Almost a Crime (40 page)

reactions had seemed much more normal than — well, than

then. And when she had said she wanted to stay on her own

for a moment, after the burial, with her mother, she had

sounded quite calm. Not the hysterical, taut creature he was

so afraid of.

‘Please, Sandy,’ she had said, managing to smile at him, holding one of the white roses loosely in her hand, tears standing in her eyes, ‘I want to say goodbye. By myself.

Please. You go and look after Dickon. All right? Take the

car, I’ll walk across the field.’

‘All right,’ he had said, and indeed he did want to get

back to Dickon, he was worried about him, and then

Rosemary, Giles Madison’s wife, said she wouldn’t mind a

lift back, so he drove her, and then went to find Dickon.

Only Dickon was not to be found.

Worried, he ran upstairs and checked the little room that

was his in the house, then Anna’s room, even the loft room

where Charles had set up a railway layout for him. He asked

Janet, who said she’d last seen him in the garden, and then a

few other people, and then finally Derek said he’d gone off

with Octavia, down towards the stream.

That was all right, then; Dickon adored Octavia. He’d be

all right with her. Sandy liked Octavia; she was a bit tense,

not entirely comfortable to be with, but she was very

attractive and interesting to talk to. He admired her drive,

the success she had made of her life. And she had always

been such a good friend to Louise. Well, they were good to

each other — very loyal. Rather like an army friendship; you

went through hell together and nothing could break that

bond. Sandy had a brief chat with a few people, most of

them complete strangers, and then saw Octavia and Dickon

coming back across the lawn. Dickon was holding Octavia’s

hand, and waved at him happily.

‘Daddy, we’ve been playing pooh sticks!’

‘How very nice,’ said Sandy, smiling at him. ‘And did

you thank Octavia for looking after you?’

‘No. Thank you, Octavia.’ His hand stole into Sandy’s.

‘Where were you?’

‘Finding the car. Driving Auntie Rosemary back.’

‘Where’s Mummy?’

‘She’s just coming. Won’t be long.’

‘Is she all right?’

‘Yes. Yes, she’s fine.’

‘Sandy,’ said Octavia, in a low voice. ‘Sandy, I wonder if I could have a word?’

‘What? Yes, of course. Now?’

‘If possible, but—’ Her eyes gestured downwards

towards Dickon.

‘Oh — right. Dickon, old chap, like to go and find Janet?

She said she’d like some help putting things on plates.

Think you could do that?’

“Course I could. Come and tell me when Mummy gets

back?’

‘Yes, I will.’ He went off

Octavia looked up at Sandy. She was clearly embarrassed.

‘Sandy — oh, dear, this is awfully difficult. I know it’s

nothing to do with me, and you probably don’t want to talk

about it, but I’ve been talking to Dickon. He’s very — well,

worried. He was saying people in the family kept dying.

And that Louise had told him that his granny was better

now, and she was with Juliet. I didn’t want to say this to

Louise today of all days, because it’s such dangerous ground,

so I thought I could tell you.’

‘Yes …’ said Sandy awkwardly.

‘I know she thought it would comfort him, but it’s sort

of misfired. He sees everyone he loves dying, leaving him.

He really is terribly “upset. And terrified it’s going to happen

again. You know?’

‘Happen again? What do you mean, happen again?’

‘Well.’ She hesitated. ‘He said to me, if Louise had

another baby, would that one die too? And go to be with

Juliet. It was so awful. Seeing how frightened he was.’

‘Oh, dear,’ said Sandy, ‘poor little chap. Octavia, thank

you for telling me. I’ll have a chat with him. See if I can

reassure him. I think in time he should calm down about it.

It’s not as if there are going to be any more babies. Pity in a

way, but under the circumstances, for him—’ He stopped.

Octavia was looking at him rather oddly. ‘Anything

wrong?’

‘Well, Louise might change her mind. She might decide

she did want another baby.’

‘Er, yes,’ said Sandy. God, he could have done without

this conversation. ‘But it just isn’t going to happen. That’s

the thing.’

