Almost a Crime (71 page)

He had got home at about nine. Octavia had looked at him

with an icy dislike. Tom’s warmth, his sense of wellbeing,

had shrivelled.

‘Where have you been?’ she said. ‘With Mrs Bartlett,

perhaps? Planning your holiday?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘No, of course not.’

‘Well, who have you been with?’

‘I …’

‘Tom, I don’t actually care, obviously, but it would have

been helpful to know. I’ve been trying to find you. I do

have things to do for the children, you know. Aubrey said

the last time I saw you you were off to the Connaught.’

‘Yes. Yes, that’s true.’

‘With?’

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ he said, ‘it was a business meeting.

With Oliver Nichols.’

‘Ah. Mrs Bartlett’s friend.’

‘Yes.’

‘And was she there? Please, don’t lie to me.’

‘Yes,’ he said, very quietly, ‘yes, she was there. As a

matter of fact.’

‘And then?’

‘Oh, Octavia, for Christ’s sake.’ This is ridiculous.’ ‘In a way, yes, I agree. Ridiculous and even amusing. I can’t quite believe it, that you’re starting again so soon,

but—’

‘Octavia, I am not starting again, as you put it. I’m trying

to sort our life out.’

‘Tom, I have no intention of sharing a life with you, let

alone Lauren Bartlett. Anyway, let’s not talk about her any

more, shall we? I find the subject intensely wearying.’

‘You started it,’ he said. His headache was growing

worse. ‘All she has done is helped me. Largely thanks to her

I’ve got Fleming Cotterill back on a safer footing. And this

evening we—’

‘Yes? We? You were together?’

‘Oh, fuck off,’ he said. He suddenly had a vision of

Lauren, smiling, warm, sexy, making excuses for him;

looked at Octavia, so thin, miserable, shrewish, sending him

back to his own small piece of purgatory, and wanted to

hurt her.

‘Yes, we were together. She at least seemed to think I

wasn’t the devil incarnate. It was nice —just for a moment.’

‘Well, I’m so pleased for you,’ she had said, and her voice

was rich and thick with disgust. ‘So very pleased. It must be

so awful to feel bad about yourself. Whatever filthy things

you’ve done. No, that’s really marvellous, Tom. I must ring

her and say thank you. Well, clearly you’ll be very happy

on this jaunt to Tuscany. The children are beside themselves

with excitement. Camilla’s been on the phone to

Poppy. I’m so sorry I can’t come too.’

‘Octavia. I am not—’ he said and caught her arm, but she

swung her hand up and hit him, very very hard on the side

of the head. It really hurt; rage gave her strength. He sat

down abruptly, the stinging pain confusing him, adding to

the throbbing headache. She looked at him, picked up a

book from the table and hit him in the same place again

with it.

‘I hate you,’ she said. ‘For everything you’ve done, but

this most of all. It’s disgusting. Disgusting. I wish you well

of her, Tom. I’m going to bed. As soon as I get back from

Barbados, I’m going to take the children and move into my

father’s house. There’s at least a code of honour of some

sort there.’

That did it; that made him so angry he couldn’t talk to

her any more. Didn’t want to try to explain, hadn’t the

strength.

‘Oh, just go,’ he said wearily. ‘Why don’t you go

tonight, at once? I’ll help you pack.’

But she said nothing, just walked out of the room.

Tom sat down at the table, and buried his head in his

arms.

‘Oh, bloody hell,’ said Lyndsay Forbes to her husband, as

she pulled aside the blind of their room at the Loew’s

Harbour Cove Hotel on Paradise Island, Bahama. ‘It’s

raining again. Tim, why don’t we try and get a flight back

today? Three weeks is enough for anyone, and it’s been

great, but I’d like to go home now. I’m missing my lovely

new house, and anyway, I want to see what they’ve done.

Please? Sweetie?’

Tim Forbes, who was also extremely tired of watching

the Bahamian rain fall, as it had in interminable stormy

bursts for the past four days, said that he would see what he

could do.

