Almost a Crime (99 page)

again. The piece of paper fell out.

It was only a piece of paper: a photocopy of another

piece of paper. Or rather several, neatly — of course — stapled together.

‘Confidential Client Questionnaire’, it said, under the

logo ‘Fisher Lewin Frances. Family Law Department’. He

knew about Fisher Lewin Frances, they were a very high

profile firm, specialising in matrimonial and family law. The

form then required to know a great many things about

Octavia and her husband and family; it had been neatly

filled in and was dated 1 September, 1997. Very recent.

Since the holiday with Gabriel Bingham.

Tom stood staring at it, studying what it said. After a

while he found it was blurred and he couldn’t see well

enough to read it any more; he put it carefully back and

closed the drawer.

Everything had gone so well: so very well. Louise smiled to

herself; her careful planning, not something she was

normally very good at, had been worthwhile. She had

slipped out of the house at five thirty, had left a loving

message for her father, saying she’d see him very soon, that

she hadn’t been able to sleep and had decided to go home

and do some chores before going out for the day; the little

car was flying up the M4 by six. She was going to change

into her disguise at Reading services, before hitting the

M25. There was the faint danger that others on their way to

Brands Hatch, stopping at the service station there, might

recognise her. Of course there was a danger of that

anywhere, but it was less likely at Reading. She would have

to fill up with petrol at the last minute, but that would be

less dangerous. She had calculated that, with a full tank, she

could make Cornwall. She certainly didn’t want to have to

stop to buy petrol, with Minty in the car.

She pulled into the car park, went in and had a coffee

before going into the ladies’. She was going to need a lot of

caffeine to get her through today.

She slipped out of her leggings and T-shirt and into the

tunic and trousers. And the wig. The wig wasn’t too bad,

short and dark, and cut in the Sassoon pudding basin style

Joanna Lumley had made famous in the Avengers; but even

in her excitement, she found it hard to look at herself in the mirror in those clothes. So horrible; so absolutely horrible.

Well, it wasn’t for long. Just till she’d made her getaway.

Then she could change again. In any case, Minty would

need to recognise her, to know who she was.

She didn’t feel at all nervous any more: just excited.

Excited and confident and rather happy … If only they

knew, Tom and Octavia. If only …

Octavia was already on her way down the M25 by seven

o’clock. She knew she would be much too early, but it was

better than worrying about being late, getting stuck in a

traffic jam. Tom was coming later with the twins and

Dickon. She still felt worried about leaving Minty: about

whether Zoe would be able to cope. Maybe — she suddenly

had an idea, dialled the house on the car phone, listened to

it ringing endlessly. Tom must have gone back to sleep.

He had been very odd last night, when she’d got in.

Cold. Very detached. He’d been in his study working, and

when she put her head in to say she was going to bed, that

everything was in place for the morning, the children’s

costumes, Zoe’s instructions for the day, he’d looked at her

as if he hardly knew who she was. Well, he was sometimes

like that when he was working. It wasn’t as if it mattered, as

if she cared. In fact, it was quite good, really. She didn’t

want him to be friendly. It would be easier to tell him she

was filing for divorce if he wasn’t. She would do it tonight.

When today was safely over.

His voice now answered the phone: ‘Yes? Tom Fleming

here.’

‘Tom, I’ve had an idea …’

‘Zoe? This is Tom Fleming.’

‘Oh, hi, Tom. It’s all right, I’m up, dressed, sober. Don’t

worry. How is Minty?’

‘She’s much better.’

‘You decided to take her?’

‘Yes, I think so. But I’d like you to come too. Look after

her, be nanny for the day. That all right with you?’

‘Yes, fine.’

‘Good. Want me to come and fetch you?’

‘No, it’s all right, Tom. Mum’s booked a cab — she was

worried I’d be late. You know what she’s like.’

‘Great. Well, see you in a bit, then.’

