Almost a Crime (23 page)

while about the old days, when the girls had been together

at Rookston Manor for long, golden weeks in the summer

holidays, running wild.

‘Oh, dear, what lovely memories, how lucky I am,’ said

Anna. ‘Louise, darling, would you go and find some of the

photo albums? I’d so love to look at them all with Octavia.’

‘Well - yes, if you like,’ said Louise, looking at her

doubtfully, ‘but aren’t you tired?’

‘No, angel, I’m not tired, it’s given me a new lease of

life, seeing Octavia. Now I want all of them, the early ones.

They’re up in the old playroom — see what you can find

anyway.’

Louise left the room, smiling at them both as she went.

‘No secrets now,’ she said, ‘without me.’

‘Of course not.’

Anna looked at Octavia as the door closed behind her,

and smiled, sweetly, but slightly warily. ‘It’s about our secret

- that I wanted to talk to you,’ she said.

‘Of course she can’t go. It’s ridiculous. Mum, you can’t let

her.’

Zoe’ was horribly upset; Romilly could understand it.

Her main thought, after she had finally come down from

her high, wild excitement, had been how upset and jealous

Zoe would be. Just the same, it was so wonderful to be the

one, just for once, who was the star.

She still couldn’t quite believe it. Couldn’t believe

hearing that girl’s voice saying no, look, that’s the whole

point, we don’t want your sister, we want you, she’s great

of course, but we think you’re the one with the right look.

It had taken her ages to pluck up the courage to tell Zoe’; she’d decided to wait till Saturday morning, as Zoe had

come in in a foul mood from her exam and from meeting a

friend — presumably - and then had been getting ready for

about two hours. She’d wanted to talk to her mother, but

Marianne had also been distracted — was going to some charity dinner with Felix - so she’d waited till they were all out and then phoned Fenella who’d said oh my God

Romilly at least ten times.

In the morning she had told her mother; Marianne had

been pleased for her, but said she really didn’t think she

could go, she was much too young, and what about school.

Romilly had burst into tears of rage and disappointment,

and said what harm would it do, just to go along to the

semi-final, she probably wouldn’t even make the photo and

make-over session, which was for the last six, she was really

totally unlikely to win, and even if she did, it didn’t mean

the end of her education as her mother seemed to think, she

could do a bit of modelling in the holidays or something.

‘Please, Mummy. You can’t not let me at least try, you’re

always going on about how you wasted opportunities.’

That seemed to swing Marianne round, and she said all

right, just the semi-final. ‘And now you must tell Zoe,’ she

said.

Zoe had taken it badly; so badly that Marianne finally

told her she was ashamed of her.

Zoe had left the room and slammed the door; but half an

hour later (as Romilly had half expected she would, she was

nothing if not generous) she came down again and said she

was sorry, it was cool, she was pleased for Romilly, but she

still didn’t think Marianne ought to let her do it.

‘I mean it, Mum, it’s such a terrible, evil world, that. All

those girls sleep with the photographers and do drugs and

smoke and go anorexic and—’

Her anxiety was undoubtedly genuine; Marianne looked

at her. It was typical of Zoe; underneath the bluster and the

moods and the strop, she was kind, caring, and generous.

‘Zoe, I really appreciate your concern for Romilly, and I can see it’s genuine. But I think it would be fun for her, even if it gets no further than this session next Wednesday.

I’m not a complete innocent, Zoe, and I shall be with

Romilly if and when she meets the people from the agency.

And I have no intention of her being exposed to any of the

horrors you’ve mentioned—’

‘Okay, okay,’ said Zoe. ‘Just don’t say I didn’t warn you,

when she comes home weighing five stone with a heroin

habit. I’m going to do some work.’

They looked after her as she left the room.

