while about the old days, when the girls had been together
at Rookston Manor for long, golden weeks in the summer
holidays, running wild.
‘Oh, dear, what lovely memories, how lucky I am,’ said
Anna. ‘Louise, darling, would you go and find some of the
photo albums? I’d so love to look at them all with Octavia.’
‘Well - yes, if you like,’ said Louise, looking at her
doubtfully, ‘but aren’t you tired?’
‘No, angel, I’m not tired, it’s given me a new lease of
life, seeing Octavia. Now I want all of them, the early ones.
They’re up in the old playroom — see what you can find
anyway.’
Louise left the room, smiling at them both as she went.
‘No secrets now,’ she said, ‘without me.’
‘Of course not.’
Anna looked at Octavia as the door closed behind her,
and smiled, sweetly, but slightly warily. ‘It’s about our secret
- that I wanted to talk to you,’ she said.
‘Of course she can’t go. It’s ridiculous. Mum, you can’t let
her.’
Zoe’ was horribly upset; Romilly could understand it.
Her main thought, after she had finally come down from
her high, wild excitement, had been how upset and jealous
Zoe would be. Just the same, it was so wonderful to be the
one, just for once, who was the star.
She still couldn’t quite believe it. Couldn’t believe
hearing that girl’s voice saying no, look, that’s the whole
point, we don’t want your sister, we want you, she’s great
of course, but we think you’re the one with the right look.
It had taken her ages to pluck up the courage to tell Zoe’; she’d decided to wait till Saturday morning, as Zoe had
come in in a foul mood from her exam and from meeting a
friend — presumably - and then had been getting ready for
about two hours. She’d wanted to talk to her mother, but
Marianne had also been distracted — was going to some charity dinner with Felix - so she’d waited till they were all out and then phoned Fenella who’d said oh my God
Romilly at least ten times.
In the morning she had told her mother; Marianne had
been pleased for her, but said she really didn’t think she
could go, she was much too young, and what about school.
Romilly had burst into tears of rage and disappointment,
and said what harm would it do, just to go along to the
semi-final, she probably wouldn’t even make the photo and
make-over session, which was for the last six, she was really
totally unlikely to win, and even if she did, it didn’t mean
the end of her education as her mother seemed to think, she
could do a bit of modelling in the holidays or something.
‘Please, Mummy. You can’t not let me at least try, you’re
always going on about how you wasted opportunities.’
That seemed to swing Marianne round, and she said all
right, just the semi-final. ‘And now you must tell Zoe,’ she
said.
Zoe had taken it badly; so badly that Marianne finally
told her she was ashamed of her.
Zoe had left the room and slammed the door; but half an
hour later (as Romilly had half expected she would, she was
nothing if not generous) she came down again and said she
was sorry, it was cool, she was pleased for Romilly, but she
still didn’t think Marianne ought to let her do it.
‘I mean it, Mum, it’s such a terrible, evil world, that. All
those girls sleep with the photographers and do drugs and
smoke and go anorexic and—’
Her anxiety was undoubtedly genuine; Marianne looked
at her. It was typical of Zoe; underneath the bluster and the
moods and the strop, she was kind, caring, and generous.
‘Zoe, I really appreciate your concern for Romilly, and I can see it’s genuine. But I think it would be fun for her, even if it gets no further than this session next Wednesday.
I’m not a complete innocent, Zoe, and I shall be with
Romilly if and when she meets the people from the agency.
And I have no intention of her being exposed to any of the
horrors you’ve mentioned—’
‘Okay, okay,’ said Zoe. ‘Just don’t say I didn’t warn you,
when she comes home weighing five stone with a heroin
habit. I’m going to do some work.’
They looked after her as she left the room.
‘Thanks, Mummy,’ said Romilly, giving her a hug.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Anna, ‘but she saw your note to me
when she was helping me sort some things out, a few weeks
ago. It just fell out of my bedside table drawer. And she
wanted to know what it was you were thanking me for. I
said I didn’t want to tell her, but she got very upset and said
it wasn’t fair to have secrets from her, you were her friend,
and if I wouldn’t tell her, she’d ask you. Well, I thought
that would be worse, darling, so I told her.’
