the funeral, Octavia. At twelve. In the village church.’
‘Fine,’ said Octavia. ‘I’ll be there.’
There was a silence, then Louise said, ‘I know this must
sound odd, but — well, could you ask Tom to come too?
Mummy was very fond of him, and I do so want everyone
to be there for her. And Daddy likes Tom, said he hoped
he’d come with you. So —just for me. For all of us. If you
could bear it.’
‘I could bear it,’ said Octavia, while thinking it was very
odd, when Tom and Louise had so spiky a relationship. ‘Of
course I could. For you. Yes, I’ll ask him.’ The idea
horrified her; she wasn’t sure why.
‘Thank you. Thank you very much. And, Octavia: when
you come to the funeral, don’t say anything about the baby
to Sandy, will you? He’s a bit funny about it, very unsure
that it’s a good idea. He’ll come round, but at the moment
it’s best left. I’ve told Daddy to keep quiet, too.’
‘I won’t,’ said Octavia.
Tom came back soon after ten, looking exhausted.
Octavia was reading. ‘Tom,’ she said, ‘a couple of things.’
He sat down, started loosening his tie. ‘Not a heavy
number, Octavia, please. I’m exhausted. I’ve spent the
evening trying to work out how to save Fleming Cotterill.
You just might like to know that. What your little
principled stand has done for us.’
‘Really? Well I’m sure you will. Save it, I mean.’
‘I envy you your confidence. Which is, of course, based
on a serious lack of knowledge. Octavia—’
‘Tom, please. Not now.’
He sighed. ‘All right.’
‘Look, Anna Madison’s funeral is on Wednesday. God
knows why, but Louise is very keen that you should go.’
There was a fraction of silence, then he said, ‘I can’t. I’ve
got meetings all day.’
‘Well, of course you must go to them,’ she said, anger
swiping through her. ‘The funeral of an old friend is neither
here nor there, is it, compared to a meeting?’
‘Octavia, Anna wasn’t my friend. You know that.’
‘She was very fond of you. She was saying how much she
liked you when I last saw her. And how much Louise liked
you. Which did surprise me, considering you’re scarcely
even polite to her, most of the time.’
‘Yes, well. She’s your friend — they all are.’
She felt angry suddenly, freshly, fiercely angry. ‘Tom, I
really do think you should consider coming. These are
people grieving horribly. Louise has only just recovered
from the death of her baby, and, Tom, she’s pregnant. She
asked me to tell you, God knows why, seemed to want you
to know, but anyway, I think it’s very brave of her. She’s
obviously feeling appalling. So I really do think—’
‘Pregnant?’ he said, and his voice sounded odd, strained.
‘Louise is pregnant? Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. She told me, her father told me,
she’s being sick every five minutes. Why shouldn’t I be
sure?’
‘Sorry,’ he said, and his voice sounded rather quiet,
almost shaky. Upset, then. Good. ‘Of course you must be
right. I was surprised, that’s all.’ There was a silence, then
he said, ‘Maybe you’re right. I will try and come. I’m — I’m
going to bed now. Good night.’
‘Good night, Tom,’ she said.
His footsteps as he walked across the room were heavy
and very slow; as he reached the door, he turned and
looked at her and his face was extraordinarily drawn and
seemed to have new, deep lines etched into it.
A thud of fresh fear went through her. Maybe Fleming
Cotterill really were in trouble. Guilt, briefly, joined the
fear; she crushed it. If losing one client could ruin them,
then they could hardly have been on a very sound basis in
the first place. She would not and could not be blamed for
any of it. It wasn’t fair.
Tom went into Aubrey’s office.
‘We have an angel, or a possible one. Name of Terence
Foster. Funny sort of name for an angel, but there you go.
Meeting on Thursday morning, eight thirty. That okay
with you? I took a flyer, said yes.’
‘Fine,’ said Aubrey. ‘Absolutely fine. Well, let’s hope we like each other.’
‘We’ll need to,’ said Tom heavily. ‘He’ll want a third
share in the company.’
‘A third! That’s tough.’
