Almost a Crime (114 page)

‘Nothing,’ he said, and shook her hand off, looked wildly

round him, saw his grandfather, rushed over to him, clung

to his legs.

Poppy looked after him thoughtfully, then went over to

Megan. ‘Do you know what’s wrong with Dickon?’

‘No. He’s been funny with me, though. I tried to ask

him and he wouldn’t talk to me.’

‘Nor me. I like that top,’ she added, ‘it’s the same as Mel

B wears. I wanted one but Mummy said I was too young.’

‘They’re like that, mothers,’ said Megan with a sigh.

‘How’s Louise?’ said Octavia to Charles.

‘Oh — you know. She’s had what they now call a

complete breakdown. But I think she’s in a much better

place this time. That fellow at the Cloisters is a complete

idiot, I’ve decided. I feel dreadful about it, insisting she

went there, thinking I knew best. Quite dreadful.’

‘Charles,’ said Octavia gently, ‘you must stop blaming

yourself. We all must, actually. Louise was always—’ she

hesitated - ‘very highly strung. My father always said so,

and looking back, I can see we all missed the signs. And she

had so much to bear. Impossibly much.’

‘Do you really think so?’

‘Yes, I do. And if I can see that, then it must be true,’ she

added with a quick, rather awkward smile.

‘You’re very generous,’ said Charles, bending down

impulsively to give her a kiss. ‘Too generous, some would

say. But you’ve made me feel better. Thank you, my dear.

And may I say you’re looking very much better yourself.

Extremely well.’

‘I’m really sorry, Charles,’ said Octavia, ‘but I don’t want

anyone else to tell me I look extremely well.’

Charles had actually been rather enjoying himself. He had

had a very nice and interesting conversation with a rather

beautiful old lady called Lucilla, who had spent most of her

youth in India, and she had introduced him to Iris Duncan,

the new matron of Bartles House. After another glass or

two of the excellent wine, and a discussion on the charitable

trust that the Duncans told him they had discovered in, connection with Bartles House, Charles heard himself: offering his services as professional fundraiser.

‘That would be marvellous,’ said Iris Duncan carefully,

‘but I expect you’d want paying rather a lot of money,

wouldn’t you? I’ve had some rather unhappy dealings with

professional fundraisers, not that I’m sure you’re in the least

like that.’

‘No,’ said Charles, ‘I’m not. I’d do it for nothing.

Really.’

‘For nothing? Why should you do that?’

‘Well,’ he said carefully, looking across at Octavia who

was chatting to Pattie David, ‘let’s say for - for love.

Gratitude. That sort of thing.’

‘That sounds wonderful,’ said Iris Duncan, who was

sensitive enough not to ask him what he meant, or to

pursue the matter any further.

Dickon was standing behind a bush, eating a sausage roll

and wondering why he had ever wanted to come today,

when he heard someone calling him. Two people. Poppy

and Megan. Two people he didn’t want to talk to.

He ducked down, so they couldn’t see him, turned

towards the house — and found his way blocked by Megan’s

wheelchair. He turned to run; but Poppy’s strong little arm

shot out, stopped him.

‘Leave me alone,’ he said crossly.

‘No,’ said Poppy, ‘not till you tell us what the matter is.’

‘Nothing’s the matter.’

‘Well, come and play with us, then.’

‘No, I don’t want to.’

‘Dickon,’ said Megan gently, ‘Dickon, come here.’

‘No.’

‘Dickon, please,’ said Poppy.

Dickon looked from one to the other of them and burst

into tears.

‘Dickon, what is it?’ said Poppy, alarmed.

He gulped, wiped his hand across his eyes. ‘Aren’t you

cross with me?’ he said to her.

‘Why should I be cross with you?’

‘Because — because Mummy stole Minty. That’s — that’s

wrong.’ His large dark eyes filled with tears.

Poppy hesitated, then she put her arms round him, gave

him a hug. ‘My mum said it wasn’t wrong. And she didn’t

steal her. Not exactly.’

‘Daddy said that, too. But she did, I know she did.’

‘Well, she took her, yes. But it was because she was so

upset. Sort of ill.’

‘Don’t say that,’ said Dickon sharply, ‘don’t say she’s ill.’