‘Oh,’ said Octavia. ‘And what did she say?’
‘She hardly took any notice. She just said how sensible of
you, that I’d given you absolutely the right advice, and how
lovely it had all turned out right for you in the end. She
might have been a bit upset that you hadn’t talked to her,
but—’
‘But you explained why I couldn’t? Why I felt I
couldn’t?’
‘Yes, of course. And she said how sweet and how typical
of you, and I honestly don’t think she thought any more
about it.’
‘I wonder why she never said anything to me about it,’
said Octavia.
‘Well, darling, she’s very sensitive about such things.
About people’s feelings. Too sensitive, I often think.’
‘Yes, I know. I might speak to her about it. Now I
know, it feels as if it’s sort of there between us.’
‘I hope it isn’t going to cause any trouble between you,’
said Anna, her drawn face anxious, ‘I’d feel so bad. But I didn’t want to lie to her.’
‘What’s done’s done,’ said Octavia, leaning over her,
giving her a kiss. ‘And I’m sure it doesn’t matter.’
‘I hope so. I feel better for telling you anyway. I wish I
had before. Now look, I’m awfully tired suddenly. I might
like a little sleep. Come again, darling, won’t you?’
‘Yes, of course I will.’
‘I haven’t got awfully long,’ said Anna suddenly, ‘I know
that. They don’t know that I know, but I’m not stupid.
They’d have started the chemotherapy by now if there’d
been any point.’
‘Oh, Anna,’ said Octavia, tears welling up unbidden.
‘Anna—’
‘No,’ said Anna, quite fiercely, ‘no, Octavia, you are not
to cry. If I can be brave, then so can all of you. Listen,
there’s Louise coming back now. Louise darling, I was just
saying I’m rather tired suddenly. I’d love to look at those,
but another time. Now take Octavia off for a chat. I’m sure
you must be dying for some time on your own. Your
father’s arriving any minute, so I’ll be fine for the rest of the
day, I really will.’
Downstairs, Octavia looked at Louise.
‘If she doesn’t need you for a bit, would you like to come
for a drive for an hour or two? I’ve promised to look at
something, and I’d love to have you with me.’
‘So where are we going?’ said Louise, settling into
Octavia’s BMW with a smile of pleasure as they struck the
main road. She had left Dickon with Janet, Anna Madison’s
night and daily as she called her.
‘Place called Bartles Wood. Just south of Bath. Have you
read anything about it?’
‘No. Should I have?’
it’s been in the papers quite a bit.’ Octavia looked at
Louise and grinned. ‘I forgot you never read them. It’s
another Newbury bypass. I presume you read about that?’
‘Yes. Well, saw it on the news. Why are you so
interested in it?’
‘Because I care about England,’ said Octavia briefly, I
care it’s being deluged with concrete. Losing its woods and
lanes and meadows. Just for the greater convenience of the
motor car.’
‘I hadn’t noticed you travelling about on a bike very
often,’ said Louise mildly.
Octavia grinned at her. ‘I know. But if push came to
shove, I would drive less.’
‘And not get to your cottage at the weekends?’
‘We could come by train.’
‘With the children and the luggage and the nanny and
the food and—’
‘Yes, all right,’ said Octavia irritably.
‘Sorry.’ Louise looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You’re very
thin, Octavia.’
‘You’d be thin, if your husband was playing around, you
didn’t know who with, who knew about it—’
‘Yes, I’m sorry. Of course. Have you told him yet?’
‘Louise, I can’t. Something keeps stopping me. While he
doesn’t know I know, I feel safe, in some perverse way.
Does that sound crazy?’
‘No, not really. I think I can understand that. Has he ever
done it before, do you think?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Octavia slowly. ‘God, that is the
worst thing. I feel I don’t know anything about him any
more. I can’t believe anything he says — it’s horrible.’
