Almost a Crime (100 page)

officials with large mobile phones hurrying about, and a few

drivers in racing overalls. A couple of them were in thirties

style kit, with leather helmets and goggles. She supposed

they must be guests at the luncheon. She hoped she’d get to

meet Kit Curtis, the racing driver. She’d seen a picture of

him and he was seriously cool.

Minty wailed harder; Zoe sighed, tried to interest her in

her drink. Minty threw it on the ground. This was going to

be a long day …

Louise drove past the entrance to the course soon after

eleven. It was much too early; there was hardly anyone

there. She drove on for a couple of miles, stopped the car in

a layby and tried to read the paper for half an hour. It was all about Diana and the funeral; she couldn’t concentrate.

At twelve she turned the car round and went back; there

was a tailback in both directions, waiting to get in. That was

much better. Her heart was thudding so hard she could

hardly breathe; she turned on the radio to Classic FM to try

and calm herself down, but it was some dreadful programme

about other people’s romances and simply got on

her nerves. The car beside her in the queue held a large

family, with a baby of about Minty’s age: they all looked at

her and smiled. How dreadful if she had mistimed it; no

hiding place here. But, once in the car park, she felt safer:

wonderful, hundreds and hundreds of cars. That meant

thousands of people.

She parked carefully and sat there for a bit, fiddling with

her wig, painting on a bright fuchsia lipstick, a colour she’d

never wear. It was those sort of details that helped.

She took a deep breath and pulled the key out of the

ignition. Now that the moment had actually arrived, she

felt very sick, tempted just to leave again, go home. So

strong was the temptation, indeed, that she actually

reinserted the key; then caught sight of herself in the

mirror, so unfamiliar she wouldn’t have known herself, and

pulled it out again. She hadn’t come all this way for

nothing.

She got out, locked the car. She must make very careful

note of where it was parked; she couldn’t afford to waste

time on that later. At the end of the row was a large

Bentley; that would serve very nicely as a marker. She had

also - an old trick of her father’s at Badminton - tied a red

ribbon on the top of her aerial. You could see that from

quite a long way away.

Then, picking up her bag, she started to walk quite

slowly - but not too slowly — towards the gate. In no time

at all, she was part of the crowd.

Felix swam rhythmically up and down the rather small pool

at the health club. He liked swimming; most people said it

was boring, but he had always found it a rather good way of

problem solving. The way it left the brain almost but not quite free meant that it could survey and explore situations

in a slightly detached way: often more effective than an

intense brainstorm. And the setting up of a direct banking

service, initially a face-saving operation which had become

a rather intriguing reality, was presenting him with several

problems to solve. He swam for about twenty minutes, then

got out; his arm was certainly easier, and he’d cracked at

least two of the problems, but the indigestion was still with

him. Worse, if anything. A light lunch, then, and maybe a

rest before going to the meeting…

Louise went up to one of the officials at the edge of the car

park. ‘I’m looking for some friends,’ she said. ‘They’re at

some function, a charity lunch.’

‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘in there, in the John Foulston

building. Top floor. Just go on up.’

‘Thank you.’

She looked at the building thoughtfully. It looked rather

formal; she’d imagined a marquee, something like that,

possibly just a roped-off area, on the edge of the course, that

they’d spend much of the day just wandering about. She

hadn’t anticipate having to get in and out of a building.

Stupid of her,” really. Still, surely, surely they’d come out at

some point: to go and look at the cars, watch the racing.

And then — well, then she could follow them. And play it

by ear.

Suddenly she felt a rush of panic. Two people she knew,

two friends from Gloucestershire, she’d actually been to a

drinks party in their house for heaven’s sake, were coming

towards her. Now what did she do? Useless to run, that

really would attract attention to herself. She took a deep

breath, stood still, studying her programme. They drew

nearer, were talking.

‘Hallo,’ the man called suddenly. ‘How are you?’

She lifted her head, forced a smile. So much for her

wonderful disguise. Then she realised they had walked past her, were waving at someone behind her. She began to feel very much more confident.

