Almost a Crime (70 page)

but still.’

He stood up, bent and kissed Lauren, shook Tom’s hand again. ‘You finish your drink. Order a club sandwich or something, I would. I don’t want my new management

consultant dying on me. Very untidy.’

‘I won’t,’ said Tom.

‘I won’t let him,’ said Lauren.

They watched Oliver Nichols leave the bar; Tom felt,

childlike, as if he could have literally stood up and floated

after him. He had done it; he was not a failure, not a

bankrupt, he was successful again, he had money again, he

was his glossy, flying, sleek self. He would enjoy this, savour

it, drink it in. Just for a while, he would allow himself to

shed his guilt over Louise, his anguish over Octavia, the

grisly misery of a divorce. He smiled at Lauren. She was

smiling at him too, leaning against the back of the sofa. She

was wearing a black linen suit with a very short skirt. Her

eyes were very blue, and how had he never noticed the

mole perfectly placed on the crest of her bosom? His dislike

and suspicion of her seemed suddenly very unjust. She had

worked this for him, hustled tirelessly away, and he could

only feel grateful, deeply pleased with her.

‘You are a wonderful girl,’ he said. ‘I have you and you

alone to thank for that.’ She shifted, imperceptibly, in her

seat; Tom found her body suddenly pressed, albeit lightly,

against his. She smelt wonderful: of something rich and raw.

It was the same scent he hated on Octavia; funny, that it

should suit Lauren so well.

‘I think I owe you a bottle of champagne,’ he said, ‘at the

very least.’

‘That’ll do for a start,’ she said.

Ridiculous, really. That just three letters should be so

extremely dangerous. Should spell longterm the end of any

truly high hopes, short term the triggering of intense wrath

and disappointment.

‘Zo! That them? What’d you get?’

‘DDE,’ said Zoe’, very quickly.

‘Ah,’ said Romilly.

At least she wasn’t pretending to be bright about it, to

say, ‘Well, that’s not too bad.’

‘Yeah. Exactly.’

‘What was the E?’

‘Geography.’

‘So D for English.’

‘Yup. Shit, Rom, why was I so stupid about it? I could

have got a B for that, if I’d worked. Why didn’t I, what the

flick was I doing, why did I think it didn’t matter?’ She was

crying now, tears of panic rather than misery.

‘Zoe, don’t cry. It’s not that bad.’ Her pale face was

earnest, the huge green eyes wide and anxious.

‘What am I going to do? How am I going to tell Mum?

She’ll be so upset. And as for Dad …’

‘Just tell them,’ said Romilly. ‘She’s all over the place

today anyway, with her weekend and everything. Tell her

you’re sorry, tell her you’ll retake, tell her you know

you’ve been stupid.’

‘Yes. Yes, I suppose you’re right…’

‘I really don’t think I can come,’ said Marianne. Her voice

was shaky.

Nico, accustomed to her cool, was alarmed. ‘Why not?

What’s happened?’

‘Mayhem’s broken out here. Zoe’s A-levels are appalling,

and she’s very upset. I feel absolutely wretched.’

‘All the more reason for a break for you.’

‘Nico, I have to be here. Alec is going to go mad when

he hears.’

‘With you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Marianne, ‘with me. It will be my fault.

My fault for not overseeing Zoe, making her work —

probably quite right.’

‘What an appalling load of rubbish,’ said Nico. ‘I may not

be a parent, but I do have godchildren. I do know that you

can lead those little fillies to the fountain of knowledge but

you can’t make them drink at it. Zoe is a wilful, lazy, silly

girl who hasn’t done any work. Locking her in her

bedroom wouldn’t have changed that. In any way. You

have the decency and the wisdom to treat her like an adult;

she’s behaved like the adult she can see now she doesn’t

want to be. She might be just young enough to learn lessons

from it. Any other problems?’