‘Octavia, is he still…’ Her voice trailed away. ‘Well, are
you …’
‘If you mean is he sleeping with me, yes, he is.’ She
could hear her own voice angry and raw.
‘Sony,’ said Louise, gently, ‘it seemed a bit — well,
relevant. I’m really sorry, Boot. It’s nothing to do with me.’
‘No, you’re right, I suppose. It is relevant. And I don’t
quite know how I can. I’ve only done it once. Since I
knew. I found it rather — can you believe this, Lulu — rather
exciting. Almost as if it was me having the affair. Does that
sound crazy? God, I really think I am going mad. I find myself going down these false trails, suspecting the most
ridiculous people.’
‘Like?’
‘Well, like Lauren Bartlett, a friend — well, associate - of
ours. Like some woman at Ascot in a pink hat. I can’t look
at anyone, actually, any more without thinking it might be Her. It’s horrible, I feel like I’m walking through a minefield. All the time.’
Louise was silent; then she said, very gently, ‘Octavia,
I’m so so sorry. I do feel so sad for you. I wish there was
something I could do.’
‘There is. Just keep listening to me. That’s all I ask.’
It was almost seven when Louise and Octavia reached
Battles Wood; a golden, gleaming evening.
It was quite a small wood, sunk into one of the small
valleys between Bath and Frome, and from the top of the
hill its shape, rather like a comma, was clearly defined.
Bartles House itself was hidden from the road by another
small sward of trees, but the grounds below it were
grassland, and nothing remarkable until they met the wood.
Octavia could see why Carlton would wish to build there;
it was spectacularly beautiful countryside, the hills forming a
natural fortress for the whole area, a river running through
the valley, cutting through the edge of the wood, the
sloping meadows studded with trees. Horses grazed in those
meadows, and sheep and rather grownup-looking lambs,
and in the dark golden sunlight, small, still, black splodges
that were rabbits cropped at the grass.
They drove down the hill, winding into the lengthening
shadows, over a stone bridge, began to climb again the
other side.
‘We can walk down there, look, through that field,
follow the river to the wood,’ said Octavia, pointing.
They parked near a gate; it had a crude notice nailed to
it, covered in polythene, which said, ‘Save Bartles Wood’.
‘There was one of those by the bridge as well,’ said
Louise. ‘Did you see it?’
‘No, I didn’t. Oh, dear, they’ll have to do better than
that.’
They climbed over the gate. Some cows looked at them
curiously, found them uninteresting, returned to their
supper. Everything was lush, the grass tall by the river, the
cow parsley almost waist high. There was a path, one person wide,
leading along the riverbank, hung over with
willows; flies danced in clouds above the water, two
dragonflies in a sudden glitter of blue, and ‘Look!’ said
Louise suddenly. ‘Look, a kingfisher.’
They reached a stile that actually led into the wood; they
climbed over it, stopped after a few hundred yards and
looked back. The river, little more than a wide deep stream,
curved behind them, the long shafting sunlight slowly
losing brilliance. A fish surfaced, then another, breaking the
calm of the water, and two ducks made a rather stately
progress from the bank, followed by an unruly gaggle of
ducklings.
‘And they’re going to do what here?’ said Louise, her
voice quiet in the stillness.
‘Build executive homes and a shopping mall,’ said
Octavia briefly. ‘Oh, and a community centre.’
‘They can’t. How can that be allowed?’
‘It’s called progress,’ said Octavia.
‘And you know the man who’s going to do it?’
‘I know the man who wants to do it. He’s a client of
Tom’s. And I’ve got involved with him professionally too.
As a sponsor. And Foothold, one of my charities, has a
branch down here. They’re fighting it, have asked me to
help with publicity and so on.’
‘Difficult.’
There was a long silence. Then Octavia said, ‘No,
Louise, do you know, suddenly not difficult at all.’
‘Darling? You there? I’m home.’