‘Thanks, Mummy,’ said Romilly, giving her a hug.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Anna, ‘but she saw your note to me

when she was helping me sort some things out, a few weeks

ago. It just fell out of my bedside table drawer. And she

wanted to know what it was you were thanking me for. I

said I didn’t want to tell her, but she got very upset and said

it wasn’t fair to have secrets from her, you were her friend,

and if I wouldn’t tell her, she’d ask you. Well, I thought

that would be worse, darling, so I told her.’

‘Oh,’ said Octavia. ‘And what did she say?’

‘She hardly took any notice. She just said how sensible of

you, that I’d given you absolutely the right advice, and how

lovely it had all turned out right for you in the end. She

might have been a bit upset that you hadn’t talked to her,

but—’

‘But you explained why I couldn’t? Why I felt I

couldn’t?’

‘Yes, of course. And she said how sweet and how typical

of you, and I honestly don’t think she thought any more

about it.’

‘I wonder why she never said anything to me about it,’

said Octavia.

‘Well, darling, she’s very sensitive about such things.

About people’s feelings. Too sensitive, I often think.’

‘Yes, I know. I might speak to her about it. Now I

know, it feels as if it’s sort of there between us.’

‘I hope it isn’t going to cause any trouble between you,’

said Anna, her drawn face anxious, ‘I’d feel so bad. But I didn’t want to lie to her.’

‘What’s done’s done,’ said Octavia, leaning over her,

giving her a kiss. ‘And I’m sure it doesn’t matter.’

‘I hope so. I feel better for telling you anyway. I wish I

had before. Now look, I’m awfully tired suddenly. I might

like a little sleep. Come again, darling, won’t you?’

‘Yes, of course I will.’

‘I haven’t got awfully long,’ said Anna suddenly, ‘I know

that. They don’t know that I know, but I’m not stupid.

They’d have started the chemotherapy by now if there’d

been any point.’

‘Oh, Anna,’ said Octavia, tears welling up unbidden.

‘Anna—’

‘No,’ said Anna, quite fiercely, ‘no, Octavia, you are not

to cry. If I can be brave, then so can all of you. Listen,

there’s Louise coming back now. Louise darling, I was just

saying I’m rather tired suddenly. I’d love to look at those,

but another time. Now take Octavia off for a chat. I’m sure

you must be dying for some time on your own. Your

father’s arriving any minute, so I’ll be fine for the rest of the

day, I really will.’

Downstairs, Octavia looked at Louise.

‘If she doesn’t need you for a bit, would you like to come

for a drive for an hour or two? I’ve promised to look at

something, and I’d love to have you with me.’

‘So where are we going?’ said Louise, settling into

Octavia’s BMW with a smile of pleasure as they struck the

main road. She had left Dickon with Janet, Anna Madison’s

night and daily as she called her.

‘Place called Bartles Wood. Just south of Bath. Have you

read anything about it?’

‘No. Should I have?’

it’s been in the papers quite a bit.’ Octavia looked at

Louise and grinned. ‘I forgot you never read them. It’s

another Newbury bypass. I presume you read about that?’

‘Yes. Well, saw it on the news. Why are you so

interested in it?’

‘Because I care about England,’ said Octavia briefly, I

care it’s being deluged with concrete. Losing its woods and

lanes and meadows. Just for the greater convenience of the

motor car.’

‘I hadn’t noticed you travelling about on a bike very

often,’ said Louise mildly.

Octavia grinned at her. ‘I know. But if push came to

shove, I would drive less.’

‘And not get to your cottage at the weekends?’

‘We could come by train.’

‘With the children and the luggage and the nanny and

the food and—’

‘Yes, all right,’ said Octavia irritably.

‘Sorry.’ Louise looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You’re very

thin, Octavia.’

‘You’d be thin, if your husband was playing around, you

didn’t know who with, who knew about it—’

‘Yes, I’m sorry. Of course. Have you told him yet?’

‘Louise, I can’t. Something keeps stopping me. While he

doesn’t know I know, I feel safe, in some perverse way.

Does that sound crazy?’

‘No, not really. I think I can understand that. Has he ever

done it before, do you think?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Octavia slowly. ‘God, that is the

worst thing. I feel I don’t know anything about him any

more. I can’t believe anything he says — it’s horrible.’

