Almost a Crime (3 page)

bad judgment; Carlton had confided to her in a very loud

stage whisper as the lights went down, that when it came to operas, Phantom was more his style. She remembered his constantly dropping off to sleep and fighting it, and liking

him for that.

‘Nice to see you too, Mr Carlton. How is your wife?’

Betty Carlton had been cheerfully plump, badly dressed,

eager to please.

‘Oh, not so bad. She’s a bit low at the moment. Empty

nest, all the kids gone. I’ll have a large vodka martini, please,’ he said to the waiter, ‘and a very big bowl of peanuts.’ He scooped the remaining nuts from the bowl on

the table into his fist, ate them at one go.

‘Terrible things, these,’ he said to Octavia, ‘thousands of

calories each. But you know what? I don’t care.’

Octavia, who would have given a great deal at

moment for even one peanut, forced herself to smile.

‘Don’t mention calories to Octavia,’ said Tom, ‘she’s

obsessed with the things. Virtually anorexic, aren’t you,

darling?’

‘How absurd,’ said Michael Carlton, ‘with a wonderful

figure like yours.’

People always said that, Octavia thought, smiling more

determinedly still, people who could never connect the

obsession with calories with the wonderful figure, assuming

it came of its own accord.

‘I asked Octavia along tonight,’ said Tom, ‘because what

you’re proposing is very much in her field.’

‘Really?’ said Octavia, staring at him. ‘What are you

proposing, Mr Carlton?’

‘Michael is proposing, as well as the usual planning

gain—’

‘I’m sorry. Remind me about planning gain …’

‘It’s something a developer offers the local community

along with the rest of his plans,’ said Tom, irritation

skimming briefly across his face. ‘Might be a park, a

swimming pool, something like that. Michael is offering a

community centre. You know, social hall, sports club, all

that sort of thing. And he wants to include some facilities

for the handicapped.’

ii

This was obviously an extremely sensitive site, thought

Octavia.

‘Where is it?’

‘Oh, Somerset/Avon borders. Not so far from our

cottage actually. Anyway, I told him about your work,

particularly with Foothold—’

Foothold was one of the charities Capital C advised. It

funded research into juvenile arthritis, equipment for the

children, and perhaps most crucially, respite weekends for

the parents.

‘Oh, yes?’

‘And we thought you might have a local group down

there who would be interested …’

‘Oh, I see,’ said Octavia.

‘It could help us a lot. Get some of the locals on to our

side, make the others see this development isn’t all bad.

Which it isn’t.’

‘No, I — suppose not.’

Octavia suddenly felt rather upset. Foothold was particularly

dear to her heart, she had worked very hard on it, seen

it move from a really small-time charity into the five-million-a-year

level with quite a high profile. She didn’t

really want it used in this way.

‘Well, I could look into it, I suppose. People are always

interested in improved facilities.’

‘Of course,’ Michael Carlton said. ‘That’s why I want to

help.’

Yes, thought Octavia, and cut a swathe through yet

another lovely forest or meadow, rape a bit more of the

countryside. She felt very strongly about these things, hated

it when Tom was on the side of the rapists. They fought

about it endlessly. But she ought to give Carlton the benefit

of the doubt.

‘How marvellous of you,’ she said. ‘To think of the

disabled, I mean. Well, I can certainly ask.’

‘And I thought perhaps see what you could do to help in

the way of local publicity?’ said Tom.

‘Well, possibly. Yes.’

‘Now, talking of publicity, Tom, what are you going to

do about stopping this stuff getting into the nationals?’ said

Michael Carlton. ‘We can’t afford it at this stage. I hope

you’re on top of that one.’

‘We’re doing all we can,’ said Tom. ‘I did get a couple of

calls today, one from the Express, one from the Mirror. I

played it very low-key, made it sound like a non-story.’

‘You didn’t talk about the community project? I’d have

thought that would—’

‘Michael, trust me. That could have been counterproductive.

