Almost a Crime (32 page)

card?’

‘Of course I haven’t talked to the Mail,’ said Gabriel Bingham. ‘I have my principles. And, no, I haven’t seen it.

And I haven’t talked to a single journalist since we last met.’

‘Oh. Well, I’m sorry I misjudged you, but who else

would have talked about my speech?’

‘Anyone who was at the meeting — a local stringer who

knew about the interview with Pattie David, I suppose.’

‘Yes, maybe!’

‘I’m about to go to the House. I shall go to the press

gallery and study this article which has caused you such

distress. I can’t imagine what it might say. I’ll phone you if I

can throw some light on the matter, having read it.’

‘Octavia, if this is some kind of revenge, it’s extremely

destructive. To us all.’

‘Tom, it’s not supposed to be anything. It’s simply an

attempt to stop something terrible from happening.’

‘Well, you might well have dealt a body blow to Fleming

Cotterill in the process. I’d call that fairly terrible in its own

way. I’ve got to go, I’ll speak to you later.’

‘I won’t be—’ she said, but he had put the phone down.

It was not even midmorning when Gabriel Bingham

walked up to the press gallery at the House of Commons.

There was nobody there; it looked, he thought, rather like

a stage set before the actors arrived, the long row of phone

boxes empty, the desks bare, the whole place utterly silent.

He went over to the newspapers, found the Daily Mail, flicked over the first few pages, and then found it. And read it. Twice.

‘Well,’ he said aloud and finally, ‘well, well, well.’

There has been a reprieve (one Jeni Thomas informed

him) for North Somerset beauty spot Barries Wood,

first reported in the Mail three weeks ago. The local

council has refused planning permission for a housing

development complete with shopping mall and community

centre, thanks to the efforts of local protestors.

‘We will not be resting on our laurels, though,’ said

Patricia David (photographed right, with other supporters).

‘The battle isn’t over yet. We understand the

developer is going to appeal, so we are establishing a

fund to fight this and will take it to the European

courts if need be. Nothing can be allowed to steal our

precious countryside from us.’

The developer, Michael Carlton, who is behind

the project, has already announced his intention to

appeal.

A surprise intervention came from charity consultant

Octavia Fleming. She has pledged her support to

the protestors and attended a meeting where she made

an impassioned speech, declaring that England and

what she called its ‘tender beauty’ must be saved from

the rapist tendencies of developers. Her consultancy,

Capital C, advises the charity Foothold, of which Mrs

David is the local chair. Ironically, Octavia Fleming’s

husband, Tom, has a public affairs consultancy, of

which Michael Carlton is a client.

The newly elected MP for North Somerset,

Gabriel Bingham, was also at the meeting. ‘I am not

necessarily on the side of the protestors,’ he said, ‘but

they invited me to this meeting and I wanted to hear

their views.’

Octavia phoned the Mail, and asked to speak to Jeni

Thomas. ‘She doesn’t actually work here,’ said the girl on

the newsdesk. ‘She’s a stringer from the West Country,

works at a news agency in Bristol.’

Jeni Thomas was friendly. She hadn’t been at the

meeting herself, had sent someone to cover it. ‘I was furious

he didn’t get a quote from you. I’m against the development

myself,’ she said. ‘I live near there.’

‘And who gave you the information about my husband,

and Michael Carlton being a client? Slightly embarrassing,

to put it mildly.’

‘That didn’t come from me. Apparently it was an

anonymous tip-off, direct to the Mail.’

Octavia suddenly felt rather sick.

‘My word,’ said Nico Cadogan, putting down his copy of

the Daily Mail. ‘Silly girl.’ His observation, at Ascot, that

Octavia was dangerously overwrought, seemed to have

been correct. But he wouldn’t have expected her to be

quite this reckless. Not to mention professionally destructive,

both to her husband and herself. Slightly worrying

altogether. He wondered what Marianne thought of

Octavia Fleming …

‘Well,’ said Gabriel Bingham, ‘I’ve read the piece now.

Carlton’s your husband’s client, is he? No wonder you

were careful to conceal your connections with the project.

