Almost a Crime (55 page)

‘What do you mean?’ The husky voice was harsher

suddenly, indignant, I hope you don’t think I’m going to

tell anyone. We’re friends, I thought. Best friends. For ever

and ever. Amen.’

I’m sorry. I guess I’m just feeling vulnerable. And guilty

all round. Including now about Gabriel.’

‘You shouldn’t be. Are you going down this weekend?

To see him?’

‘I don’t know. It depends on Gideon’s foot, Tom, all

sorts of things. But I probably won’t be able to resist.’

“Very sexy?’

‘Yes, very sexy,’ said Octavia, laughing. “Bye Louise.’

“Bye, darling Boot. And try to remember, I love you.’

It struck Octavia as a slightly strange thing to say.

‘Now, Octavia, whatever you do, get your arse in here

early in the morning. Mrs Piper is getting her rather larger

one up from Chichester at nine thirty for a discussion about the sponsorship and we want to be well ready for her.’

‘Yes, of course, Melanie. I promise.’

‘We can’t afford to lose that account, Octavia.’

‘I know, I’ve made a hash of it.’

‘Well, not all of it. Just most of it.’ Melanie’s hawklike

face softened into a wide grin. ‘These things happen, but I

don’t want them happening again for a bit. I know things

are tough for you at the moment, but …’

Octavia knew what the buts were. All of them. She

smiled quickly at Melanie, struggling to look cool and on

top of things. ‘Mells, I’ll be there. Don’t worry about it.’

Octavia was reading to Gideon when Tom came in. She

heard the door slam, heard his footsteps on the stairs, heard

him coming up the second flight to the nursery. That

was nice, that he’d made the effort. ‘Here’s Daddy,’ she

said to Gideon, ‘he’ll probably play that horrible computer

game.’

The door opened; Tom stood there, his face devoid of

colour, his eyes dull, filled with something ugly and dark.

She stared at him. ‘Are you all right?’

‘No. No, I’m not. I want to talk to you.’

She felt angry suddenly. ‘It’ll have to wait, I’m afraid.

Gideon’s been dying for you to come home, he wants to

play that computer game with you.’

‘I can’t play with you, Gideon. I’m sorry. Not yet. I have

to talk to Mummy.’

‘But, Daddy—’

‘Look, Tom, I don’t know what this is about, but it’s

hardly fair on Gideon. I really do think he should come first

this evening. He’s bored, he’s lonely, his foot hurts. I’ve

been reading to him for ages, but—’

‘Oh, how wonderful you are,’ he said. ‘Such a perfect

mother. Get downstairs, Octavia. If you can tear yourself

away from your beloved children. If I might interrupt

quality time. That’s what it’s called, I believe. Gideon, I’ll

come and play with you later, I promise.’

‘I’ll get Caroline to find you a video, Gideon,’ said

Octavia quickly. She felt very frightened suddenly.

Charles Madison was just finishing an early supper when he

heard the door bell go. Cursing, he went to answer it.

Louise stood there, holding Dickon’s hand, looking rather

pale.

‘Daddy,’ she said. ‘Daddy, I’m sorry, but I’m feeling

absolutely terrible. I just can’t cope any longer. I know I

should be strong for you, but …’

‘Oh, my darling, you’ve done so much for me already,’

said Charles. ‘It’s my turn now. Come along in. Dickon,

you run in and see Janet. She’s got some wonderful apple

pie in the kitchen.’

‘Is Mummy …’ Dickon was very white, his eyes huge in

his small face.

‘Mummy’s fine. Just tired and a bit upset. About Granny.

You can stay here with me, both of you, for a few days.

She’ll be better in no time.’

He-took Louise upstairs, to the spare room. ‘Now you

get into bed, darling, and I’ll get the doctor.’

‘No. Honestly, Daddy, there’s no need for that. I just

want some peace and quiet. Can I really stay here for a bit?’

‘Of course you can.’

‘And if anyone phones, can you tell them I’m not here?

Say I’m — I know! Say I’m in France. With Sandy. That’s a

good idea.’

‘Yes, all right, darling.’