‘Octavia, you look great.’ It was Melanie.

‘So do you,’ said Octavia, laughing. Perverse to the last,

Melanie was dressed as a man, in tweed suit, with a

deerstalker cap on her head. ‘Absolutely wonderful.’

‘Thanks. Everything going all right?’

‘I think so. But Lauren has insisted on starting on the

champagne half an hour early.’

‘Fine. If it runs out, that’s her problem.’

‘I told her that. She didn’t seem to care.’

‘There’s big business going on down at the unit. Lots of

people milling round in there. Several people signing up to

become Friends. We must tell Lauren to mention that in

her speech.’

‘You can do that,’ said Octavia. ‘I don’t want to speak to

her any more than I have to.’

‘Christ,’ said Tom. ‘Christ, where is the bloody child?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Gideon.

‘Well, surely you must have — oh, God. This is all I need.

Jesus. Stay there, Gideon, just stay there. Don’t move or I’ll

kill you.’

‘Okay, Dad,’ said Gideon equably.

He’d been there just a minute ago, holding his hand so

tightly. He seemed very nervous altogether, poor little sod.

Which was hardly surprising.

Now he’d disappeared.

Tom stood at the top of the slope just above the entrance

to the paddock, where all the shops were, trying to spot

Dickon in the crowd. Trouble was he was so small. He

couldn’t see him anywhere.

He walked back down to Gideon, said, ‘No sign.’ He

tried to keep calm. It was difficult.

‘We could try the Sega place. He wanted to go in there.’

‘Really? You stay here, Gideon, in case he reappears.’

He went into the Sega World shop; it was a mass of small

boys. None as small as Dickon though. Tom pushed through them, went outside again.

An official stood at the entrance.

‘Lost a kiddie?’

‘Yes. Yes, I have.’

‘What you do is go to the BBC tower, tell them his

name and so on, ask them to put out an announcement.

Don’t worry, sir, happens all the time. He’ll turn up, don’t

you worry.’

Tom felt sick. He’d lost a child already, rather publicly if

it had to be announced, and it wasn’t even lunchtime. And

suppose they couldn’t find him, suppose he’d been

abducted? You heard about things like that happening in

these places. All the time.

‘Dad! Dad, he’s here!’

‘What?’ He rushed over to him, grabbed him, shook him

not very gently. ‘Dickon, where the hell have you been?’

‘Sorry,’ said Dickon. ‘I’m very sorry.’ His large brown

eyes, full of tears, met Tom’s.

‘Oh — it’s all right. I was worried, though. Where were

you?’

‘He was in the model shop. Just coming out. I stopped

him,’ said Gideon self-righteously.

‘Good, well, we’d better get back to the suite for lunch,’

said Tom. His breathing and his heart had steadied. Terrible

how quickly you panicked in these situations. Abduction!

Absurd!

‘Isn’t it fun?’ said Lauren happily. She was very excited, her

blue eyes brilliant in her tanned face. She looked stunning.

He should have gone to Tuscany with them all, thought

Tom gloomily. In the event, there had been no point

staying loyally at home.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes, great fun.’

‘We’ve done awfully well. Sold absolutely masses of raffle

tickets.’

‘Good.’

‘Bit of a shame, Anthea Turner can’t come apparently.

She’s ill. So Kit Curtis is going to draw the raffle.’

‘I’m sure he’s nearly as pretty as Anthea,’ he said and

smiled at her.

‘Maybe you should do it. You’re prettier than both of

them. Oh - Oliver. Nice to see you. Great costume. Sorry,

got waylaid into the Sega shop by my children.’

‘I’ll join you all there after lunch,’ said Oliver Nichols,

grinning. ‘You going to have one of those hot rides, Tom?’

‘Don’t know. They look pretty tempting. Are you?’

‘Of course you must,’ said Lauren. ‘I’m going to.’

