindness. He
had forfeited those things long ago, when he had first
become involved with Louise.
She stood up, heaped up the untidy pile of newspapers
and picked up the mugs and glasses. She looked round the