Almost a Crime (37 page)

the funeral, Octavia. At twelve. In the village church.’

‘Fine,’ said Octavia. ‘I’ll be there.’

There was a silence, then Louise said, ‘I know this must

sound odd, but — well, could you ask Tom to come too?

Mummy was very fond of him, and I do so want everyone

to be there for her. And Daddy likes Tom, said he hoped

he’d come with you. So —just for me. For all of us. If you

could bear it.’

‘I could bear it,’ said Octavia, while thinking it was very

odd, when Tom and Louise had so spiky a relationship. ‘Of

course I could. For you. Yes, I’ll ask him.’ The idea

horrified her; she wasn’t sure why.

‘Thank you. Thank you very much. And, Octavia: when

you come to the funeral, don’t say anything about the baby

to Sandy, will you? He’s a bit funny about it, very unsure

that it’s a good idea. He’ll come round, but at the moment

it’s best left. I’ve told Daddy to keep quiet, too.’

‘I won’t,’ said Octavia.

Tom came back soon after ten, looking exhausted.

Octavia was reading. ‘Tom,’ she said, ‘a couple of things.’

He sat down, started loosening his tie. ‘Not a heavy

number, Octavia, please. I’m exhausted. I’ve spent the

evening trying to work out how to save Fleming Cotterill.

You just might like to know that. What your little

principled stand has done for us.’

‘Really? Well I’m sure you will. Save it, I mean.’

‘I envy you your confidence. Which is, of course, based

on a serious lack of knowledge. Octavia—’

‘Tom, please. Not now.’

He sighed. ‘All right.’

‘Look, Anna Madison’s funeral is on Wednesday. God

knows why, but Louise is very keen that you should go.’

There was a fraction of silence, then he said, ‘I can’t. I’ve

got meetings all day.’

‘Well, of course you must go to them,’ she said, anger

swiping through her. ‘The funeral of an old friend is neither

here nor there, is it, compared to a meeting?’

‘Octavia, Anna wasn’t my friend. You know that.’

‘She was very fond of you. She was saying how much she

liked you when I last saw her. And how much Louise liked

you. Which did surprise me, considering you’re scarcely

even polite to her, most of the time.’

‘Yes, well. She’s your friend — they all are.’

She felt angry suddenly, freshly, fiercely angry. ‘Tom, I

really do think you should consider coming. These are

people grieving horribly. Louise has only just recovered

from the death of her baby, and, Tom, she’s pregnant. She

asked me to tell you, God knows why, seemed to want you

to know, but anyway, I think it’s very brave of her. She’s

obviously feeling appalling. So I really do think—’

‘Pregnant?’ he said, and his voice sounded odd, strained.

‘Louise is pregnant? Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure. She told me, her father told me,

she’s being sick every five minutes. Why shouldn’t I be

sure?’

‘Sorry,’ he said, and his voice sounded rather quiet,

almost shaky. Upset, then. Good. ‘Of course you must be

right. I was surprised, that’s all.’ There was a silence, then

he said, ‘Maybe you’re right. I will try and come. I’m — I’m

going to bed now. Good night.’

‘Good night, Tom,’ she said.

His footsteps as he walked across the room were heavy

and very slow; as he reached the door, he turned and

looked at her and his face was extraordinarily drawn and

seemed to have new, deep lines etched into it.

A thud of fresh fear went through her. Maybe Fleming

Cotterill really were in trouble. Guilt, briefly, joined the

fear; she crushed it. If losing one client could ruin them,

then they could hardly have been on a very sound basis in

the first place. She would not and could not be blamed for

any of it. It wasn’t fair.

Tom went into Aubrey’s office.

‘We have an angel, or a possible one. Name of Terence

Foster. Funny sort of name for an angel, but there you go.

Meeting on Thursday morning, eight thirty. That okay

with you? I took a flyer, said yes.’

‘Fine,’ said Aubrey. ‘Absolutely fine. Well, let’s hope we like each other.’

‘We’ll need to,’ said Tom heavily. ‘He’ll want a third

share in the company.’