‘Octavia! Hallo, my dear. I’m sorry I’m late.’ It was Nico

Cadogan; he bent to give her a kiss, then raised his glass of

champagne to her. ‘God, you look marvellous.’

Octavia smiled at him. He was exactly what she needed

just at that moment. He was rather like a glass of champagne

himself; spirit lifting, morale boosting.

‘You’re not late,’ she said, ‘and it’s lovely to see you. I’m

- I’m sorry about Marianne.’

‘Oh,’ he sighed. ‘Yes. Well, all part of life’s rich pattern, I

suppose.’

‘You must be pleased about — well, about how the

takeover turned out. Or rather didn’t turn out.’

‘I was. Something of a volte-face on your father’s part,

most unexpected, but — yes, very welcome. I don’t suppose

Tom talked to you about it at all?’ His voice was carefully

casual.

‘No, he didn’t. Why?’

‘Oh, I just thought he might have done. No matter.’ He

smiled at her, helped himself to a couple of canapes. ‘Where

is the dear boy?’

‘Over there, talking to Lauren Bartlett.’

‘Ah, yes. I seem to remember her from somewhere. Oh,

yes, Ascot. Very pretty but lays it on with a trowel rather, as

I recall.’

Octavia smiled at him again. He really was better than

champagne. Marianne must be a little mad to have dumped

him. Adore her father as she did, she would have thought Nico was actually a much more suitable companion for

Marianne.

They sat down to lunch. Tom had had two glasses of

champagne rather fast and realised he was already feeling

quite lightheaded. He also realised he was sitting next to

Lauren.

‘You’ve changed the table plan,’ he said.

‘Yes. I thought I’d like to sit next to you. Tell you about

the wonderful holiday you missed. And get you to look

over my speech. You are an expert on speeches, aren’t

you?’

‘Oh, absolutely,’ he said. She had that rich, raw-smelling

perfume on again; her cleavage was as deep and as

dangerous as usual. Tom allowed a waiter to pour him a

large glass of claret and decided to enjoy Lauren’s sexiness at

least for the duration of the lunch.

Louise had bought a hot dog and, encouraged by the

success of her disguise, was standing eating it outside the

John Foulston building. She had actually seen Tom

hurrying inside, holding Dickon’s hand. Dickon looked

rather anxious and upset; it worried her, she wanted to rush

over and hug him. But of course she couldn’t. He had even

glanced over in her direction; she had held her breath,

studied her programme again. But it was all right; he hadn’t

recognised her.

She wondered if Minty was inside. She supposed she

must be. She’d be having lunch with them. How on earth

was she going to get in there? Or out again. She couldn’t. It

was impossible. But — if Tom had brought Dickon and

Gideon out, then surely someone would do the same with

Minty. Don’t panic, Louise, stay calm. You’ll manage

something.

Then she saw Minty. Sitting in her buggy, crying loudly.

Being pushed. Not by the dreadful Caroline — how Octavia

could employ that woman Louise had never understood, so bossy and harsh, typical really - but by Zoe Muirhead.

What was Zoe doing here, looking after Minty, for

heaven’s sake?

An official had come down the steps, was helping Zoe” to

pull the buggy up them backwards. Louise could almost,

but not quite, hear what she was saying. She inched

forwards, munching on her hot dog, rummaging in her bag

so her face was down.

‘… not mine,’ came Zoe’s drawling, rather loud voice.

‘God, no. I’m just nanny for the day.’

Nanny for the day. Zoe Muirhead, whom Louise had

always got on rather well with. Well, that really was

interesting. Very interesting indeed.

She didn’t care. She did not care. Tom could climb into

Lauren Bartlett’s blouse and her trousers, he could run away

with her, he could marry her if he liked. Why not? She was

going to divorce him after all. Lauren was welcome to him.

Stupid bitch. Octavia saw her look over in her direction

suddenly, and then whisper something else in Tom’s ear; he

glanced over at her himself, and then they both laughed. It wasn’t exactly the way to behave, she thought, on such an occasion; why on earth had she wanted Tom to come? She