breakfast on the Sunday. ‘I really need to get back. If you
and the children want to stay, you can drive me over to
Warminster. That’s fine by me.’
Louise had phoned and said they wouldn’t come in that
case: Sandy had been reluctant to spend the day with just
the two of them. ‘Giggling, as he puts it. Sorry, Boot. You
know how awkward he can be.’
‘Well, if that’s okay. How’s Anna?’
The lovely voice became heavier. ‘She’s very bad. I can’t
believe how fast it’s happening.’
‘I’d like to see her again. When could I come?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. You say. You’re the busy one.’
She sounded slightly hostile; Octavia was stung. ‘Not that
busy. How about—’ she looked at her diary - ‘Thursday
afternoon? I could easily do that.’
‘If it’s easy.’ Again the note of hostility in the voice;
Octavia struggled not to mind. It was understandable.
‘It is. I’ll see you then. ‘Bye, Lulu.’
The children did want to stay; she drove Tom to
Warminster, in silence. He got out and kissed her briefly.
She wondered suddenly if he was going to see Her. She
hadn’t thought of that. She turned her head away from him,
and drove off ignoring his wave.
After lunch, eaten in the garden, she said brightly to the
children, ‘I want to show you something.’
‘What? A bird’s nest or something?’ said Poppy, her
voice heavy with sarcasm.
‘It’s about half an hour away, and it’s something very important to me.’
‘It will be a bird’s nest,’ said Gideon to Poppy.
She had been afraid there would lots of people at Battles
Wood, picnicking, tramping through it, but it was almost
deserted. One small happy-looking little family was standing
on the small stone bridge, playing pooh sticks, and as
they walked into the wood itself, Octavia carrying Minty,
for it was too bumpy to push the buggy, a young couple
came out, holding hands. Her dress was very creased.
‘They’ve been snogging,’ said Gideon, with all the
worldly wisdom of the nearly nine. ‘Come on, Mum,
where’s this exciting thing, then?’
‘This is it,’ said Octavia, smiling into the dim sunlight.
‘This is Bartles Wood. Look, did you see that dragonfly?
And there’s a whole duck family, look.’
‘Great,’ said Poppy. ‘Oh my God. Wow. Ducks.’
‘Poppy, don’t be silly. It is a lovely place and what’s
exciting is that they were trying to build shops and houses
on it and now they’re not. Well, hopefully not.’
‘What, here?’ Even Gideon sounded shocked.
‘Yes. Here. Cut the wood down, knock a big house
down that’s just-up the hill, divert the stream, build a
housing estate”.’
‘That’s awful,’ said Poppy.
‘Let’s go in a bit further. There’s a little clearing there,
look, we can sit down and Minty can crawl about. She’s
getting very heavy.’
They walked under the trees, out into the clearing. The
news that the wood might have disappeared endowed it
with interest, and the twins began looking around them,
arguing about where the houses might be and where the
shops.
The sun was very hot; Octavia put suncream on Minty,
argued briefly with the twins about whether they should
have some too, then watched them disappear towards the
stream and the shade with some relief. They wouldn’t get burned there. Minty crawled towards some bracken fronds, pulled at their curls tentatively, smiling with pleasure as they curled back again.
Tall foxgloves grew amongst the bracken; a large bee
buzzed lazily in and out of the bells. Octavia suddenly felt
very happy and at peace.
The twins were building a dam on a small tributary of the
stream, arguing about techniques; Minty sat looking round
with large dark eyes, then reached up and stuffed a piece of
bracken into her face.
‘I wouldn’t eat that if I were you,’ said a voice, and a
young man came into the clearing. He smiled at Octavia
and she smiled back. He was rather attractive, in an untidy
way, with wild brown curls and large hazel eyes. His mouth
was wide, and his teeth slightly crooked; it was somehow
engaging, a welcome change from rigid orthodontic
perfection. He was tall and thin, and was wearing corduroy
trousers and a check shirt and heavy black farmers’
Wellingtons: obviously a local.
‘It’s lovely here, isn’t it?’ she said, smiling at him.
