Almost a Crime (83 page)

Gabriel through it now.

‘Isn’t it amazing? Families of ten or more live here.

When they were first built, the houses had no water or

anything, just one big room. The children slept under the

bed, the parents slept in it, with possibly a couple more

children. Often, even now, the sink’s outside at the back

and there might be a gas ring on a shelf. Yet they’re very

happy, close families. There’s very little violent crime here.’

‘You’ll be telling me next they’re happy with their lot,’

he said.

‘They are,’ she said. ‘Really happy.’

‘Octavia, please don’t insult me with that nonsense.’

‘It’s not nonsense, and you don’t know anything about

it,’ she said, and was silent. He didn’t speak either, sat

glaring out of the window. A little later, anxious to improve

matters, she said, ‘We might go and see Elvira’s daughter

tonight, on our way back. She lives here.’

‘No more socialising, Octavia, please.’

‘Gabriel, it’s hardly socialising,’ she said without thinking.

‘Oh,

really? And why would that be? Because she’s

black? Because she’s the daughter of a servant?’

‘Oh, don’t be so bloody ridiculous,’ she said, suddenly

sharply angry with him.

They went into Cave Shepherd and she felt him making

an effort, aware of her mood; picking out hideous shirts,

asking her opinion. His taste really was terrible.

She struggled to be tactful, allowed him one of the

hideous ones — brilliantly patterned, short sleeved - and

then steered him towards a striped Ralph Lauren, in pink

and white. ‘This is nice too. And there’s the same in blue.

And while we’re here, shall we look at trousers?’

‘Octavia, I really don’t want to—’ He stopped.

‘Don’t want to what?’

‘To spend a fortune. On bloody silly clothes I’ll never

wear again.’

‘Of course you’ll wear them again. Why on earth

shouldn’t you?’

‘Well — I won’t. And they’re terribly expensive. It’s

ridiculous.’

‘Everything is here. It’s the import tax. Anyway, the rest

of the holiday hasn’t cost you anything,’ she said lightly and

then stared at him appalled, realising what she had said.

He stared back, his pink face bright red suddenly.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘very, very sorry. I didn’t mean that

is, that came out wrong.’

‘It certainly did,’ he said.

‘I’m really sorry. Please forgive me, Gabriel.’

‘Oh, forget it,’ he said. ‘Let’s just go, shall we?’

‘Are you - getting these?’

‘What? Oh, yes, I’ll get the shirts. If that’s what you

want.’

She left him in a cafe, drinking orange juice, while she went

to see the lawyers. ‘I’ll be about half an hour. Is that all

right?’

‘Yes, of course. Be as long as you like.’

He was clearly angry: with good reason, she supposed.

That was a terrible thing she’d said; she felt quite sick, just

thinking about it. It was so unlike her, to be tactless; she was

usually so careful about everything she said. On the other

hand he was being — difficult. Ungracious. That was what

had prompted it. When she looked back he was sitting

staring at his glass like a sulky child; she sighed.

The lawyers were in one of the small side streets behind

the main square; next door to one of the innumerable

diamond shops. She glanced into the window of the shop;

there was a very pretty emerald and diamond pendant,

simple, almost deco in design. She liked it. She wondered if

she might buy it, treat herself. Jewellery was one of the few

things that was cheaper here. Then she remembered that

she was an about-to-be-divorced woman, and no longer

allowed such extravagance. She went up the small stairs into

the office of Myers and Greenidge, her father’s lawyers.

Nicholas Greenidge, a large, charming white Bajan,

greeted her with a kiss. He had known her since she was a

baby. ‘It’s really lovely to see you, Octavia. How you

doing?’

‘I’m doing just fine, Nicholas. Thank you.’ She hoped

she was, anyway. ‘How about yourself?’

‘Oh, you know. Pretty good, I would say. We’re very

busy, mat’s for sure.’ His accent was thick, the rolling

vowels hard to understand at first.