Public affairs consultant, eh? Not just — how did you

describe your husband to me? oh, yes — interested in

politics. He can’t be very pleased.’

‘He isn’t,’ said Octavia. ‘Not that I care.’

‘I think it’s very brave, what you’re doing,’ he said

suddenly. ‘I wanted to tell you that.’

She felt absurdly pleased that he should say such a thing.

He hadn’t seemed to her the sort of man to dole out

compliments in any form.

‘Thank you.’

‘Do you want to come and have a steadying glass of bitter

at the House at lunchtime? Or even a thimbleful of

Bollinger?’

‘No,’ she said, although the temptation was considerable.

‘I’m off to see a friend. In the country. But thank you

anyway.’

‘Oh, well. Another time, maybe.’

‘Yes, maybe. Thank you.’

‘You think I’m crazy, don’t you?’ said Octavia to Melanie.

‘Fairly crazy, yes. And we’ve lost a patron too, which is a

pity. We’d better talk about that. You haven’t heard from

Mr Carlton?’

‘Not yet, no. I’m sorry, Melanie.’

‘That’s okay. I must say I think it’s very clever.’

‘Clever?’

‘Yes. Don’t get mad, get even, that’s what the lady said.

You’ve certainly got pretty even today.’

‘It wasn’t actually to get even,’ said Octavia. ‘I know it

looks like it, but it wasn’t, though I suppose Tom’s

behaviour made it easier. I just suddenly felt I wanted to do

what I thought was right, and that I was, well, free to do it.

I do care about the countryside so much and—’

‘Honey,’ said Melanie, ‘I don’t think you’re going to find

many people who’ll believe that. If they do, they’ll

probably be members of the Flat Earth Society.’

‘Octavia,’ Sarah Jane’s face was concerned as she looked

round the door, ‘I’ve got The Times’ features pages on the

phone. They want to do an interview with you, round the

theme of conflicting loyalties. I told them you probably

wouldn’t, but—’

‘You were right,’ said Octavia. ‘Thanks.’

‘And the Express phoned earlier, before you came in.

They wanted to interview you on much the same thing.

Shall I say no to that as well?’

‘Just tell ‘em all no,’ said Melanie. ‘Octavia, why don’t

you get out of London, go and see your friend now? I’ll see

you in the morning. I’ll just tell our friend Mr Carlton, and

everyone else, you’re unavailable. You can pick up the

baton tomorrow.’

‘Thanks, Melanie. For everything.’

Melanie seemed to be proving a more reliable friend than

she would ever have expected. Better in some ways than

Louise …

She was just leaving when Tom phoned.

‘Octavia, I beg of you, please phone Michael Carlton. It

might help. And it’s so important to me.’

‘I’m really sorry, Tom,’ she said, ‘but I don’t see why I

should. Or what good it would do. There’s nothing I could

tell him that would reassure him. Now you must excuse

me. I’m going to see Anna Madison.’

‘Octavia, I cannot tell you how much I feel that’s a

mistake. To go there today. You should stay in London.

For the next few days. It’s very important.’

‘Tom, Anna Madison is dying. Now that really is

important. Rather more than some client account.’

‘Octavia, I really don’t want you to—’

‘Goodbye, Tom. I may be late. I’ll sleep in the guest

room. In fact, I’ve moved all my things in there. Until we

can work out something permanent. Oh, and Tom—’

‘Yes?’

‘My father’s coming to dinner tomorrow night. You will

be out, won’t you?’

‘Yes, I’ll be out,’ he said. ‘You can rely on that. You’ll be

telling him, I expect. About what has happened.’

‘No,’ she said, contemplating and then rejecting the

horror of that conversation, ‘not yet. Don’t worry, Tom.

Your guilty secret is safe with me. Pity it wasn’t safer with

you.’

He sighed so heavily she could hear it down the line.

And then he said, ‘Be careful, Octavia. Please.’

It seemed a strange thing to say, she thought as she put

the phone down.

Marianne was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the article

in the Mail and trying to imagine what kind of madness

could have led Octavia into such a thing, when Zoe came

in.

‘Hi, Mum. I’m just off. Last exam. You reading the story

too?’

