officials with large mobile phones hurrying about, and a few
drivers in racing overalls. A couple of them were in thirties
style kit, with leather helmets and goggles. She supposed
they must be guests at the luncheon. She hoped she’d get to
meet Kit Curtis, the racing driver. She’d seen a picture of
him and he was seriously cool.
Minty wailed harder; Zoe sighed, tried to interest her in
her drink. Minty threw it on the ground. This was going to
be a long day …
Louise drove past the entrance to the course soon after
eleven. It was much too early; there was hardly anyone
there. She drove on for a couple of miles, stopped the car in
a layby and tried to read the paper for half an hour. It was all about Diana and the funeral; she couldn’t concentrate.
At twelve she turned the car round and went back; there
was a tailback in both directions, waiting to get in. That was
much better. Her heart was thudding so hard she could
hardly breathe; she turned on the radio to Classic FM to try
and calm herself down, but it was some dreadful programme
about other people’s romances and simply got on
her nerves. The car beside her in the queue held a large
family, with a baby of about Minty’s age: they all looked at
her and smiled. How dreadful if she had mistimed it; no
hiding place here. But, once in the car park, she felt safer:
wonderful, hundreds and hundreds of cars. That meant
thousands of people.
She parked carefully and sat there for a bit, fiddling with
her wig, painting on a bright fuchsia lipstick, a colour she’d
never wear. It was those sort of details that helped.
She took a deep breath and pulled the key out of the
ignition. Now that the moment had actually arrived, she
felt very sick, tempted just to leave again, go home. So
strong was the temptation, indeed, that she actually
reinserted the key; then caught sight of herself in the
mirror, so unfamiliar she wouldn’t have known herself, and
pulled it out again. She hadn’t come all this way for
nothing.
She got out, locked the car. She must make very careful
note of where it was parked; she couldn’t afford to waste
time on that later. At the end of the row was a large
Bentley; that would serve very nicely as a marker. She had
also - an old trick of her father’s at Badminton - tied a red
ribbon on the top of her aerial. You could see that from
quite a long way away.
Then, picking up her bag, she started to walk quite
slowly - but not too slowly — towards the gate. In no time
at all, she was part of the crowd.
Felix swam rhythmically up and down the rather small pool
at the health club. He liked swimming; most people said it
was boring, but he had always found it a rather good way of
problem solving. The way it left the brain almost but not quite free meant that it could survey and explore situations
in a slightly detached way: often more effective than an
intense brainstorm. And the setting up of a direct banking
service, initially a face-saving operation which had become
a rather intriguing reality, was presenting him with several
problems to solve. He swam for about twenty minutes, then
got out; his arm was certainly easier, and he’d cracked at
least two of the problems, but the indigestion was still with
him. Worse, if anything. A light lunch, then, and maybe a
rest before going to the meeting…
Louise went up to one of the officials at the edge of the car
park. ‘I’m looking for some friends,’ she said. ‘They’re at
some function, a charity lunch.’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘in there, in the John Foulston
building. Top floor. Just go on up.’
‘Thank you.’
She looked at the building thoughtfully. It looked rather
formal; she’d imagined a marquee, something like that,
possibly just a roped-off area, on the edge of the course, that
they’d spend much of the day just wandering about. She
hadn’t anticipate having to get in and out of a building.
Stupid of her,” really. Still, surely, surely they’d come out at
some point: to go and look at the cars, watch the racing.
And then — well, then she could follow them. And play it
by ear.
Suddenly she felt a rush of panic. Two people she knew,
two friends from Gloucestershire, she’d actually been to a
drinks party in their house for heaven’s sake, were coming
towards her. Now what did she do? Useless to run, that
really would attract attention to herself. She took a deep
breath, stood still, studying her programme. They drew
nearer, were talking.
‘Hallo,’ the man called suddenly. ‘How are you?’
She lifted her head, forced a smile. So much for her
wonderful disguise. Then she realised they had walked past her, were waving at someone behind her. She began to feel very much more confident.