‘Yes. Romilly’s photographic session has been postponed

to the Saturday. So I really should—’

‘Marianne, as I understand it, Romilly has legs and a

tongue in her head, she can hire a taxi and get herself to her

photo session. Her sister could go with her, if you’re really

worried about it, as a small token of her contrition. That’s

my view of all this, as a non-father. Now will you please go

and put some clothes, as few as possible, into a bag, and I’ll

send the car at five as arranged.’

Marianne said yes quite meekly, and put the phone down

without saying another word. It was a long time since

anyone had told her so clearly what she should do and made

her feel she should do it.

It was a great pity Nico Cadogan had never been a father.

He would clearly have been a very good one; and

moreover one after her very own heart…

‘I’m going to Barbados for a few days,’ said Octavia. ‘To

stay at the cottage. While you’re in Tuscany, you understand,

with the twins. And Mrs Bartlett.’

Tom turned to her; he had been up and working at his

desk since six. He was very pale. There was a heavy bruise

and a swelling on the side of his forehead.

‘Octavia, I do wish we could talk about this.’ ‘I really don’t think there’s anything to talk about. I’m clearly not mistaken. That’s where you’re going and who

you’re going with.’

There was a long silence; then he said, very quietly, ‘So

you seem to have decided.’

‘Good. Well, then, we shall both have a break. We both

need it. When we’re back, there will obviously be a great

deal of discussion, about the future. When are you leaving?’

‘We’re going tonight!’ It was Poppy, her eyes shining,

rucksack in tow. ‘Lauren — Camilla says we’re to call her

Lauren — she said we had to be at Camilla’s house at six. It’s

so exciting, going at night!’

‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ said Octavia, and walked out of the

room.

Tom looked after her helplessly. He could have tried to

explain, but he had reached a level of emotional exhaustion

that made even uttering the simplest sentence daunting.

He had been very stupid the previous night. Very stupid

indeed. But somehow, it had been so good, just for once, to

be having fun, not sitting out of control on an endless

hellish rollercoaster of misery and guilt and anxiety and fear.

They had drunk the bottle of champagne at the Connaught,

he and Lauren, and she had been very sweet, very flattering

(but not over so), had made him feel better about himself,

albeit briefly. She had been quite tactful too, not tried to

pump him about Octavia, about what, if anything, had

gone wrong; it was only when she said that she supposed he needed to be getting back to Octavia that he had suddenly found himself telling her at least something of what had

happened. Not the grisly detail, of course, not the really bad

things: just that he had had an affair, that Octavia had found

out.

‘Well, we all have to deal with these things,” Lauren had

said lightly, and ‘Do we?’ he had said, his voice infinitely

heavier.

‘Yes, of course. God, it’s hardly realistic, is it, one partner

for life? I mean, of course one should stay put, with the

family and everything, I do feel that terribly strongly and

I’m sure you will, but—’ She had looked at him, the blue

eyes with the heavy black lashes very serious, very

concerned for once. She seemed a different person suddenly.

‘You are, I presume? Staying put?’ ‘I want to,’ he said. ‘I want it very much.’

‘That’s what counts. The other is — well, I always think

of it as shopping.’

‘Shopping!’ said Tom, and it was so ridiculous he

laughed.

‘That’s nice,’ she said, ‘nice that you can laugh.’

‘I’m sorry. Have I been such a dreary companion?’

‘No, but not Tom Fleming. Not quite. Anyway, yes,

shopping. I mean, life is fine for me, I live in a nice house,

and I have a good husband and great kids, and we have a

good time, but it’s all rather predictable. I get - I don’t

know. A bit flat. So I go shopping. I go and buy myself

things. Spend probably more than I ought to, on myself.

And then I feel quite different. No more resentment at

having to do what Drew and the kids want, no more

boredom at entertaining endless dreary clients. I take those

bags home, and look at what I’ve given myself, and I feel

special again. Ready for anything. For a bit. Does that

sound crazy?’

‘Not really,’ Tom had said. It was a philosophy so totally

at odds with Octavia’s ascetic, almost puritanical approach

to life, he had found it hard to comprehend. It had a certain

charm.

‘Well, anyway, that’s what I do. And having lunch or

whatever, with lovely men, makes me feel the same. Sort of

— soothed.’