‘Good. I’m pleased for you. Dad sends his regards. Now,

you know why I’m here. To pick up the stuff from the

trustees in BVI. Have you got it?’

‘Yes, it’s all here. The deeds of the house, all the trust

fund details. If I was your dad, I’d want to be pretty damn

careful before I registered the house in Barbados. I wouldn’t

want the officials here having a claim on the money. The

transfer tax when he sells will be bad enough. He’ll have to

pay that. But tell him I said to strip all the money out of that

trust fund.’

‘You think he should?’

‘I do. There’s a lot there at the moment, you know.’

‘Really? I suppose with the stock market doing so

well…’

‘Nothing to do with the stock market, Octavia. It’s the

extra funds which have been put in that he wants to watch.’

‘Extra funds?’

‘Yup. Quite a bit. Paid in over the past two months or

so.’

‘Really?’ she said. She was touched. It was so like her

father, that: to pay money quietly into the trust fund, of

which she was a beneficiary. He obviously knew she

wouldn’t take money from him directly, and this was his

way of keeping her safe.

‘Yup. About twenty thousand dollars paid in.’

‘Twenty thousand! Goodness.’

It was the divorce of course, his fears for her over that.

He clearly saw her living on the street without his help.

‘So you don’t want to lose it. Anyway, Octavia, you take

all this back with you, talk to him about it. I don’t think this

legislation is going to happen yet awhile. But best to be

ahead of the game. That is my advice to you.’

‘Yes, of course. And we should follow it. It’s always

good, your advice, Nicholas.’

‘Glad you think so.’ He grinned at her. ‘He keeping well,

your dad?’

‘Very well. Thank you.’

‘And how’s Mr Fleming? And the children? You got

them with you?’

‘No. No, I haven’t. Unfortunately,’ said Octavia.

‘They’re in Italy and I miss them.’ She realised, with a

sudden pang, just how much.

‘I bet you do. He’s a very good man, Mr Fleming. I

always did like him a lot.’

‘I didn’t mean—’ said Octavia, and stopped. It was far

too complicated to explain.

‘You send him my best regards, too.’

‘Yes, I will. And Mary, is she all right?’

‘She’s very all right. We’ve got another little varmint on

the way.’

‘How lovely! Congratulations. Well — lovely to see you,

Nicholas.’

‘And you too, Octavia.’

She went to find Gabriel, hoping he was in a better

temper.

If Felix Miller had been present at that interview, he would

have been more than a little troubled by it. God, on the

other hand, of course, would not…

Hugh Shepherd leaned back in the rather luxurious leather

chair that was one of the perks of his job with the Planning

Inspectorate and called Michael Carlton on his direct line.

He smiled out of the window as he waited for a reply; it

was very good to be able to impart welcome news. And this

was welcome news: with a lot of noughts attached to it.

‘It was so wise of you not to take this to a full public

inquiry, Mike,’ he said. ‘Always a temptation, but it wastes

so much time. Anyway, a little bird told me this morning

that the news is very positive. Very positive indeed. Can’t

say more than that, of course, but — well, of course it should

never have been turned down by the LPA in the first place.’

‘Really? I’m delighted.’

‘Yes. I mean, John Whitlam’s report was pretty watertight.

And genuine, nothing remotely dodgy about it.

Straight as a die, our John. Can be tiresome in his own way,

but a useful name to have at the bottom of a report.’

‘Marvellous.’

‘Sure. Now there’s just one thing. I had a call from the

DOE this morning. Some fool of a woman is trying to get

the house listed. Now if she succeeds — which I’m pretty

sure she won’t—’

‘Jesus, Hugh. That would really put the kybosh on it. I

can’t build this place with the house standing there.’

‘No, of course not. But it won’t happen. That house was

built in the ‘twenties. God, Mike, you can hardly get

Georgian houses listed these days.’

‘I know that. But that house is rather extraordinary. The

DOE might think it worth saving.’