‘Octavia, you look great.’ It was Melanie.
‘So do you,’ said Octavia, laughing. Perverse to the last,
Melanie was dressed as a man, in tweed suit, with a
deerstalker cap on her head. ‘Absolutely wonderful.’
‘Thanks. Everything going all right?’
‘I think so. But Lauren has insisted on starting on the
champagne half an hour early.’
‘Fine. If it runs out, that’s her problem.’
‘I told her that. She didn’t seem to care.’
‘There’s big business going on down at the unit. Lots of
people milling round in there. Several people signing up to
become Friends. We must tell Lauren to mention that in
her speech.’
‘You can do that,’ said Octavia. ‘I don’t want to speak to
her any more than I have to.’
‘Christ,’ said Tom. ‘Christ, where is the bloody child?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Gideon.
‘Well, surely you must have — oh, God. This is all I need.
Jesus. Stay there, Gideon, just stay there. Don’t move or I’ll
kill you.’
‘Okay, Dad,’ said Gideon equably.
He’d been there just a minute ago, holding his hand so
tightly. He seemed very nervous altogether, poor little sod.
Which was hardly surprising.
Now he’d disappeared.
Tom stood at the top of the slope just above the entrance
to the paddock, where all the shops were, trying to spot
Dickon in the crowd. Trouble was he was so small. He
couldn’t see him anywhere.
He walked back down to Gideon, said, ‘No sign.’ He
tried to keep calm. It was difficult.
‘We could try the Sega place. He wanted to go in there.’
‘Really? You stay here, Gideon, in case he reappears.’
He went into the Sega World shop; it was a mass of small
boys. None as small as Dickon though. Tom pushed through them, went outside again.
An official stood at the entrance.
‘Lost a kiddie?’
‘Yes. Yes, I have.’
‘What you do is go to the BBC tower, tell them his
name and so on, ask them to put out an announcement.
Don’t worry, sir, happens all the time. He’ll turn up, don’t
you worry.’
Tom felt sick. He’d lost a child already, rather publicly if
it had to be announced, and it wasn’t even lunchtime. And
suppose they couldn’t find him, suppose he’d been
abducted? You heard about things like that happening in
these places. All the time.
‘Dad! Dad, he’s here!’
‘What?’ He rushed over to him, grabbed him, shook him
not very gently. ‘Dickon, where the hell have you been?’
‘Sorry,’ said Dickon. ‘I’m very sorry.’ His large brown
eyes, full of tears, met Tom’s.
‘Oh — it’s all right. I was worried, though. Where were
you?’
‘He was in the model shop. Just coming out. I stopped
him,’ said Gideon self-righteously.
‘Good, well, we’d better get back to the suite for lunch,’
said Tom. His breathing and his heart had steadied. Terrible
how quickly you panicked in these situations. Abduction!
Absurd!
‘Isn’t it fun?’ said Lauren happily. She was very excited, her
blue eyes brilliant in her tanned face. She looked stunning.
He should have gone to Tuscany with them all, thought
Tom gloomily. In the event, there had been no point
staying loyally at home.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes, great fun.’
‘We’ve done awfully well. Sold absolutely masses of raffle
tickets.’
‘Good.’
‘Bit of a shame, Anthea Turner can’t come apparently.
She’s ill. So Kit Curtis is going to draw the raffle.’
‘I’m sure he’s nearly as pretty as Anthea,’ he said and
smiled at her.
‘Maybe you should do it. You’re prettier than both of
them. Oh - Oliver. Nice to see you. Great costume. Sorry,
got waylaid into the Sega shop by my children.’
‘I’ll join you all there after lunch,’ said Oliver Nichols,
grinning. ‘You going to have one of those hot rides, Tom?’
‘Don’t know. They look pretty tempting. Are you?’
‘Of course you must,’ said Lauren. ‘I’m going to.’