Felix Miller woke up feeling much better, apart from a

touch of indigestion — his own fault, no doubt, having a

second helping of Mrs Harrington’s mousse. But his arm

was less painful, clearly the muscle was recovering and he

felt refreshed from his long sleep. Just as well: there were a

lot of things he wanted to do that day.

Felix decided to do a couple of hours’ work, and then go

down to the health club at Swiss Cottage and have a swim

before lunch. He often did that on Sunday. Nothing too

strenuous: but he always felt better afterwards, and it would

probably benefit his arm. He might skip breakfast, though:

make up for the lasagne. Anyway, the indigestion wasn’t

doing a lot for his appetite.

Octavia stood at the window of the top floor suite of the

John Foulston building gazing out at the breathtaking view

across the Brands Hatch course. The whole place was

empty and orderly; still just a few people walking about, the

occasional car zooming round the track. Just for a moment

she stopped feeling nervous and jittery about the day, and

her responsibility for it, and thought what fun it was going

to be. Eighty-five thousand people they got here on a good

day; probably they’d get nothing like that because of Diana.

But there would still be a large crowd: ‘And because it’s a

classic race day,’ the marketing manager had told her,

‘you’ll get what we call the tweed and pearls set. Lot of

money: your charity should do very well.’

Certainly virtually all their three hundred guests were still

coming: a nervous ring round by Lauren had confirmed

that. A champagne reception at twelve thirty, followed by a

lunch; races beginning at two. Loads of OTG — opportunities

to give — as Melanie had observed — from the raffle at the lunch to buying hot rides — ten per cent to the charity, that was very good of the Brands Hatch people. Ladies with

collecting tins were everywhere, and Next Generation had

a large stall on the road between the building and the

paddock.

The suite looked impressive: the flowers had been done

at a knock-down rate by a friend of Melanie’s, in return for

a generous plug in the programme, and dear Bob Macintosh

had managed somehow to twist the arm of one of his

suppliers over the champagne — also for a plug in the

programme — and they hadn’t lost nearly as much as they

had feared. When she’d phoned to thank him, he’d said,

‘My dear Octavia, it’s a very little thank you for your input

earlier in the year. Invaluable. I don’t know what we’d do

without you and Tom.’

She knew what he meant: over the photocall. But he was

going to have to settle just for Tom in the future …

After Marianne had seen Zoe off, she settled down to the

papers; Marc and Romilly were still fast asleep. Probably

would be for hours yet. She had been almost envious of

Zoe going to Brands Hatch with Minty; had been tempted

to go herself. Then she had thought Nico might be there

and decided against it. Felix certainly wouldn’t go, he

wouldn’t want to see Tom.

Thinking of Felix reminded her of the committee

meeting tonight. She had decided to go to that. She mustn’t

start neglecting responsibilities, just because of her personal

difficulties. It was wrong, she had always tried to instil that

into the children. Without much success.

She decided to ring Felix, let him know. He might even

decide not to go himself, of course … She sighed, and

dialled the number.

Felix wasn’t there: Mrs Harrington answered the phone.

‘Oh, hallo, Mrs Muirhead. How nice to hear from you.’

‘Nice to hear you, as well, Mrs Harrington. Is Mr Miller

there?’

‘I’m afraid he isn’t, no. He’s at the health club.’

‘Oh, right. Well, look, could you give him a message?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Tell him I will be there tonight. At Sadlers Wells. All

right?’

‘Yes. Yes, of course, Mrs Muirhead. I’m sure he’ll be

very pleased.’

He probably won’t, thought Marianne, putting the

phone down. He probably won’t be pleased at all…

‘Mummy! Isn’t it fun! Gosh, what a good view. Is Camilla

here?’ It was Poppy, flushed and excited, wearing a

smocked flowery dress, a Christopher Robin hat jammed

down over her dark curls.

‘Not yet. You look terrific, Poppy! Where’s Daddy?’

‘Talking to Lauren. Over there, look.’