‘But, Sandy—’

‘Octavia, I really must be getting back to the guests.

Sorry.’

‘But I thought — well, I wondered …’

‘I know why you were worried, Octavia. The sickness

and so on. But honestly, it was just nerves. I do assure you,

there’s no possible chance Louise can have another baby.’

‘Why?’ said Octavia. Her voice was very low. ‘Why is

that, Sandy?’

‘Because after Juliet she made me have a vasectomy. She

said nothing else would make her feel safe.’

Octavia stood staring up at him; she was very pale, he

noticed, suddenly. Very pale and she looked almost — what?

Frightened.

‘She hadn’t told me that,’ was all she said.

‘What on earth are you doing in here?’

Marianne jumped; Felix was standing in the doorway,

glaring at her.

‘Sorry,’ she said, and then, struggling to sound lighthearted,

‘So sorry, Felix. I wasn’t going to touch anything. I

was just passing, and I looked in. Is that a crime?’

‘No, of course not. I was just - surprised.’ Surprised and

displeased. He hated anyone to go into this room without

him: into Octavia’s bedroom.

The first time, she had seen it, Marianne had been

touched, saddened even: a young girl’s bedroom, patently

waiting for its owner’s return. It was all white and yellow,

very pretty, with flounced curtains and a very prettily ornate brass bedstead, the bed made up with an elaborately embroidered white quilt and pillows, and a heap of lace

cushions, a row of teddies arranged carefully on them in

order of size.

There were fresh flowers on the windowsill, and the

chest of drawers, and the walls were covered with pictures:

a few Victorian watercolours, a lot of rather nice early

photographs, a couple of collages; and there was a battered

old school trunk in the corner of the room, with more

teddies piled on it, and hanging on a bentwood hatstand, an

array of hats, spelling out a life, from a baby’s sunhat to a school panama, a mortar board, and the sort of confection worn to weddings.

‘How sweet,’ she had said, ‘to keep it for her like this.’

‘Well,’ Felix had said, ‘you never know when she might

want it.’

That was before Marianne had realised that Octavia was

already married.

‘Come on down. I’ve had a drink poured for you for ages,’

said Felix now.

‘You want me out of here, don’t you?’ said Marianne,

turning to him, smiling, kissing him lightly. ‘You’re like

some latterday Mrs Danvers or Miss Havisham. You don’t

like it touched, your little girl’s room.’

He scowled at her and turned away, but she put her hand

on his arm, and pulled him back.

‘Felix, don’t be cross. You know I’m only teasing you.’

She closed the door behind her, and, almost involuntarily,

sighed heavily.

‘What is it?’ he said. ‘You’ve been odd, ever since we left

that house today.’

‘Oh, nothing. It was a strain, wasn’t it? Funerals always

are.’

‘Yes, I suppose so. Poor woman. Octavia was very tense,

I thought. Not herself at all.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Marianne. ‘She was bound to be

upset, she was very fond of Anna. And she’s very close to

Louise.’

‘Yes. I never thought she was a very good influence on

her, you know. Flighty. And a bit unstable.’

‘What do you think of Sandy?’ said Marianne casually.

‘He seems nice enough. A bit stiff necked, maybe not too

bright — here’s your drink.’

‘Thank you. Slightly surprising husband for Louise,

perhaps, wouldn’t you say? He’s so very conventional, so

straight down the middle, and she’s so - well, obviously

very artistic, much more nonconformist, I would have

thought.’

‘God, Marianne, I hardly know either of them. I couldn’t

possibly comment.’

‘So Octavia’s never — well, implied they weren’t happy?’

‘Not really. She didn’t think he was a very suitable

husband for Louise when she first met him, but she’s quite

fond of him now, I think. Tom doesn’t like him much

apparently, but then Tom’s very hard to please when it

comes to people. Nobody’s ever good enough for him.’

‘Does he like Louise, do you think?’ said Marianne

casually.