‘Octavia! Hallo, my dear. I’m sorry I’m late.’ It was Nico
Cadogan; he bent to give her a kiss, then raised his glass of
champagne to her. ‘God, you look marvellous.’
Octavia smiled at him. He was exactly what she needed
just at that moment. He was rather like a glass of champagne
himself; spirit lifting, morale boosting.
‘You’re not late,’ she said, ‘and it’s lovely to see you. I’m
- I’m sorry about Marianne.’
‘Oh,’ he sighed. ‘Yes. Well, all part of life’s rich pattern, I
suppose.’
‘You must be pleased about — well, about how the
takeover turned out. Or rather didn’t turn out.’
‘I was. Something of a volte-face on your father’s part,
most unexpected, but — yes, very welcome. I don’t suppose
Tom talked to you about it at all?’ His voice was carefully
casual.
‘No, he didn’t. Why?’
‘Oh, I just thought he might have done. No matter.’ He
smiled at her, helped himself to a couple of canapes. ‘Where
is the dear boy?’
‘Over there, talking to Lauren Bartlett.’
‘Ah, yes. I seem to remember her from somewhere. Oh,
yes, Ascot. Very pretty but lays it on with a trowel rather, as
I recall.’
Octavia smiled at him again. He really was better than
champagne. Marianne must be a little mad to have dumped
him. Adore her father as she did, she would have thought Nico was actually a much more suitable companion for
Marianne.
They sat down to lunch. Tom had had two glasses of
champagne rather fast and realised he was already feeling
quite lightheaded. He also realised he was sitting next to
Lauren.
‘You’ve changed the table plan,’ he said.
‘Yes. I thought I’d like to sit next to you. Tell you about
the wonderful holiday you missed. And get you to look
over my speech. You are an expert on speeches, aren’t
you?’
‘Oh, absolutely,’ he said. She had that rich, raw-smelling
perfume on again; her cleavage was as deep and as
dangerous as usual. Tom allowed a waiter to pour him a
large glass of claret and decided to enjoy Lauren’s sexiness at
least for the duration of the lunch.
Louise had bought a hot dog and, encouraged by the
success of her disguise, was standing eating it outside the
John Foulston building. She had actually seen Tom
hurrying inside, holding Dickon’s hand. Dickon looked
rather anxious and upset; it worried her, she wanted to rush
over and hug him. But of course she couldn’t. He had even
glanced over in her direction; she had held her breath,
studied her programme again. But it was all right; he hadn’t
recognised her.
She wondered if Minty was inside. She supposed she
must be. She’d be having lunch with them. How on earth
was she going to get in there? Or out again. She couldn’t. It
was impossible. But — if Tom had brought Dickon and
Gideon out, then surely someone would do the same with
Minty. Don’t panic, Louise, stay calm. You’ll manage
something.
Then she saw Minty. Sitting in her buggy, crying loudly.
Being pushed. Not by the dreadful Caroline — how Octavia
could employ that woman Louise had never understood, so bossy and harsh, typical really - but by Zoe Muirhead.
What was Zoe doing here, looking after Minty, for
heaven’s sake?
An official had come down the steps, was helping Zoe” to
pull the buggy up them backwards. Louise could almost,
but not quite, hear what she was saying. She inched
forwards, munching on her hot dog, rummaging in her bag
so her face was down.
‘… not mine,’ came Zoe’s drawling, rather loud voice.
‘God, no. I’m just nanny for the day.’
Nanny for the day. Zoe Muirhead, whom Louise had
always got on rather well with. Well, that really was
interesting. Very interesting indeed.
She didn’t care. She did not care. Tom could climb into
Lauren Bartlett’s blouse and her trousers, he could run away
with her, he could marry her if he liked. Why not? She was
going to divorce him after all. Lauren was welcome to him.
Stupid bitch. Octavia saw her look over in her direction
suddenly, and then whisper something else in Tom’s ear; he
glanced over at her himself, and then they both laughed. It wasn’t exactly the way to behave, she thought, on such an occasion; why on earth had she wanted Tom to come? She