‘A third! That’s tough.’

‘We might be able to talk him down. Anyway, not much

we can do about it, but at least we’ll be out of our misery by

then. One way or another. Right, I must get off to the

Savoy. Got a lunch with Cadogan.’

‘That’s working out well, isn’t it?’

‘Seems to be,’ said Tom. ‘Cheers, Aubrey.’

It amazed him how cheerful and normal he managed to

appear. Given everything he was having to cope with.

‘Louise, it’s Octavia. How are you?’

‘Oh, not too bad. A bit tired.’

‘You must be. Poor you, all that sickness misery as well.

You’re very brave. Anyway, just to let you know that Tom

will be coming on Wednesday.’

‘Oh, Boot, I’m so pleased. I know it will be harder for

you, but I do appreciate it. Please tell him.’

She’ll be sending him her love in a minute, thought

Octavia, half irritable, half amused. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘Any — developments on that one?’ Louise’s voice was

cautious, careful. ‘I didn’t ask before. Sorry.’

‘Well - a few. We’ve had it out. Had the conversation.’

‘And?’

‘I can’t talk now. I’m at work. But it’s over. I want out.

Or rather, I want him out.’

‘When - when was this conversation?’

‘Louise, what does that matter? Wednesday, I think. Yes,

the Wednesday before I came down to you.’

‘And he’s agreed?’

‘He won’t have any choice.’

‘You’ve made it really plain?’

‘Yes, of course I have. What is this?’

‘Oh, nothing. I thought you weren’t sure. About

divorce.’

‘Oh, I’m sure now. Very sure indeed.’

There was a silence, then, ‘Good for you. I do admire

you, Boot. Being so strong.’

‘Well, I’ve hardly started yet. The worst thing will be

telling Daddy. It will be horrendous. I absolutely dread it.

The longer I can postpone it, the better. He’ll crucify

Tom.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh, yes. Really. Even feeling how I do about Tom, I

fear for him. And I fear for the company as well. Daddy will

set out to destroy him in every way he can, and that won’t

do me any good. I have to present it all quite carefully.

Work out a way of telling him.’

‘He wouldn’t like to come on Wednesday, would he?’

said Louise. She sounded wistful. ‘I like your dad. Daddy

does, too, and I remember Mummy saying how attractive

he was.’

‘Really? Are you sure you want him? He’s hardly a close

friend.’

‘Yes,’ said Louise slowly, ‘quite sure. Will you ask him

for me, Boot?’

‘Of course,’ said Octavia.

‘And if he wants to bring Marianne, then that would be

lovely too. She wrote me the sweetest note when Juliet

died.’

Octavia felt rather bemused. Louise seemed to be treating

her mother’s funeral like a cocktail party.

‘Romilly,’ said Clementine Wilson, head of the music

department at Queen Anne’s, ‘Romilly, I really cannot

believe you’ve practised this piece at all since last Thursday.’

Romilly felt like bursting into tears. Her head ached, the

period that her spot had heralded had still not arrived, she

felt bloated and almost fat, and she was in a state of huge

agitation about her father’s arrival the following day and the

effect of it upon her modelling future. Her mother had

warned her he was very opposed to the whole thing.

‘Well?’ said Clementine Wilson.

‘I haven’t practised very much. No.’

‘Well, Romilly, I can only say I am tempted to withdraw

you from the concert and ask Primrose to play instead. Very

tempted.’

Had her father not been coming over especially for the

concert and his approval so crucial, Romilly would have

said that was fine; under the circumstances she burst into

tears.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘very sorry, Miss Wilson. I haven’t

been very well.’

‘Well, we’ll do the full rehearsal this afternoon and then I

shall make my decision in the morning, after I have heard

you again.’

Romilly went down to school lunch, found Fenella.

‘Hi, Rom. You look cheerful.’

‘I feel cheerful.’

‘I thought your life was, like, utterly wonderful.’

‘It was. For five minutes. Now my mother is dead set

against me doing anything that is remotely worthwhile, and

Miss Wilson is threatening to replace me in the concert

tomorrow. And my dad is coming over from New York

especially to hear me. And he’s against the modelling too.