‘Very lovely.’
‘Let’s hope it stays this way.’
‘Ah! You mean the development. You’ve read about it
in the papers, I suppose,’ he said, studying her (horribly
townie-looking, she thought, in her Armani jeans, her
Cutler & Gross sunglasses, Minty in her Baby Gap
dungarees).
‘Yes. And I saw the signs,’ she said quickly. ‘Back by the
bridge and the entrance.’
‘And did you see what had been written on them?
Saved!’
‘Which it has been, I believe?’
‘For now. We shall have to see what happens.’
‘I presume you’re in favour of keeping it. Not developing
it.’
‘Well — yes and no,’ he said carefully. ‘It would be a
shame to build on it, but we do need housing round here,
quite badly.’
‘Of course you don’t,’ said Octavia briskly. ‘There’s far
too much housing already, empty buildings everywhere in
the city centres.’
‘I hadn’t noticed many of those in Bath,’ he said.
‘Well, maybe not Bath. But Bristol and Frome and
Warminster. The town centres are dying.’
‘And you’d like to live in one of those empty buildings,
would you?’ he said. ‘In the town centres?’
‘Well …” She hesitated.
‘Where do you live?’
‘London.’
‘And we’ve got a cottage, near Bath,’ said Poppy, who
had come over to view this stranger, ‘where we come for
weekends.’
‘How very nice for you,’ he said, and the hazel eyes were
just slightly contemptuous as he looked at Octavia. ‘You
must know all about the area, then. And its needs.’
‘Look,’ she said, longing to tell him, not daring, of her
involvement in the fight, ‘I’m not really like that.’
‘No?’
‘No. Of course I think people should be be decently
housed. But why can’t the brownfield sites be developed,
why can’t the city centres be improved, the houses that are
already there refurbished? It would cost no more. Probably
less.’
‘You sound rather well informed. And there may be
some truth in what you say. But people want to live in the
countryside, want to bring up their children in the
countryside. And I think they should have a choice. Not be
told where they’ve got to live. And they can’t all afford
country cottages,’ he added heavily.
‘But there won’t be any country left soon,’ she said
heatedly. ‘Surely it’s better for there to be some left, so
people can visit it, than every inch covered in - in
executive homes.’
‘And what’s wrong with executive homes?’ he said,
sitting down beside her, looking at her intently.
‘Well, they’re pretentious. And hideous.’
‘According to you.’
She felt herself beginning to lose her temper, then
suddenly smiled. ‘This is silly. We only met because we
both like it here.’
‘True.’ He held out his hand. ‘Gabriel Bingham.’
‘Oh, my goodness,’ said Octavia. ‘Now I understand.
You’re the MP here, aren’t you?’
‘I am indeed. How do you know that?’
‘Oh, local friends. Anyway, I’m Octavia Fleming.’
‘Nice name. And do you work for your living, Octavia
Fleming?’
The question was just faintly patronising. Clearly he saw
her as spending her life and her husband’s money in idle
self-indulgence.
‘Yes. I run my own company,’ she said firmly.
‘Do you?’ He was clearly surprised. ‘And what does it do,
your company?’
‘Er, marketing,’ she said hastily. This was getting rather
close to home.
‘Marketing! Very trendy. Well, it’s been very nice
meeting you. I’d like to continue our discussion, but I have
to get back.’ He gently removed Minty, who was trying to
climb on to his legs, and stood up, towering above her.
Octavia looked up at him, then stood up herself. ‘To
your own family?’
‘No, no. Nearest to that is a putative fiancee.’
‘Only putative?’
‘Yes, she’s not quite sure about me yet. Well, not quite
sure enough. But I do have work to do. Good day to you.’
He smiled, held out his hand again. Octavia looked
down at it: a strong, brown, very large hand. She took it,
and it folded round her own. For some reason she felt quite
literally weak at the knees.
Anna was being sedated now, needed stronger painkillers;
but for most of the time she was blithely brave, pretending
for them all that she would soon be better.
Charles looked at her over his teacup, smiled at her.