Journalists are very cynical. Far better tell them, as I

did, it’s yet another Swampy story. They’re getting bored

with those. So I think I’ve diverted them for now. But

that’s why I thought it might be a good idea to talk to

Octavia. Get her to come in with some positive support at

the local end. Don’t you think, darling?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Octavia, aware that she should be

sounding more enthusiastic.

‘Octavia—’

‘You mustn’t make your wife compromise herself if she

doesn’t want to, Tom,’ said Michael Carlton suddenly.

‘What I meant,’ she said quickly, ‘was that I really

couldn’t commit my clients - and therefore myself - to

anything at all.’

‘No, of course not. I appreciate that.’ His martini had

arrived, been drunk and reordered. The peanut bowl was

empty again. ‘Tell me, what other charities are you

involved in, Octavia?’

‘Oh, dozens,’ she said lightly.

‘She’s a great star in that world,’ said Tom. ‘Aren’t you,

darling?’

‘Well, you know,’ she said, ‘maybe a medium-size one.’

‘My wife’s a great charity worker,’ said Michael Carlton.

‘Always standing outside the local supermarket, shaking a

tin, organising ladies’ lunches, that sort of thing. Takes up a

lot of her time though.’

‘It would,’ said Octavia, ‘but without field workers like

your wife, all charities would be quite lost.’

‘Is that so? Tell me, do you get involved with those big bashes? Royalty coming along and all that sort of thing?’

‘Sometimes …’

‘I imagine people will do anything to get in on one of

those things. Pressing the flesh and so on.’

‘To an extent. It’s still not easy.’

‘Oh, go on. I bet you can think of a number and double

it. Supposing it was someone like Di?’

‘Well, yes. Obviously. But she’s virtually impossible to

get.’

‘That is the holy grail though, isn’t it, darling? The

honeypot number,’ said Tom. ‘Get your charity associated

with someone really charismatic, and the money just flows

in. How was your meeting this evening, by the way? With

your would-be sponsor? Any good?’

Octavia stared at him. He knew it hadn’t been. Why

should he ask her again? Then she realised.

‘Octavia is looking for a sponsor for one of her charities,’

said Tom to Michael Carlton.

‘Really? Which one would that be?’

‘Oh, it’s confidential, I’m afraid,’ said Octavia.

‘Why on earth should it be?’ said Tom. ‘Tell us about it,

darling, we’d like to hear.’

‘It’s a Third World charity,’ she said quickly, confident

Michael Carlton wouldn’t be interested in such a thing,

‘one of the God-helps-those-who-help-themselves sort,

called Cultivate. We supply tools, grain, pumps, know

how, and then they farm and feed themselves.’

‘Jolly good,’ said Michael Carlton unexpectedly. ‘That’s

exactly what they should be doing. My son works out in

one of those places, you know - he’s a man of the cloth

and he says Ethiopia is only just beginning to recover from

what he calls the Geldof effect.’

‘What on earth’s that?’ said Tom.

‘The whole country was flooded with free food, right?’

said Carlton. ‘After that concert of his.’

‘Yes. So?’

‘So anyone who was farming just starved to death

themselves. Who would pay for food if they didn’t need to?’

‘Yes, it was a terrible piece of misplaced benefaction,’

said Octavia.

‘It was indeed. Counterproductive. And your Cultivate is

doing exactly the opposite?’

‘Yes. Yes, it is.’

‘And what sort of a sponsor are you looking for?’

‘Someone who’ll put X thousand pounds into the fund in

the coming year.’

‘And what do they get in return?’

‘A high profile. Their name and logo on all promotional

material — programmes, advertising material and press

releases. Maximum visibility at fundraising bashes and so

on.’

‘And you can’t get it?’

‘Well,’ she said carefully, ‘it’s very very hard to get

sponsorship. Products are easy, people can always come up

with a car or a holiday to auction. But sponsorship means

parting with money. Real money.’

‘Yes, I can see that. Well, you tell me how much you’re

looking for and I’ll tell you how much I’m prepared to find.

How’s that?’

She stared at him. ‘Well, I …’

‘Oh, come on,’ Carlton said impatiently, ‘this is a no

strings offer. Or don’t you trust me?’