Fen, does my .stomach stick out?’

Fenella studied it. ‘Well, maybe compared to a board.

Just a bit. Today. I didn’t notice it on Saturday.’

‘Oh, God,’ said Romilly. ‘It’s my period, it’s late, I’ll just

get fatter and fatter till it arrives. And I may have to go back

to the agency on Wednesday. And then this spot. They’ll

cancel the contract. Fen, what’ll I do?’

‘Nothing,’ said Fenella soothingly. ‘You’re often late, it’ll

come. Go for a run tonight. That sometimes helps.’

‘Yes, I will. And I won’t eat anything till it does,’ said

Romilly.

‘Rom, don’t be silly. You have to eat. They’ll all start

thinking you’re anorexic if you’re not careful and then

they’ll never let you do it.’

‘No, you’re right. Well, I won’t have any lunch at least.

That should help a bit. And - hey, I know what I can do. I could take some kind of laxative, couldn’t I? That’d help. I remember Zoe doing that once, when she was going to a

party, said it would make her stomach go flat.’

‘Romilly, I really don’t think this is a good idea,’ said

Fenella nervously. ‘You’ll make yourself ill, and compared

to most of us your stomach is concave.’

‘No, it isn’t. And it’s only till after Wednesday. I think

it’s a really good idea. I’ll get something in Boots on my

way home.’

Fenella looked at her friend anxiously; this was exactly

what everyone said happened to models. Only it was

happening to Romilly with horrible speed. She sighed. ‘At

least eat something. An apple, or—’

‘Yes, all right,’ said Romilly, reaching for the smallest

apple in the bowl. ‘But I don’t want any more fussing, Fen.

You’re supposed to be my friend.’

‘I know,’ said Fenella with a sigh.

In New York, one of Alec Muirhead’s major clients had

just phoned him to say that he wanted to press ahead with a

deal he had not expected to go through for at least another

two months. This would clearly necessitate several days of

intense activity, and probably a flight down to Texas where

his head office was. He was a very major client indeed; his

fee alone covered a third of Muirhead Templeman’s

overheads for the year. Alec Muirhead looked at the week

ahead and saw that however much disappointment it might

cause, there was no way he could take four days out and fly

to London. After the briefest hesitation, he lifted the phone

to tell Marianne to break the news to Romilly.

The packet of laxatives said to take one or two tablets on

retiring; Romilly, her stomach more bloated still, after

having a large bowl of spaghetti bolognese practically forced

into her by Marianne, took four. She woke at five with

appalling cramps and spent the next hour in the lavatory;

but as she showered and dressed, having gone through her

solo once more, feeling rather shaky, she noticed with great

satisfaction that her stomach had become almost concave once more.

‘Romilly darling, I want to talk to you about something.

And do eat something, you look very pale.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Romilly, just a bit nervous.’

‘Well, at least drink some nice sweet tea. Look, this is

very bad news for you, I know, but—’

‘They don’t want me,’ said Romilly. Her eyes filled with

tears. All that agony for nothing.

“What? Who don’t want you?’

‘The Americans.’

‘Darling, it has nothing to do with the Americans. It’s

about today. The concert. Daddy’s desperately sorry, but he

has some huge deal going through and can’t come over

today. He sends lots of love and—’

‘Oh,’ said Romilly. ‘That’s okay. It’s only a crummy

school concert.’

‘Darling, that’s not what you said when you were told

you could play your solo. Anyway, it’s very sweet and

grown up of you to be so brave about it. Now, go and get

your things and I’ll drive you in. Stars shouldn’t have to

travel on the Tube.’

When Romilly got to school, she played her solo to Miss

Wilson, who said she had certainly improved considerably

and that she could play in the concert as arranged. Right in

the middle of telling Fenella this, and that her father was

unable to come to the concert, or indeed come to London

at all, Romilly felt a familiar dull ache in her stomach and

back; her recalcitrant period had finally arrived. Glancing at

her face in the cloakroom mirror, she noticed that the spot