‘But Dickon, she is. That’s why—’

‘She’s not ill, she’s not! She’s all right, she’s just gone

away for a bit!’ He pulled himself free, ran away again.

Megan looked at Poppy, made a face and propelled her

wheelchair across the garden. ‘Mum …’

‘Yes, dear?’

‘Where’s Sandy?’

‘I’m afraid I have no idea,’ said Pattie slightly stiffly.

Megan sighed. The lovely day seemed to be going rather

wrong.

‘Right,’ said Nico, ‘you’ve had your lunch, which I hope

you’ll agree was excellent. Fortnum’s did us proud.’

‘They did,’ said Marianne. She actually felt rather sick.

‘Now, let’s talk about the future. I have a proposition for

you.’

‘Nico—’

‘Let me finish.’

‘Nico, I can’t…’

‘Can’t what?’

‘I can’t marry you.’

‘I wasn’t going to ask you to marry me,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘Of course I wasn’t. I’m not that insensitive. It’s much

too soon. I understand that.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Oh, yes, I see.’ She felt odd, somehow

disquieted. She didn’t want it; she wasn’t ready for it. But

she felt just the same that something had been taken from

her.

‘Look at me,’ he said.

She looked at him, smiled brightly, brilliantly.

‘You’re not — disappointed, are you?’

‘No. No, of course not.’ She felt foolish now, added to

the rest. Tears, always near these days, rose to the back of

her eyes.

‘I’ve upset you,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

She was silent. Felt to her horror a tear roll down her

cheek. She brushed it irritably away.

‘You’re not crying, are you?’ he said.

‘Of course I’m not.’ What was the matter with her?

When she knew quite certainly that she didn’t want to

marry him. Wasn’t prepared even to consider it.

‘Look at me,’ he said.

She didn’t move.

‘Look at me, Marianne.’

She raised her head. Reluctantly. Met his eyes. His

brilliant, amused eyes. She felt more foolish still. He picked

up her hand and kissed it, reached out and smudged the tear

across her cheek with his hand.

‘Let me try again,’ he said. ‘I love you, Marianne. Very

much. As I’ve been telling you for months now. And I’ve

been very patient, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘very patient. You’ve been wonderful,

Nico, it’s just that—’

‘I know. I understand.’

‘No, you don’t.’

‘Yes, I do. You don’t want to get married — yet.

Although it seems you do feel some kind of interest in the

subject. Which encourages me. So could I express my quite

extraordinary pragmatism and generosity, and ask you to

become betrothed to me? Such a nice, old-fashioned word, don’t you think? And rather more interesting and substantial than engaged. Of course if in five or ten years’ time you

feel ready to take things any further, we can discuss it then.

How would that be? I’ve got a ring in the car, I think you’ll

like it.’

Marianne looked at him very seriously; then rather

reluctantly smiled; and then finally she started to laugh. Her

loud, rather hoydenish laugh.

‘That would be absolutely wonderful,’ she said. ‘I accept.

As long as it is only a betrothal.’

‘Right!’ Gabriel Bingham stood in the middle of the lawn,

clapped his hands. ‘Who’s for cricket?’

There was a roar of pleasure from the children, a slightly

more muffled one from the adults, mixed with groans.

‘Sorry. Compulsory,’ said Gabriel. ‘Two teams. I’ll

captain one. Gideon here will captain the other. Now, we

may not have quite the full complement but…”

‘Dickon,’ said Poppy, ‘Dickon, come on, we want you in

our team.’ She looked at him; he was hiding behind a bush

again, he’d been crying. She put her arm around him.

‘Dickon, please don’t cry. Please. Look — oh, Pattie, hallo.’

‘Hallo,’ said Pattie. ‘Dickon, what is it?’

‘He’s a bit upset,’ said Poppy. ‘I think you’d better …’

Her voice tailed away.

‘Of course,’ said Pattie. ‘Look, you go and get on with

the game. I’ll see you in a minute.’ She sat down on the

grass, took Dickon on her knee. ‘Come on, sweetheart.

Tell me what the matter is. Please?’

A few minutes later, Dickon rushed up to Gideon. ‘Can I

play in your team?’