Gabriel Bingham wasn’t sure if he really wanted to go to

Barbados or not. He wanted to be with Octavia, and the

thought of being with her, away from everything else - her

children, her work, her household, her clients, and the

husband who seemed to be consuming her now in a fire of

hatred and rage — was extremely attractive. He had

somehow managed to fall in love with her, to be in love

with her, while hardly knowing her at all. The thought of

being able to talk to her, learn about her, trace her tortuous

past, and help her disentangle her troubled present was

engaging. He also found her intensely sexually desirable.

The problem was Barbados.

Gabriel didn’t like the sun and he didn’t like lying on

white, palm-fringed beaches, which was what he imagined

he would be doing; he became bored swiftly. He liked

doing things, and he liked them to be English things: walking in the wind and the rain, sitting in the pub, working in the garden, reading by the fire.

And there was another alarming element to the venture;

it meant a modicum, at least, of shopping. The only

garments in Gabriel’s wardrobe that could have been

regarded as remotely suitable for a hot holiday of any kind

were his rather baggy swimming trunks which he had had

at school, and his even baggier khaki shorts. And then he

possessed a few Tshirts, and his old plimsolls. It was clearly

not enough.

Shopping was to Gabriel what the dentist was to most

people: something to be dreaded. Gabriel sighed and got

out his bicycle, which was by far the best mode of transport

in Bath, and made for Marks & Spencer’s.

On that hot August day there was very little available; no

shorts in his size at all, only some rather lurid purple and

yellow swimming trunks, which he bought two pairs of, a

pair of brown leather sandals which he didn’t like, but

bought because they fitted him — and a small range of short

sleeved shirts in colours as lurid as the swimming trunks. He

bought a couple of them as well. There were no white Tshirts,

which were the only ones he really liked, but he

found a beige one and a bright turquoise; and then,

warming to his task, decided to buy a panama hat as a

protection against the sun. The only ones left were slightly

too big, but he felt that was all right. Nothing worse than a

too-small hat.

The flight was out of Heathrow at midday on the Saturday,

Sarah Jane told him, when he rang to check. ‘British

Airways. You can go through the express checkin, so you

don’t need to get there quite so early.’

‘How come?’ said Gabriel.

‘Oh, club class perk,’ she said. ‘And you get your visa

when you get out there.’

Gabriel felt his stomach lurch rather uncomfortably. He

had no idea how much club class would cost, but he knew

he couldn’t afford it.

‘I — that is — when will Octavia be back?’

‘In about an hour. Shall I get her to call you?’

‘Yes, please.’

She phoned at three thirty. ‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Octavia, I’m sorry, but I can’t afford club class,’ said

Gabriel. ‘I’ll go tourist.’

‘You can’t. There aren’t any seats.’

‘Well, I can’t go, then. I’m sorry. I really don’t have two

and a half thousand pounds. Not to spend on five days,

anyway.’

‘Gabriel, this is on me.’

‘Oh, no!’ he said. ‘No, I’m sorry. Bollinger Socialist or

not, I don’t like being paid for. I won’t be paid for.’

She sighed. ‘Oh, dear. This is all coming out wrong.

Listen. My father has this cottage there, okay? He likes it

used. He specially likes it used by me. His company just

buys the tickets for me when I want them. It doesn’t cost

him anything, it’s — well, think of it as a sort of tax dodge.’

‘I don’t approve of tax dodges,’ he said, ‘as you should

know.’

She was silent.

‘If it was for your husband or your kids, I can see that

would be all right. But it’s not for me. I think maybe I’d

better not come.’

‘Oh, shit, Gabriel.’ Her voice wobbled; she sounded

almost frightened. ‘You’ve got to come! I can’t bear it.

Please. Please don’t be silly about it. My dad has so much

money he doesn’t know what to do with it. Those tickets

are — well, they’re like buying a packet of Kleenex to him.

Think of it like that, using his Kleenex.’

‘I never use Kleenex,’ he said, ‘sorry,’ and put the phone

down.

Ten minutes later it rang again; it was Melanie. ‘Look,’

she said, ‘don’t be an arsehole.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Making her miserable over some fucking stupid principles.

