Almost a Crime (88 page)

section. Of course. Those were always the first he read.

There was a picture of Felix over some article: that wasn’t particularly unusual, ‘five star takeover?’ was the headline.

She wondered what it was about, but didn’t like to

start reading in case he came in and thought she was prying.

She felt uneasy, unwelcome; she sat down on the window

seat and stared out at the garden.

Felix came in with a tray. ‘Here you are. You’re looking

well, Marianne.’

‘Yes, I feel well. Thank you.’

‘Octavia’s coming over shortly. She’s been in Barbados,

you know.’

‘Yes. Yes, I did know.’

‘Really? Have you been talking to Tom?’ The eyes were

very brilliant, very fierce under the heavy brows.

‘No, Felix, I’ve been talking to you. You told me she

was going.’

‘Oh, did I? I don’t remember. Anyway, she’s had a

marvellous time. Took the new man in her life.’

‘I didn’t know there was one.’

“Oh, good Lord, yes. Of course, I don’t know if it’s

going to come to anything, but she seems pretty fond of

him. That’s what she needs, you know, a happy, uncomplicated

relationship. With a decent man who cares about her,

won’t upset her. Nothing too serious.’

‘Well - I’m glad she enjoyed her holiday,’ said Marianne

carefully.

‘Yes. She needed it desperately of course. I’m hoping

she’s going to move in here for a while, with the children.

That husband of hers seems to be hanging on in the house

indefinitely, and so she can’t possibly stay there. And it’s

practically a second home to the children. They love it

here. Much better for them than being in the house with a

horrible atmosphere.’

‘Yes. Yes, I suppose so.’

‘So what can I do for you?’ he said. ‘Sorry about last

night, didn’t mean to sound bad tempered, I’d just got off

to sleep.’

She had rung quite late, having spent most of the solitary

evening plucking up her courage. ‘Yes, I’m sorry, Felix.

I thought you’d still be up. You usually are at eleven. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.’

‘Of course I’m all right. Why shouldn’t I be? I’m not ill.’

‘No, I know. But—’

‘You thought I might be pining for you, did you?’ he

said suddenly. ‘No, I’m fine, Marianne. Not fading away,

not going into a decline. Sorry if I disappointed you.’

‘I didn’t think you’d be pining for me,’ she said, ‘but I

was — worried about you.’

‘How kind.’ His voice was very hard. ‘But no, I do assure

you, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m quite good at

looking after myself. As you may recall. I did it for many

years.’

‘Yes, Felix, I know that. Of course I do. But I felt very

guilty. About the way we — well, we parted.’

‘We didn’t part, Marianne. You did the parting. However,

that’s perfectly all right. I won’t say I don’t feel a little

regretful. We had quite a long history. But it’s not as if we

were married. Still plenty of time ahead of us. To do other

things. As I keep telling Octavia. All the time in the world.

To continue with her career, enjoy herself…’

‘Yes, of course. But—’

‘I hope he didn’t send you,’ he said.

‘Who?’ she said, stupidly.

‘Cadogan. My onetime friend. My Judas.’

‘No, of course he didn’t send me,’ she said, ‘he has no

idea I’m here. Why should he have? Anyway, we—’

He interrupted her. ‘Are you sure about that? He didn’t

ask you to wheedle your way in, ask if I really intend to buy

his company. Try to persuade me not to, even?’

‘Buy his company? What are you talking about?’

‘Marianne, I’m not that naive. Nor can you be, surely.

There are rumours, it’s even in the papers today. I’d like to

believe you didn’t know about it, but it’s — well, it’s a little

difficult. Especially your timing. I haven’t noticed any of

this concern for my welfare before.’

She was genuinely and fiercely hurt. ‘I do assure you,’

she said, and she could hear her voice shaking slightly, ‘I have come here only out of concern for your welfare. I had no idea you were bidding for Nico’s company.’

‘I didn’t say I was. Merely that there were rumours.’

‘All right. I had no idea there were rumours. Are they

true?’