‘Octavia, is he still…’ Her voice trailed away. ‘Well, are

you …’

‘If you mean is he sleeping with me, yes, he is.’ She

could hear her own voice angry and raw.

‘Sony,’ said Louise, gently, ‘it seemed a bit — well,

relevant. I’m really sorry, Boot. It’s nothing to do with me.’

‘No, you’re right, I suppose. It is relevant. And I don’t

quite know how I can. I’ve only done it once. Since I

knew. I found it rather — can you believe this, Lulu — rather

exciting. Almost as if it was me having the affair. Does that

sound crazy? God, I really think I am going mad. I find myself going down these false trails, suspecting the most

ridiculous people.’

‘Like?’

‘Well, like Lauren Bartlett, a friend — well, associate - of

ours. Like some woman at Ascot in a pink hat. I can’t look

at anyone, actually, any more without thinking it might be Her. It’s horrible, I feel like I’m walking through a minefield. All the time.’

Louise was silent; then she said, very gently, ‘Octavia,

I’m so so sorry. I do feel so sad for you. I wish there was

something I could do.’

‘There is. Just keep listening to me. That’s all I ask.’

It was almost seven when Louise and Octavia reached

Battles Wood; a golden, gleaming evening.

It was quite a small wood, sunk into one of the small

valleys between Bath and Frome, and from the top of the

hill its shape, rather like a comma, was clearly defined.

Bartles House itself was hidden from the road by another

small sward of trees, but the grounds below it were

grassland, and nothing remarkable until they met the wood.

Octavia could see why Carlton would wish to build there;

it was spectacularly beautiful countryside, the hills forming a

natural fortress for the whole area, a river running through

the valley, cutting through the edge of the wood, the

sloping meadows studded with trees. Horses grazed in those

meadows, and sheep and rather grownup-looking lambs,

and in the dark golden sunlight, small, still, black splodges

that were rabbits cropped at the grass.

They drove down the hill, winding into the lengthening

shadows, over a stone bridge, began to climb again the

other side.

‘We can walk down there, look, through that field,

follow the river to the wood,’ said Octavia, pointing.

They parked near a gate; it had a crude notice nailed to

it, covered in polythene, which said, ‘Save Bartles Wood’.

‘There was one of those by the bridge as well,’ said

Louise. ‘Did you see it?’

‘No, I didn’t. Oh, dear, they’ll have to do better than

that.’

They climbed over the gate. Some cows looked at them

curiously, found them uninteresting, returned to their

supper. Everything was lush, the grass tall by the river, the

cow parsley almost waist high. There was a path, one person wide,

leading along the riverbank, hung over with

willows; flies danced in clouds above the water, two

dragonflies in a sudden glitter of blue, and ‘Look!’ said

Louise suddenly. ‘Look, a kingfisher.’

They reached a stile that actually led into the wood; they

climbed over it, stopped after a few hundred yards and

looked back. The river, little more than a wide deep stream,

curved behind them, the long shafting sunlight slowly

losing brilliance. A fish surfaced, then another, breaking the

calm of the water, and two ducks made a rather stately

progress from the bank, followed by an unruly gaggle of

ducklings.

‘And they’re going to do what here?’ said Louise, her

voice quiet in the stillness.

‘Build executive homes and a shopping mall,’ said

Octavia briefly. ‘Oh, and a community centre.’

‘They can’t. How can that be allowed?’

‘It’s called progress,’ said Octavia.

‘And you know the man who’s going to do it?’

‘I know the man who wants to do it. He’s a client of

Tom’s. And I’ve got involved with him professionally too.

As a sponsor. And Foothold, one of my charities, has a

branch down here. They’re fighting it, have asked me to

help with publicity and so on.’

‘Difficult.’

There was a long silence. Then Octavia said, ‘No,

Louise, do you know, suddenly not difficult at all.’

‘Darling? You there? I’m home.’