‘We might be able to talk him down. Anyway, not much
we can do about it, but at least we’ll be out of our misery by
then. One way or another. Right, I must get off to the
Savoy. Got a lunch with Cadogan.’
‘That’s working out well, isn’t it?’
‘Seems to be,’ said Tom. ‘Cheers, Aubrey.’
It amazed him how cheerful and normal he managed to
appear. Given everything he was having to cope with.
‘Louise, it’s Octavia. How are you?’
‘Oh, not too bad. A bit tired.’
‘You must be. Poor you, all that sickness misery as well.
You’re very brave. Anyway, just to let you know that Tom
will be coming on Wednesday.’
‘Oh, Boot, I’m so pleased. I know it will be harder for
you, but I do appreciate it. Please tell him.’
She’ll be sending him her love in a minute, thought
Octavia, half irritable, half amused. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘Any — developments on that one?’ Louise’s voice was
cautious, careful. ‘I didn’t ask before. Sorry.’
‘Well - a few. We’ve had it out. Had the conversation.’
‘And?’
‘I can’t talk now. I’m at work. But it’s over. I want out.
Or rather, I want him out.’
‘When - when was this conversation?’
‘Louise, what does that matter? Wednesday, I think. Yes,
the Wednesday before I came down to you.’
‘And he’s agreed?’
‘He won’t have any choice.’
‘You’ve made it really plain?’
‘Yes, of course I have. What is this?’
‘Oh, nothing. I thought you weren’t sure. About
divorce.’
‘Oh, I’m sure now. Very sure indeed.’
There was a silence, then, ‘Good for you. I do admire
you, Boot. Being so strong.’
‘Well, I’ve hardly started yet. The worst thing will be
telling Daddy. It will be horrendous. I absolutely dread it.
The longer I can postpone it, the better. He’ll crucify
Tom.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh, yes. Really. Even feeling how I do about Tom, I
fear for him. And I fear for the company as well. Daddy will
set out to destroy him in every way he can, and that won’t
do me any good. I have to present it all quite carefully.
Work out a way of telling him.’
‘He wouldn’t like to come on Wednesday, would he?’
said Louise. She sounded wistful. ‘I like your dad. Daddy
does, too, and I remember Mummy saying how attractive
he was.’
‘Really? Are you sure you want him? He’s hardly a close
friend.’
‘Yes,’ said Louise slowly, ‘quite sure. Will you ask him
for me, Boot?’
‘Of course,’ said Octavia.
‘And if he wants to bring Marianne, then that would be
lovely too. She wrote me the sweetest note when Juliet
died.’
Octavia felt rather bemused. Louise seemed to be treating
her mother’s funeral like a cocktail party.
‘Romilly,’ said Clementine Wilson, head of the music
department at Queen Anne’s, ‘Romilly, I really cannot
believe you’ve practised this piece at all since last Thursday.’
Romilly felt like bursting into tears. Her head ached, the
period that her spot had heralded had still not arrived, she
felt bloated and almost fat, and she was in a state of huge
agitation about her father’s arrival the following day and the
effect of it upon her modelling future. Her mother had
warned her he was very opposed to the whole thing.
‘Well?’ said Clementine Wilson.
‘I haven’t practised very much. No.’
‘Well, Romilly, I can only say I am tempted to withdraw
you from the concert and ask Primrose to play instead. Very
tempted.’
Had her father not been coming over especially for the
concert and his approval so crucial, Romilly would have
said that was fine; under the circumstances she burst into
tears.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘very sorry, Miss Wilson. I haven’t
been very well.’
‘Well, we’ll do the full rehearsal this afternoon and then I
shall make my decision in the morning, after I have heard
you again.’
Romilly went down to school lunch, found Fenella.
‘Hi, Rom. You look cheerful.’
‘I feel cheerful.’
‘I thought your life was, like, utterly wonderful.’
‘It was. For five minutes. Now my mother is dead set
against me doing anything that is remotely worthwhile, and
Miss Wilson is threatening to replace me in the concert
tomorrow. And my dad is coming over from New York
especially to hear me. And he’s against the modelling too.