Yes. You can help Megan be wicketkeeper. Go on,

quick, we’re going to start.’

‘What did you say to him?’ Megan said to Poppy later.

‘Nothing. It was your mum. She was brilliant.’

‘She is brilliant,’ said Megan, ‘except when it comes to clothes.’

Lucilla looked on approvingly. This was really a very nice

gathering. Charming people, well-behaved children, a

genuine sense of community. And Mrs Duncan was a

delight. The only flaw in the day had been Nora, who’d

suddenly said she was hot and taken off her cardigan, to

reveal a ghastly see-through nylon blouse that, she told Mrs

Duncan proudly, had come from her catalogue. Still, Mrs

Duncan’s eyes and her own had met over Nora’s head; she

could see they were going to be allies. How very good life

was going to be. And that charming Mr Madison,

volunteering to help with fundraising … She realised that

the other two guests from Bartles House were fast asleep in

their chairs, both with their mouths hanging open. How

very unattractive old people were at times. Maybe they

should get back; she wasn’t tired herself, but Mrs Spencer

would be snoring in a minute, and she really couldn’t face

that. She signalled to Bert Brand, who had driven them to

the party in the minibus, and was now hovering on the

edge of the party.

‘Time to go, Bert,’ she said, and then turning to Charles,

whom she had been regaling with a long story about how

she had once danced the tango with Nehru at the Calcutta

High Commissioner’s residence, said, ‘I’m afraid we shall

have to go. Those poor old souls over there are clearly

ready for their beds. They get so tired, you know.’

‘I expect they do,’ said Charles. He smiled at her. Pattie

David had told him Lucilla was at least eighty-six, probably

older. He loved old people and the living history they

represented, never found them in the least boring. He was

going to enjoy his new enterprise: enjoy it a lot.

‘Marianne! How lovely! And Nico.’ Octavia kissed them

both. ‘Come on in and have a drink.’

‘We’ve both had much too much to drink already,’ said

Marianne. ‘A cup of tea would be nice though.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ said Nico. ‘A glass of nice chilled

white wine would be delightful, Octavia.’

‘I’ll get it for you. It’s so nice you came. How was the

house?’

‘Beautiful,’ said Marianne, ‘absolutely beautiful.’

‘Glorious,’ said Nico.

‘Are you going to buy it, Nico?’

‘I am indeed. You’ll love it. I shall throw lots of parties in

it, and you will always be guest of honour.’

Marianne took the cup of tea she was being offered,

waved away a plate of sandwiches. Octavia stared at her left

hand; at an extremely pretty sapphire and diamond deco

ring on its third finger.

‘Marianne,’ said Octavia, ‘you’re not — well, are you - I

mean…’

‘She means are you going to marry me,’ said Nico. ‘I

think.’ He smiled at Octavia. ‘No, she isn’t.’

‘Oh,’ said Octavia. She flushed. ‘Oh — I’m sorry. I feel

awful now.’

‘But are we betrothed,’ said Nico. ‘Officially betrothed.

That is our new joint status. Does that make you feel

better?’

‘Much better,’ said Octavia. She kissed them both. ‘I

don’t quite understand, but I hope you’ll be very happy.

Betrothed.’

‘I’m confident that we will,’ said Nico Cadogan.

“I don’t know how I’m going to get home,’ said Melanie,

‘I’m as drunk as a — a Lady.’

‘I’ll drive you home,’ said Gabriel. ‘I’m as sober as a

judge.’

‘You can’t. I live in London.’

‘I meant to my home. You can stay with me, pick your

car up in the morning.’

‘Angel Gabriel, are you trying to compromise me?’

‘No, of course not. I have an extremely nice spare room.

But I might say that any woman who can bowl a cricket

ball like you do has an instant place in my heart.’

‘You’re on,’ said Melanie. She leaned rather unsteadily

on his arm as they made their way across the lawn to say

goodbye to everyone. “Bye, Fleming,’ she said, kissing

Octavia, rather feebly. ‘The Angel Gabriel is taking me

home with him. To his earthly residence, I trust.’

Octavia watched them go with amusement. As a match,

it suddenly seemed rather suitable.

She called the twins, went to fetch Minty who was asleep in

Pattie’s old playpen in the corner of the garden.