‘Marianne, what is all this? You’ve never shown any

interest in these people before.’

‘No, because I’ve never had anything much to do with

them. My heart broke for Louise over that poor little baby,

but otherwise—’

‘I don’t believe he does like her, no,’ said Felix suddenly.

‘I remember Octavia saying once or twice that it was

difficult, having Louise to stay or anything, because Tom

disapproved of her.’

‘Why disapproved?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, I don’t know,’ said Felix. ‘You’ll

have to ask Octavia.’ He stopped talking suddenly, then said

in quite a different voice, ‘Marianne …’

She looked at him; he was staring at her, sitting very still

suddenly, his eyes under the white brows very fierce, very

dark, and she sat equally still, smiling back at him,

recognising the signal, the thud of desire, extraordinarily

swift and sudden, feeling it in herself, as she always did,

swooping, leaping, leading her into such a longing for

release that she stood up, laughed aloud, held out her hand.

‘Let’s go upstairs,’ was all she said.

What followed next was a distraction: a wild, extravagant,

joyful distraction, from her anxiety and her fear. But

afterwards, as he slept briefly and she lay stretching

luxuriously, her body sweetly straightened from its tangles

of pleasure, she remembered the anxiety and the fear, and

wondered what, if anything, she should do. She decided, finally, nothing, nothing at all would be best. Least of all, asking Octavia how Tom might feel about Louise.

If Louise walked into the room now, Octavia thought, she

would have hit her. However distraught she was about her

mother. How could she have deceived her like that;

allowed her to get into the awful situation, where she had

almost given her secret away to Sandy, telling her all that

nonsense about how he wasn’t too keen on the idea of a

baby and no one was to mention it? When all the time it

was someone else’s baby. Her lover’s. A lover she hadn’t

told Octavia about, while listening to Octavia telling her all

about Tom. Seriously, seriously awful. She felt totally

betrayed.

She’d found it very difficult to be polite to her, when

she’d come up to her at the house; she felt sick. She’d

managed it because she’d had to, and anyway, it was hardly the place to make a scene; but she was sure Louise must have noticed that she was being rather cool. To put it

mildly. On the other hand, Louise was probably too busy

playing her part, acting her role, to notice anything — but

maybe that was unfair, Octavia thought, struggling to be

charitable. She clearly was desperately upset, had come back

to the house after the burial looking pale and strained, her

eyes swollen and red, but then she had rallied and moved

round the room almost dutifully, mostly at her father’s side.

She had kissed Octavia when they left, thanked her for

coming again and again. Tom had gone to fetch the car; he

told Octavia he’d wait for her outside.

He had been absolutely silent in the car, said nothing to

her whatsoever until the phone rang, and had then spent

the rest of the journey talking first to Aubrey Cotterill, then

his accountant, then to Aubrey again.

Her anger with Louise had made her feel remorseful

about dragging him down there when he was so busy: in

spite of everything.

‘All right. All right, I give in. I won’t phone you any more.’

‘Thank you,’ said Marianne with cool dignity.

‘Today.’

‘Nico. Not today, not tomorrow, not for a very long

time. I wish you’d understand.’ Guilt, mingled with a sense

of disloyalty at betraying the man with whom her body had

soared with pleasure only twelve hours earlier, made her

irritable.

‘A very long time? Oh, that’s much too open ended. I

won’t phone you until - let us say Saturday. How’s that?

And that is a very long time — forty-eight hours.’

‘Nico—’

‘Mum!’ Zoe’s voice had never been more welcome.

‘Mum, where are you?’

‘Look, Nico, I have to go. I’m extremely busy.’

‘Marianne, oh, all right. I’ll phone you at the weekend.

What a steely-hearted woman you are.’

She put the phone down; it rang again at once.

‘Mrs Muirhead? This is Ritz Franklyn from Choice. We

have some wonderful news for you. Donna Hanson has just

called from Christie’s in New York: they are all agreed she

is absolutely the girl for them. I’m very excited, and I hope

you both will be too.’