‘I hardly think you can expect me to tell you of all

people.’

‘Why not? Because you think I’ll go running back to

Nico? You seem to have a very low opinion of me, Felix. I

have no interest whatsoever in whether you want to buy his

company or not. As I said, I was only concerned for you. I

can see now it was rather foolish.’

‘Yes,’ he said glaring at her, ‘I think I would agree.

Foolish and arrogant, if I might be allowed to say so.’

‘You are allowed to say whatever you like, Felix. You

always did.’

‘Then allow me to say something else,’ he said. ‘I would

really rather you left. There is absolutely no point your

being here. Our relationship is over. Quite over. The major

concerns in my life, Marianne, continue to be my daughter

and my business. Octavia has always needed me, and never

more than now. In fact, I really must ask you to excuse me.

She is coming up here with little Araminta for tea, and I

have to make sure everything is ready for her.’

Marianne managed to get to the car and to drive away

before bursting into tears of humiliation, of rage — and of

very deep, raw hurt. She was not to know that inside the

house, Felix Miller was sitting at his desk, his study door

locked, his great head buried in his arms, and Elgar’s cello

concerto playing very loud on the stereo to drown the

sound of his weeping.

‘My father’s in terrific form, thank you,’ said Octavia

briefly. Tom had greeted her — for the second time that day

- when she arrived back from Hampstead with Minty.

‘Good. Did you talk about — business at all?’

‘If you mean, did he tell me if he was buying Nico

Cadogan’s company or not,’ she said briskly, ‘no. He didn’t.

He just said it was an interesting idea. He’s enjoying all the

fuss though. He loves talking to the papers.’

‘Is he going to do it, do you think?’

‘I really don’t know. If he does, it would be revenge, I

suppose.’

‘For what? said Tom lightly.

‘Well, for Nico stealing Marianne from under his nose.

Wouldn’t you say?’

‘I wouldn’t know what to say, I’m afraid. When it comes

to your father.’

‘I’m going to bath Minty,’ she said, ignoring this, ‘you

must excuse me.’

‘Sure.’

She spent a long time in the nursery bathroom: partly

because she was enjoying having Minty back, partly because

she didn’t want to go back downstairs. She thought she

might have an early night.

Tired as she was, she couldn’t sleep. Her body was restless, full of energy. She considered a sleeping pill and rejected it: it was too early. She’d simply wake at four with a thick

head. She sighed, sat up, staring out at the still-light garden.

What she needed was some kind of physical exercise; but

wakeful as she was, she was also tired; running, or even

walking, was unthinkable.

The gym: that seemed better. She could do something

like the treadmill and work herself into a well-tuned torpor.

And then maybe a quick swim: yes. That was the answer.

She pulled on some leggings and a T-shirt, ran downstairs,

decided reluctantly she should tell Tom. Minty might

wake, Caroline was out…

The gym was August-empty, no need to chat. She worked

herself hard, rowed, cycled, walked, felt herself begin to

relax. A quick swim and then she’d be fine.

She went down to the pool: dived in, swam fiercely up

and down for ten lengths, then climbed out, suddenly

shaky. She felt very thirsty, as she often did when she was

tired, and went to the bar to order a fruit juice.

‘You look very well, Mrs Fleming,’ said the boy behind

the bar. ‘Been somewhere nice?’

‘Pretty nice. Barbados. Only a week, though.’

‘Did Mr Fleming enjoy it?’

‘He — yes, he did.’ That was easier.

‘He looked very tired last time I saw him,’ he slipped

some lemon and ice into her fruit cocktail.

‘Really? When was that?’

‘Not too sure, Mrs Fleming. Time flies when you’re

having fun.’ He looked uneasy suddenly, aware he had

broken one of the club’s cardinal rules, talking about

members to anyone else, even their husbands or wives.

Especially to their husbands or wives.