‘They won’t. Anyway, the man from the DOE is going

to have a look at it next week. Quickly, as a personal favour

to me. But I am confident they won’t list it. And that is

their last card. There’s nothing else they can do. They don’t

have a leg to stand on. So I reckon by — well, let’s say, by

next March, you can lay your foundation stone. And Bartles

Wood will be history.’

‘Good God,’ said Tom. He stared at Nico. ‘That is

appalling.’

‘Isn’t it? He’s clearly going to make a bid. Portia’s won’t

be the only shares he’s after. They’ve been creeping up in

value for days now. I didn’t think too much about it.’

‘And are you absolutely confident this consortium had

Miller behind it?’

‘Oh, yes. He’s not making any real effort to hide the fact.

The London Wall Bank is one of the biggest components of

the consortium’s backers. Portia’s advisers did a bit of

homework, being intrigued by the rather high offer.’

‘Which was?’

‘Two pounds eighty-five.’

‘God. He really wants them.’

‘Yup. It seems he’s ferreting around, seeing just how

many he can find.’

‘And how many has she got?’

‘Oh, five per cent. Helped with the tax at the time, of

course, and I was younger and less wise. Accountants always

advise giving shares to wives. My solicitor said I’d regret it if

things went wrong, but I didn’t listen to him. He was right.

Shrewd as well as shrewish, my ex-wife. As is now proven.

She’s very excited about it. Going to make a packet.’

‘Well, he’ll have to declare his intentions soon. On the

takeover, I mean. If he’s got any substantial holding

together. Stock Exchange regulations. But—’ He stopped.

‘Yes?’

‘Oh — I was going to ask a really crass question. Of course

we know why he wants the company.’

‘Marianne?’

‘Well - yes. But rather more, I’d say because you’ve

helped me.’

‘What? Oh, now, Tom, that can’t be right. Is he really

that - tortured?’

‘I’m afraid,’ said Tom, ‘Felix Miller can be a lot more

tortured than that.’

‘You look very nice,’ said Octavia.

‘Well, that’s all right, then. Nothing else matters, does it?’

‘Gabriel, please! Please try to enjoy this.’

They were driving to the lunch party with the Richardsons;

to their plantation house in the heart of the island.

Gabriel felt wretched. He had got burned on the boat the

day before, despite thick haze, wearing a T-shirt in the

water and Octavia’s factor 10 suncream. He had also drunk

too much beer, in an attempt to improve his mood — very

black after the shopping trip — and had spent the afternoon

asleep on deck, waking to another filthy headache.

The trip itself had been fun; the catamaran she had

chartered had seemed to fly through the intensely blue

water and he and Octavia had lain on the nets between the

two prows and managed to become friends again. The

snorkelling had been spectacular. She had produced an

underwater camera and he had taken endless pictures of the

electric-blue and yellow striped and spotted fish; and he had

enjoyed swimming with the turtles, sweet, gentle creatures

who took little fish from his hand. But it was hot: very hot,

and there was a new heavy humidity in the air that added to

his misery.

He had arrived home feeling terrible, had hoped she

might say there was no need to go and meet Fergus and the

blonde; but all she did was hurtle into a shower as soon as

they got back and call to him from it to hurry and use one

of the others.

He had pulled on the grey flannels — more scratchy by

the day over his sore legs — and then the Ralph Lauren shirt.

‘You look really nice in that,’ she said.

‘Don’t sound so surprised.’

‘I’m not. I just thought you’d like to know.’

‘Not specially,’ he said, tying up the laces of his old

plimsolls.

‘Gabriel, are you going to wear those?’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes, I am.’

He had half hoped she’d say he couldn’t, just so that he

could refuse to go; but she hesitated, and then said, ‘Come

on, then, let’s go.’

It had been a long, lurchy drive in the car; Cobblers

Cove, pink and excessive, offered him no comfort. Fergus

and the blonde were waiting on the terrace by the sea; a lot

of kissing went on.

‘Having a good time?’ Fergus had said to him.

‘Yes, great, thanks,’ he had said, ‘but could we sit under