Just swallow them, Gabriel. Her old man’s an evil

manipulative bugger. He’s also as rich as Croesus. He’s doing something good for her for once. Let him, for Christ’s sake. Don’t be so bloody - male.’

This was clearly to her the ultimate insult; Gabriel found

himself smiling, reluctantly. ‘Okay,’ he said, after a

moment. ‘Okay, put her on.’

Not for the first time, after he had said, just a little

shortly, that he was sorry, and he’d see her at the airport

next day, he felt a pang of sympathy for Tom Fleming.

The phone call had come from Alec. Cold, reproachful,

lined in venom. How had it happened that Zoe had been

allowed to do no work, had she been out partying all

summer, why hadn’t Marianne been in touch with her

teachers, why had Zoe fallen so short of her predicted

BBC? Marianne said she had no idea; she knew there was

no point defending herself or Zoe.

‘Well, I’ll have a very serious talk with her next week.

She can’t be allowed to get away with this. No Sydney,

obviously, she’ll have to go to a crammer, do retakes. And

she must understand, absolutely no going out, no seeing her

friends even, until she’s got herself in order. I think, too, I

should stop her allowance with immediate effect.’

‘Alec! You can’t punish her like that. She’s eighteen years

old.’

‘It’s not a punishment. It’s an attempt at discipline.

Which you should have made yourself, I might say. I can’t

believe you’ve been quite so stupid about her. And so — neglectful.’

‘Alec! That is outrageous.’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t think so. I’ve always trusted you,

Marianne. To deal with the children, to oversee their lives.

It seems I was wrong.’

She said nothing.

‘Well,’ he said finally, ‘I’ll meet the girls at Kennedy as

arranged on Monday. How is Romilly? Over that nonsense,

I hope?’

‘Romilly’s fine,’ said Marianne very firmly. ‘Goodbye,

Alec’ And she put the phone down.

Octavia looked at her watch. It was already after five. Even if she left at once, she’d be lucky to get to Phillimore

Gardens by six, which was the time Caroline was taking the

children up to the Bartletts’ house. Shit! She wasn’t going

to make it. Wasn’t going to be able to say goodbye to them.

Maybe if—

‘So would that be a possibility, Mrs Fleming?’ Margaret

Piper’s voice pushed into her consciousness. ‘Is there any

future in that one?’

‘Oh — yes. Yes, I’m sure there is, Mrs Piper.’

‘Good. Because I really don’t want to be let down again.

I was bitterly disappointed in you over Mr Carlton. Now

look, I have here the budgets for next year, if we could just

run over them now, and then—’

‘I wonder if I could take them with me, Mrs Piper? I

think they need a really careful examination.’

‘Well, I’m afraid I see no reason why they shouldn’t have

that now, Mrs Fleming. I am in no hurry. In fact rather the

reverse. I’m having dinner with my brother in town.

So …”

‘Yes, of course. Er — could you excuse me just one

moment?’

She half ran out of the office, put her head round

Melanie’s door. ‘Mells! Is there any chance at all you could

take over my meeting with Mrs Piper? She wants to go

over the budgets for next year now and—’

‘Reasonable, I’d have thought,’ said Melanie, ‘given how

we’ve had to mess her around recently.’ Her expression was

hard; Octavia winced.

‘Yes, of course. And I would do it. But — well, the

children are about to go away. I promised to go home to

see them off.’

‘Look, Octavia. I appreciate that you have your familial

duties to attend to. I also appreciate that you’re very tired

and you’ve had an extremely difficult time recently. That’s

why I’ve agreed to manage without you next week. But I

would point out that we are hanging on to the Cultivate account with our rather chewed fingernails. It’s your account, it’s your fault we’ve nearly lost it, so just get the fuck back in there, would you, and do your job. Thanks.’

Octavia stared at Melanie in a frozen silence; then she

said, ‘Yes, of course,’ and phoned Caroline to say she’d try

to make it to the Bartletts’ to say goodbye, but meanwhile

to go on there without her. Caroline said she would,

sounding as cold and as hostile as Melanie. And as Gabriel.