‘Yes. You know about it, then?’

‘Yeah. Nice one, Octavia.’

‘Zoe,’ said Marianne, ‘it’s a little hard on Tom, I think.’

‘Well, there are serious principles at stake here.’ Zoe

grinned at her. ‘I’m on her side. Someone has to stop all this

wrecking of the countryside.’

‘Yes, maybe. But she’s actually going a fair way towards

wrecking Tom’s business. Or at least that bit of it. Wives

ought to be supportive to their husbands,’ said Marianne.

She felt rather uneasy as she said it; she was playing the opposite of a supportive role herself to Felix at the moment,

increasingly impatient with his concerns over Octavia. Felix

couldn’t help his neurotic worries about his daughter, he

certainly wasn’t going to abandon them now, and in a way

they exemplified his two greatest virtues; his capacity for

love and his intense loyalty. The two things she had never

had from Alec, and that she valued so highly. And then she

was fecklessly encouraging the attentions of another man - a

dangerously conscienceless man — to hurt Felix. Having

dinner with him, for God’s sake. And he was also Felix’s

friend. She should cancel it. She would cancel it. It wasn’t

too late.

‘So how do you feel today?’ said Zoe’. ‘About Romilly?’

‘Oh, you know. Everything you might expect.’

‘What, chuffed, proud?’ Zoe was laughing.

She smiled reluctantly back. ‘A bit, I suppose. But much

more worried. Terrified, even. I don’t like that woman.

Not one bit.’

“Who, Ritz? Me neither.’

‘Really? I’m so glad. It makes me feel less neurotic’

‘I don’t think Romilly’s too sure about her either.’

The phone rang sharply. Zoe picked it up. ‘Hallo. Oh,

yes, hi. Sure. Yes, she’s here. Hold on.’ She covered the

phone, looked at Marianne. ‘Speaking of the devil … Ritz

Franklyn.’

Marianne took a deep breath. ‘Ritz. Good morning.

Thank you for a delicious dinner. What? Oh, she’s fine.

Yes, she loved it. I know, she was very excited. But - I’m

sorry? Oh. Oh, I see. Heavens. Already? Well - well, I

really don’t know. I’d better come and see you about it.

No, Romilly most certainly will not be there. She’s still at

school full time, you know, Ritz. I did make that very

clear. Oh, yes. Possibly tomorrow? I shall have to speak to

Romilly’s father as well about it. Yes, I’ll get back to you.’

She put the phone down and stared at Zoe.

‘Mum, what’s the matter?’

‘A cosmetic company, Christie’s, have offered Romilly a contract. Or rather are about to. Some Americans are coming over on Monday, want to meet her, but it’s a

formality, Ritz says. It’s for half a million dollars. They’d

want to shoot the campaign in New York. Zoe, this is

appalling. What am I going to do?’

Octavia was actually in her car when Louise phoned. She

sounded very tired.

‘Octavia, I’m so sorry. I’m going to have to put you off.

Some specialist’s coming to see Mummy, and I just think a

visitor on top of that, even you, would be too much for

her. Will you forgive?’

‘Of course I will. Don’t be silly. Maybe one day next

week?’

‘Yes, of course. I’ll let you know.’

‘Are you all right? You sound terrible.’

‘I feel pretty terrible. Still, how are you? I saw the piece

in the Mail’ The husky voice was almost amused. ‘That

can’t have helped things. Or did it?’

‘No. To put it mildly. Tom lost that account. The man

who was building the development, you know.’

‘Good,’ said Louise. She sounded more cheerful suddenly.

‘He deserves it, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Octavia slowly. Just for a second she

felt a stab of discomfort, a sense of disloyalty; then she

realised Louise was perfectly right. Of course he did.

‘This is very awkward,’ said Aubrey. ‘We’re going to need

some cash very quickly. Carlton’s fee was just about holding

us together. If I fix a meeting with the bank, are there any

times you can’t manage?’

‘No,’ said Tom, ‘absolutely any time. Middle of the

night, if you like.’

‘Unlikely. Hopefully he’ll see us early tomorrow. If he