‘Look, it’s okay,’ she said. She tried to laugh, to sound

easily relaxed. ‘I know he was here with Mrs Bartlett about

ten days ago. You’re not setting a divorce in motion or

anything. They were on their way back to our house for

dinner.’ She laughed again, saw relief on his face, saw him relax.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes, must have been then. They’d been

swimming.’

‘And you thought he looked really tired? Poor old Tom.

He works too hard.’

She sat absorbing this new piece of information. So they

had been here together. Swimming. As Tom had said. God.

The news was almost unwelcome, so foolish did she feel.

Of course they could have gone somewhere afterwards. But

— he’d been home by nine. Before? No, Aubrey had told

her he was at the Connaught. With a client. Aubrey

wouldn’t lie. He just wouldn’t. God, oh, God. Another bit

of paranoia. She remembered hitting Tom that night and

winced. Not very clever. Not very clever at all.

Lucilla Sanderson was also unable to sleep. It was a very hot

night, and although she had the window open, there was no

air anywhere. Everything was still: even the birds were

exhaustedly silent. The only movement in the still, dark

blue air was made by her small friends. Swooping about,

silently, gracefully swift. She believed they made a noise,

but so high-pitched that human ears couldn’t hear them.

She loved to” sit and watch them until the darkness

swallowed them up, Nora Greenly hated them, said they

frightened her, gave her the creeps. She wouldn’t have her

window open if they were about, some nonsense about

them getting in her hair. Well, she was a pretty feeble

creature altogether, thought Lucilla. Most of them were.

She sometimes felt she was the only inhabitant of Bartles

House with any real gumption at all. Especially at the

moment. Everyone was so worried, and nobody else would

so much as broach the subject with the Fords. She

continued to broach it; and the Fords continued to deny

there was anything to worry about at all. Mrs Ford, she

could tell, was getting rattled by her persistence; Mr Ford

was smoothly, patronisingly calm.

‘I don’t know where you’ve got these ideas from,

Lucilla,’ he had said only yesterday. ‘I really don’t.’

She’d said from the newspapers, that was where, and he’d

said only very foolish people took any notice of what they

read in the papers. ‘If we were planning to move from here,

Lucilla, you’d be the first to know. Of course you would. I

keep telling you, this is your home. And ours. Home sweet

home and all that. Now then, I have to get on with my

work, so if you’ll excuse me

She knew he was lying: she knew that they were all in

great danger. And soon there would be no more nights like

this, no sweet summer nights, with the moon rising over

Bartles Wood and the sky thick with stars and the raw

sound of the foxes calling out across the valley. And no bats,

wings outstretched, making their joyous evening journey

through the growing darkness… Just the hideous permanent

neon-twilight of the city, and a centrally heated, air

conditioned cell to observe it from. It was not to be borne,

thought Lucilla, it really was not to be borne; she had to

think of something. But she was beginning to fear that she

never would.

Octavia stood outside the study door for a long time,

feeling absurdly nervous, wondering why she was putting

herself through this when there was no need, when she

could just leave it. But it was all part of her sense of

rightness, of moral order, of her painful conscience. Finally,

she knocked.

‘Yes?’ Tom sounded irritable.

‘Can I speak to you? It won’t take long.’

‘Right.’

He swung round in his chair, looked at her. He was

clearly exhausted; his face was drawn, his voice sounded

heavy and almost hoarse.

‘Tom, I just wanted to say I’m very sorry. I - that is, the

thing is — I — misjudged you,’ she said quickly.

‘Misjudged me? What on earth is this about, Octavia?’

‘I - I didn’t believe that you were swimming with Lauren. That night. I — was wrong.’

‘And how did you make this discovery?’ he said.

‘I’ve just been to the Harbour Club. Someone said you’d

been there. With her. Swimming. I — was wrong,’ she said

again. ‘I shouldn’t have hit you.’

‘Not then, perhaps,’ he said quietly.

‘No. Anyway, I just wanted to say — that.’ She turned

away from him, to leave the room. Then ‘Octavia,’ he said.

‘Yes?’