‘Shall I tell you something? Something nice? I think Louise
might be pregnant again.’
Anna’s eyes were puzzled, watchful suddenly. ‘Why do
you say that?’
‘Oh, call it masculine intuition. When she was here last
week she had that pale, dark-eyed look. And Dickon told
me they had to stop for her to be sick coming over. I just
think she might be, and it would be the best possible thing,’
‘I’m not sure that it would,’ said Anna slowly. ‘And
anyway, she — well, it’s very unlikely. Very. Darling, I’m
hurting a bit, is it time for me to have a pill yet?’
‘Of course it is. More than time. You’re doing well.’
She took the pill, sat looking at him, smiling. ‘I love you,
Charlie.’
‘I love you, too. Now, why do you think it’s so unlikely?
About Louise being pregnant?’
But she was asleep again, drifting off into her drug
induced peace.
Tom was at home for breakfast on Tuesday morning. He seemed edgy, nervous, making a great performance of reading and opening letters.
‘You do know I’ve got a late meeting tonight?’ he said
finally, looking up.
‘I’d forgotten,’ Octavia said coolly. ‘What is it you’re
doing? Exactly?’
‘Oh, meeting a group of environmentalists who are
trying to form an all-party committee. Asked me to join
them.’
it doesn’t sound quite your style,’ she said, briskly.
‘Tom, have you seen Bartles Wood?’
‘Yes, of course I have. But Carlton’s development — as
you would see if you took the trouble to look at the plans will
blend in extremely well with the surrounding countryside.’
‘Tom,
don’t talk such total garbage!’ said Octavia, and
then, after a pause, ‘I suppose you met the local MP down
there?’
‘Gabriel Bingham? Yes. He came to one of Carlton’s
meetings. Bit of a Bollinger Socialist.’
‘You mean he went to public school? Dear oh dear,
Tom, are we ever going to see that particular chip fall off
your shoulder? Terrible sign of insecurity, you know.’
He flushed, but didn’t respond. ‘So what are you doing
today?’ he asked, making a clear effort to keep the
conversation on a positive level.
‘Oh, endless meetings. Including one with Lauren
Bartlett. Look, I must go, I have to take the twins to
school.’
‘By the way, if you want to fix that drink with the
Bartletts, if it would help, that’s fine by me. Thursday
would be okay, or Tuesday next week.’
‘Right. Thank you.’ He must be feeling guilty. Very
guilty. ‘And will you be back tonight?’
A pause, then, ‘Possibly. I’ll see how the day goes. I’ll let
you know.’
‘Fine,’ she said, keeping her voice carefully level.
‘Goodbye, Tom.’
‘Goodbye, Octavia.’
‘Good news, Pattie.’ Meg Browning, one of the Save
Bartles Wood committee, put down the telephone and
looked across her kitchen at Patricia David. ‘That was
Gabriel Bingham. He says he’ll come tonight. To our
follow-up meeting.’
‘Really? Marvellous.’ Patricia’s thin face flushed with
pleasure. ‘I never thought he would.’
‘He says he doesn’t want us to think he’s automatically
on our side, merely that he wants to be as well informed as
possible on all the issues, and to inform us on party policy in
the light of Mr Carlton’s determination to appeal.’
‘I see. Well, that’s terrific. Golly, I don’t suppose Octavia
would come to this meeting, would she?’
‘You could ask her.’
Patricia David phoned, and Octavia said that, much as
she’d love to, it would be very unwise.
Lauren had brought her sidekick to the meeting at Capital
C, an appalling woman called Fiona Mills who argued with
every point Octavia and Melanie made. She was wearing
her husband’s money on every inch of her, including,
Octavia decided, her very tautly lifted jawline.
‘We are fairly confident of a certain person’s involvement,
aren’t we, Lauren?’ she said. ‘If not officially, then
unofficially. You know who I mean?’
Melanie said she presumed she meant Princess Diana and
Fiona Mills said possibly, discretion was everything in these
matters.
‘Well, that’s marvellous,’ said Melanie. ‘Simply marvellous.’
‘Now,