‘Of course I do. It’s not that, I just—’

‘You just think I’m doing this for my own ends. Well, I

am. But all good publicity is good publicity. And I can

hardly start pumping money into your other charity, can I?

That really would be a bit transparent. Besides, I like the

sound of this … Cultivate. Terrible name, that. They

ought to change it. Well, there’s the offer. Yes or no?’

Octavia stared at him, her mind totally engaged suddenly.

Margaret Piper had made it very clear that if no sponsor was

forthcoming, she would sack Capital C at the end of the

year. That would mean not just the loss of income, but loss

of face. It was always bad to lose an account. And there was

no one else she could think of to approach for money. On the other hand, if she accepted Carlton’s offer, it would put

her in a very difficult position with the local branch of

Foothold - always supposing there was one. She would be

obliged virtually to drag it into his fight for local approval,

and that would be very unethical. Better in the long run to

lose Cultivate.

‘I really feel I should refuse,’ she said, genuinely

reluctant. ‘It might compromise all of us. If we were seen to

be in each other’s pockets. Don’t you, Tom?’

‘I don’t think so, no,’ Tom said, and she could tell he was

annoyed. ‘I certainly feel you should think about it

carefully. It’s a very generous offer, Michael.’

‘Balls,’ said Carlton cheerfully. ‘Not generous at all. It

could help me. And to that end, what’s - shall we say fifty

grand, Octavia? Or would a hundred be more like it?’

Octavia felt suddenly dizzy. ‘I haven’t really thought

about exact figures,’ she said.

‘Well, that doesn’t impress me too much,’ said Carlton. ‘I

thought you were a businesswoman.’

She was stung; he had hit her where it hurt. Probably as

he intended. ‘Fifty is around what we’re looking for

actually. The bottom end, that is.’

‘Good. I’ll make it seventy-five. All right?’

‘Well,’ she said, feeling slightly panicked by the pressure,

‘of course I must talk to my partner. Perhaps we could all

meet.’

Tom looked at his watch, stood up. ‘I must leave you,

I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘Have to be at the Mansion House in

ten minutes. My driver’s waiting. Octavia, darling, I

shouldn’t be too late. Home about eleven thirty.’

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll probably still be up, I’ve got loads of

paperwork to do. Only thing is, I’ve got an early start,

breakfast meeting.’ She lifted her face to his, he bent and

kissed her cheek. ‘Bye, Tom. Have a good evening.’

She watched Tom as he left, then turned back to

Carlton. He was leaning against his seat, looking at her, his

own eyes amused.

‘Ah, the joys of-what is it you and Tom share? Oh, yes,

a “power marriage”? I was reading about you only the

other week, Betty showed me the article.’

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the

papers, Mr Carlton.’

‘Michael, Octavia, please. I don’t. Another drink?’

‘No, thank you. I have to get home, to my children.’

“The twins? And a baby. Is that right?’

‘Yes,’ she said, surprised he should remember.

‘I seem to recall you’d only just had the baby. I was

impressed you stayed awake. Ours have all gone. I miss

them, not as much as Betty does, of course, but I still do.

You want to make the most of them while they’re little.’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I try to.’

‘You’re missing a lot, you know,’ he said, looking at her

thoughtfully, ‘working all the time. Pity, really. It’s over so

quickly.’

Irritation and resentment suddenly filled Octavia. ‘Mr

Carlton - sorry, Michael - I don’t really think it’s anything

to do with you,’ she said, smiling at him with a great effort,

‘how I run my family. Of course I miss them, but—’

it is something to do with me,’ he said, ‘because I like

you. And I can see you’re not nearly as tough as you make

out. You’ll regret it when they’re grown up. You’ll wonder

where the time went. Anyway — sorry. You must do things

your own way of course. And I’ve got to go as well. Let me

know about the sponsorship deal. I really mean it.’

“Thank you,’ she said. She felt close to tears. ‘And of

course I will get back to you, but I don’t really think …”