‘I do mean anyone. Even Octavia. Actually, most of all,

Octavia. She’s been getting me down quite badly lately.

Going on and on about her work and everything, about

how busy she is. It really doesn’t help.’

‘Yes, of course I will. Only you know I’m not a very

good liar.’

‘No, I know. But I thought I actually would go over and

see Sandy at the weekend. He did ask us. So it will be

almost true. Please, Daddy.’

‘Darling, I said I would. Now do let me get Dr Hodgen.

You look absolutely all in. And you have to think of the baby.’

‘Yes. Yes, I know I do. I’ve been thinking of nothing

else but the baby all day, as a matter of fact.’

‘I only want to ask you one thing,’ said Tom. They were in

his study now, standing facing one another across the room,

the door closed. ‘Did you or did you not have an abortion

eighteen months ago?’

For what felt like hours she stood there, absolutely still,

staring at him, absorbing the question, all that it meant,

absorbing the knowledge, her mind crunching on it, falling

into dreadful disarray, then realigning itself, neatly, mercilessly.

‘Well,

did you?’

Her flesh crawled: her stomach felt as if it was about to

start leaching its contents on to the floor.

‘Yes, Tom. Yes, I did.’

‘And — and whose was it?’

‘It was yours. Of course.’

He raised his hand and struck her: hard across the face.

She didn’t feel it, didn’t feel anything at all. She just stood

there, staring at him in silence. Then she said, ‘So it was

her, then, Tom. It was Louise.’

And then she turned and ran out of the room, out of the

house, and into her car.

Because she now knew with absolute certainty, and

somehow it was as if she had known all along, that although

everyone might have handkerchiefs, the one in the hotel

room had belonged to Louise. And although everyone had

letters to post, the ones Louise had had in her car, the ones

that Dickon had noticed, had been addressed to Tom’s

clients.

And it was Louise Tom had been having an affair with.

For months and months. Louise. Her best friend.

The house in Cheltenham was in darkness. Octavia stood

outside, hammering on the door, shouting Louise’s name:

nobody came. She looked at her watch: it was only half past

nine. How had that happened? She could remember

nothing, nothing at all since leaving Phillimore Gardens.

What about her father? Might Louise be there? Yes,

possibly. It was worth a try anyway. She went back to her

own car, switched on the phone, rang the Madison house;

Charles Madison answered the phone.

‘No, Octavia, she’s not here,’ he said carefully. His voice

sounded rather strained and awkward; she didn’t believe

him.

‘Charles, are you sure?’

‘Yes. She’s gone to France. To join Sandy.’

Surely he wouldn’t lie to her.

‘All right, my dear?’

‘Yes. Yes, fine. Thank you.’

She switched off the phone again, she didn’t want Tom

ringing her, and sat staring into the darkness.

In the kitchen at Rookston Manor, Dickon was just taking

his third helping of Janet’s apple pie and coating it liberally

with ice cream. ‘Don’t you take too much of that, Dickon,

you’ll be sick.’

‘No, I won’t. I’m never sick.’

Janet smiled at him. She was very fond of Dickon. Poor little chap. What a time he’d had. And Louise too. She’d

looked dreadful when she’d arrived. They both had.

She heard a car in the drive outside and looked out.

‘Who’s that?’ said Dickon.

‘It’s the doctor. Come to see your mummy.’

‘She’s not ill, is she?’ Panic filled the great dark eyes.

‘Just got a bit of a tummy ache, I believe. Nothing to

what you’ll have if you don’t stop eating that ice cream.’

She called from the kitchen across the hall to the drawing

room. ‘Mr Madison, Doctor’s here.’

‘Thank you, Janet, I’ll let him in.’

‘Grandpa, is Mummy really ill, really really ill?’

‘No, Dickon, she’s just a bit — tired.’

‘You don’t need the doctor for being tired.’

‘Sometimes you do. Evening, Dr Hodgen. Good of you

to come. Dickon, you go on back to the kitchen with

Janet.’

‘Come on, my lovely.‘Janet took his hand. ‘We’ll watch

some TV together, shall we?’