Fen, does my .stomach stick out?’
Fenella studied it. ‘Well, maybe compared to a board.
Just a bit. Today. I didn’t notice it on Saturday.’
‘Oh, God,’ said Romilly. ‘It’s my period, it’s late, I’ll just
get fatter and fatter till it arrives. And I may have to go back
to the agency on Wednesday. And then this spot. They’ll
cancel the contract. Fen, what’ll I do?’
‘Nothing,’ said Fenella soothingly. ‘You’re often late, it’ll
come. Go for a run tonight. That sometimes helps.’
‘Yes, I will. And I won’t eat anything till it does,’ said
Romilly.
‘Rom, don’t be silly. You have to eat. They’ll all start
thinking you’re anorexic if you’re not careful and then
they’ll never let you do it.’
‘No, you’re right. Well, I won’t have any lunch at least.
That should help a bit. And - hey, I know what I can do. I could take some kind of laxative, couldn’t I? That’d help. I remember Zoe doing that once, when she was going to a
party, said it would make her stomach go flat.’
‘Romilly, I really don’t think this is a good idea,’ said
Fenella nervously. ‘You’ll make yourself ill, and compared
to most of us your stomach is concave.’
‘No, it isn’t. And it’s only till after Wednesday. I think
it’s a really good idea. I’ll get something in Boots on my
way home.’
Fenella looked at her friend anxiously; this was exactly
what everyone said happened to models. Only it was
happening to Romilly with horrible speed. She sighed. ‘At
least eat something. An apple, or—’
‘Yes, all right,’ said Romilly, reaching for the smallest
apple in the bowl. ‘But I don’t want any more fussing, Fen.
You’re supposed to be my friend.’
‘I know,’ said Fenella with a sigh.
In New York, one of Alec Muirhead’s major clients had
just phoned him to say that he wanted to press ahead with a
deal he had not expected to go through for at least another
two months. This would clearly necessitate several days of
intense activity, and probably a flight down to Texas where
his head office was. He was a very major client indeed; his
fee alone covered a third of Muirhead Templeman’s
overheads for the year. Alec Muirhead looked at the week
ahead and saw that however much disappointment it might
cause, there was no way he could take four days out and fly
to London. After the briefest hesitation, he lifted the phone
to tell Marianne to break the news to Romilly.
The packet of laxatives said to take one or two tablets on
retiring; Romilly, her stomach more bloated still, after
having a large bowl of spaghetti bolognese practically forced
into her by Marianne, took four. She woke at five with
appalling cramps and spent the next hour in the lavatory;
but as she showered and dressed, having gone through her
solo once more, feeling rather shaky, she noticed with great
satisfaction that her stomach had become almost concave once more.
‘Romilly darling, I want to talk to you about something.
And do eat something, you look very pale.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Romilly, just a bit nervous.’
‘Well, at least drink some nice sweet tea. Look, this is
very bad news for you, I know, but—’
‘They don’t want me,’ said Romilly. Her eyes filled with
tears. All that agony for nothing.
“What? Who don’t want you?’
‘The Americans.’
‘Darling, it has nothing to do with the Americans. It’s
about today. The concert. Daddy’s desperately sorry, but he
has some huge deal going through and can’t come over
today. He sends lots of love and—’
‘Oh,’ said Romilly. ‘That’s okay. It’s only a crummy
school concert.’
‘Darling, that’s not what you said when you were told
you could play your solo. Anyway, it’s very sweet and
grown up of you to be so brave about it. Now, go and get
your things and I’ll drive you in. Stars shouldn’t have to
travel on the Tube.’
When Romilly got to school, she played her solo to Miss
Wilson, who said she had certainly improved considerably
and that she could play in the concert as arranged. Right in
the middle of telling Fenella this, and that her father was
unable to come to the concert, or indeed come to London
at all, Romilly felt a familiar dull ache in her stomach and
back; her recalcitrant period had finally arrived. Glancing at
her face in the cloakroom mirror, she noticed that the spot