Octavia looked; Tom wasn’t just talking to Lauren. He

was standing very close to her, smiling down at her, and she

was on tiptoes, pulling his head down, whispering something

in his ear. She looked stunning, in wide navy palazzo

trousers, a very low-cut cream silk blouse revealing her

deep brown cleavage, long pearls and a small tipped hat on

her streaky blonde hair. Bitch, thought Octavia, silly bitch,

and then wondered why on earth she cared.

‘Octavia, moaning.’ It was Drew. Drew not dressed up at

all, looking refreshingly ordinary in a linen suit. ‘You look

marvellous. Jolly good show you’ve put on here. Now

where is the lovely Anthea, I can’t wait to sell her a raffle

ticket or two …”

Octavia managed to smile at him, went over to Lauren

and Tom.

Lauren’s smiling, flirtatious face hardened when she saw

her. ‘Octavia! Lovely hat. But I did think the collecting

ladies should be in costume — what happened?’

‘It saved us a thousand pounds, that’s what happened,’

said Octavia coolly. ‘I honestly don’t think it matters,

Lauren, they’ve got their sashes.’

‘I know, but they look as if they ought to be outside

Tesco’s or something. Oh, well. Never mind, can’t be helped. Now then, when are we going to start serving the champagne?’

‘Twelve thirty. As we agreed.’

‘I think that’s too late. I mean, several chums are here

already. I can’t just let them stand around with nothing to

drink.’

‘Well, there’s only thirty bottles,’ said Octavia, ‘so it’s up

to you. It did say quite clearly on the programme twelve

thirty. Any more and it will cost you, I’m afraid.’

‘I know that,’ said Lauren coolly, ‘but quite honestly, if

one’s friends feel — well, not properly looked after — I mean,

they’re simply not going to come again. Or dip their little

hands into their pockets while they’re here. I think we have

to start sooner than that.’

‘All right,’ said Octavia with a sigh. ‘Let’s start sooner.

We’ll have to find some waiters, though, they’re—’

‘Could you do that, Octavia? I’ve got enough to worry

about, so many friends arriving, the Nichols will need

looking after …’

‘Yes, I’ll see what I can do.’

She looked at Tom, smiled slightly nervously. ‘Where

are Minty and Zoe?’

‘She’s taken her off in her buggy,’ he said. He didn’t

smile back. ‘Come on, Gideon, want to go over to the

paddock?’

‘Yes, please!’

‘Good. Poppy?’

‘No, Camilla and I want to stay here and look at

everyone’s clothes.’

‘Boring!’ said Gideon.

‘Not as boring as the cars.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘No, it’s not!’

‘Oh, shut up,’ said Tom. ‘You coming with us, Dickon?’

‘Yes, please!’

He looked rather nervous, Octavia thought. Poor little

boy. He’d had such a horrible time lately.

‘Don’t be long, Tom,’ she said. ‘You heard what Lauren said, your friend Oliver Nichols will be here soon.’

‘I think I know how to look after my own clients,’ he

said and walked away holding the boys’ hands. She looked

after him, feeling rather bereft.

Zoe’ pushed Minty along the path towards the paddock

area. It was lined with shops selling things she wasn’t in the

least interested in; expensive-looking anoraks, picnic baskets,

rugs. There was a large sort of shop affair with the

name of Octavia’s charity all over it, and a lot of earnest

looking ladies inside, smiling brightly. Nobody much

seemed to be going in.

Zoe hoped they were going to pay her well for today;

she wouldn’t say she was exactly enjoying herself. Minty

was very miserable, grizzling all the time, and she’d just had

to change her nappy which had been disgusting. She hadn’t

slept at all in the car, just thrashed around in her seat

throwing her cup endlessly on the floor and then wailing

for it again. Zoe had sat in the front seat next to Tom,

trying not to listen to her, and telling herself she was never

going to have any kids.

The place was filling up now; mostly with families, but

there were a lot of young men, some of them clearly