He hesitated. ‘Could I have a weeny bit more ice cream?’

‘Just a weeny bit.’

Octavia was on her way to Rookston. She simply hadn’t

believed Charles. No doubt Louise had spun him some

elaborate story or other. There was another father who was

putty in his daughter’s hands. She wondered if Tom would

be like that with Poppy, then thought of their family by the

time Poppy was old enough to manipulate him — fractured,

dysfunctional beyond repair — and the road ahead blurred.

She dashed the tears away furiously. This was no time for

sentiment. She had to keep her mind absolutely fixed on

the present.

It was dusk now, that ultra-clear half-light peculiar to late

summer evenings. The whole situation seemed very surreal;

she felt rather as if she was watching herself in some film,

with no real idea of what was going to happen, her purpose

in coming here, what it might achieve. She only knew she had to see Louise, hear her voice, watch her face, in the now certain knowledge that she had been having an affair

with — no, Octavia, don’t dress it up — sleeping with, having

sex with, screwing her husband. Louise, who was, who had

been her best friend, for ever and ever amen, always with a

special place in her heart, confidante, sharer of secrets,

guardian of intensely personal, intimate information, like

the final dangerous piece of information. And, oh, God,

what would she do with that, about Gabriel… yes, I have

slept with him …

How could Louise have sat there listening, asking her

things, questioning her, knowing, knowing all the time.

When she was fucking Tom, kissing him, moving with

him, welcoming him into her lovely, long, slender,

orgasmic body … crying out in that pretty, husky, evil

voice … Octavia felt bile rise suddenly in her throat,

slammed on the brakes, jumped out, reached the hedge just

in time, vomiting over and over again.

She got back into the car finally, wearily, sat resting on

the steering wheel, wondering if even now she still had the

strength to go on, whether after all she should go back to

London, face Tom, face all of it.

Her car phone rang, shrilly, made her jump. Damn, she’d

meant to keep it off.

‘Yes?’ she said wearily.

‘Where are you?’

It was Tom.

‘In Gloucestershire.’

‘Octavia, don’t go and see her. Don’t. It would be

madness. Believe me.’

‘Tom, I’ve been driven to madness already. It can’t get

any worse. Sorry.’

She put the phone back on its hook, switched it off.

Tom was sitting in his study watching an absurd news shot

of what the reporter called a Cool Britannia party at

Number Ten: Eddie Izzard in a frock, Chris Evans making

silly faces, Mariella Frostrup looking like the cat that

swallowed the cream, the Gallagher brothers. What were they doing there, on what kind of crazy logic had they been

invited? He supposed it was all part of Blair’s nonsense: he’d

been going on the day before on Radio Two about the

people’s government. Were these supposed to be the

people’s stars? He’d be talking about the people’s Royal

Family soon.

The phone rang: please, God, let that be Octavia, saying

she was coming home.

It wasn’t. It was Aubrey.

‘Tom. Are — are things any better?’

‘No, I don’t think you could say that. But anyway. Let’s

talk about Fleming Cotterill. What news. If any?’

‘Not good, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, God,’ said Tom, ‘it’s a nightmare. And it’s so

frustrating. We only need a tiny bit of luck, just one more

account, and a hundred grand, then we could get by.’

‘I know. But tomorrow is the first of the month. We

have to pay the staff, certainly by Monday. We can’t do that

— the bank will bounce the cheques. And then we have that

huge VAT bill, due for payment today, those guys’ll

petition to have us wound up before you can say Customs

and Excise.’

‘If we could pay the staff,’ said Tom slowly, ‘how much

time would we have?’

‘Not long. The rent and rates are due September first.’

‘That sounds like a long way off. After these last few days.

And what about if the Customs and Excise boys do petition,

how long would it take?’

‘About six weeks, I think. But honestly, I think we’d just

be digging ourselves an ever-deepening hole. Look, Tom,

I’ll see you in the morning. Think about a merger, there’s a

good chap. Octavia all right, is she?’

‘Oh, fine, yes. Thank you. Good night, Aubrey,’ said

Tom. He put the phone down. ‘Please, God,’ he said aloud.