‘I see.’

‘Trouble is,’ she had said carefully, not really looking at

him, ‘it can get a bit out of control. The shopping. I mean, I

do more than I mean to.’

‘And the lunches?’

‘Yes, sometimes. One minute it’s flirting, the next it’s well,

danger. Serious. Huge.’

‘Yes,’ said Tom. ‘Yes, that’s exactly right.’

‘But still fun. Still making you feel better.’

He was silent.

‘Would I be right in thinking that’s what happened to

you?’ she said. ‘Thin ice, and all that?’

‘Yes, very thin ice. I should never have got on the pond,

though, I’m not trying to make excuses.’

‘Tom,’ said Lauren, ‘from where I’m sitting you’re a

great husband. You back Octavia in that career of hers how

many men are big enough to do that? — you’ve been

incredibly loyal to her and—’

‘Don’t,’ he said, and to his horror there were tears in his

eyes, ‘don’t talk about loyalty, Lauren. I’m afraid I don’t

know the meaning of the word.’

‘Oh, of course you do,’ she said, ‘you just slipped a bit.

On that ice. You wouldn’t be feeling so bad, if you weren’t

so loyal. God, you know what I’d like to do now, I feel so

terribly drunk and hot?’

‘No,’ he said, smiling at her, happy to be having fun

again.

‘I’d like to go and swim. At the Harbour Club. Lovely!

Come with me. And then maybe another drink and then

we should probably go off to our respective families. How

does that sound?’

Tom heard himself saying it sounded wonderful.

They had gone to the Harbour Club; it was fairly quiet.

Half London was away. He had hired a swimsuit, walked through to the pool, arrived just in time to see Lauren diving in, her slender body and long legs one perfect arch.

She resurfaced, swam over to him with an efficient crawl.

‘It’s heaven. Come on, just what we need.’

He swam for a while; she was right. He felt sober

suddenly, sober and exhilarated at the same time. ‘This is

such a good idea,’ he said.

‘I have a lot of good ideas.’

‘Yes, it seems you do.’

She pulled herself up on to the side. Her body was

intriguing: slim, but very strong, her breasts, with the

tantalising mole, full and high, her stomach board-flat, the

swelling of her pubic mound sweetly full, the skin smoothly

and perfectly tanned. A pampered body, with time and

money clearly lavished on it; a body to be looked at and

admired. It was there for that purpose, and the purpose

made it sexier. Much sexier.

Afterwards they sat drinking spritzers: ‘Almost harmless,’

said Lauren, smiling at him again. ‘Like our evening.’

‘Yes,’ he had said, determinedly firm, ‘yes, that’s exactly

right.’

She had kicked her shoes off, tucked one leg underneath

her. Her extremely short skirt just failed to reveal her

knickers. It was hard, Tom found, not to check that it

hadn’t succeeded. She caught him doing that once or twice

and smiled at him: a slow, confident smile. She was

extraordinarily sexy.

‘Well,’ she had said, finally, setting her glass down,

‘enough shopping for one day. I must get back.’

He had been surprised; surprised and relieved. This was

enough: he wanted no more. He had the stomach for no

more, and certainly not the sexual energy. But it had been a

wonderfully soothing, revitalising encounter.

‘Now look,’ she had said, ‘I suppose there’s no possible

chance you could come to Tuscany for a few days, get the

kids settled in? I know we could find you a corner.’

‘No chance,’ he said. ‘Very sadly.’

They had parted at the entrance with the lightest of

kisses; her mouth was very warm, very inviting. It had been quite hard not to prolong it. Suddenly, as she turned away,

he had pulled her back towards him, gave her a hug. No

more than a hug.

‘Thank you, Lauren,’ he said, ‘for everything. You’ve

saved my sanity tonight. And not just tonight, with fixing

Nichols for me as well. You’re a great girl.’

‘I’m just pleased you feel better,’ she said, and jumped

into her car, drove it off rather fast. It was a bright red

BMW. Very sexy, very much of a statement, very Princess

of Wales.