‘What do you mean?’ The husky voice was harsher
suddenly, indignant, I hope you don’t think I’m going to
tell anyone. We’re friends, I thought. Best friends. For ever
and ever. Amen.’
I’m sorry. I guess I’m just feeling vulnerable. And guilty
all round. Including now about Gabriel.’
‘You shouldn’t be. Are you going down this weekend?
To see him?’
‘I don’t know. It depends on Gideon’s foot, Tom, all
sorts of things. But I probably won’t be able to resist.’
“Very sexy?’
‘Yes, very sexy,’ said Octavia, laughing. “Bye Louise.’
“Bye, darling Boot. And try to remember, I love you.’
It struck Octavia as a slightly strange thing to say.
‘Now, Octavia, whatever you do, get your arse in here
early in the morning. Mrs Piper is getting her rather larger
one up from Chichester at nine thirty for a discussion about the sponsorship and we want to be well ready for her.’
‘Yes, of course, Melanie. I promise.’
‘We can’t afford to lose that account, Octavia.’
‘I know, I’ve made a hash of it.’
‘Well, not all of it. Just most of it.’ Melanie’s hawklike
face softened into a wide grin. ‘These things happen, but I
don’t want them happening again for a bit. I know things
are tough for you at the moment, but …’
Octavia knew what the buts were. All of them. She
smiled quickly at Melanie, struggling to look cool and on
top of things. ‘Mells, I’ll be there. Don’t worry about it.’
Octavia was reading to Gideon when Tom came in. She
heard the door slam, heard his footsteps on the stairs, heard
him coming up the second flight to the nursery. That
was nice, that he’d made the effort. ‘Here’s Daddy,’ she
said to Gideon, ‘he’ll probably play that horrible computer
game.’
The door opened; Tom stood there, his face devoid of
colour, his eyes dull, filled with something ugly and dark.
She stared at him. ‘Are you all right?’
‘No. No, I’m not. I want to talk to you.’
She felt angry suddenly. ‘It’ll have to wait, I’m afraid.
Gideon’s been dying for you to come home, he wants to
play that computer game with you.’
‘I can’t play with you, Gideon. I’m sorry. Not yet. I have
to talk to Mummy.’
‘But, Daddy—’
‘Look, Tom, I don’t know what this is about, but it’s
hardly fair on Gideon. I really do think he should come first
this evening. He’s bored, he’s lonely, his foot hurts. I’ve
been reading to him for ages, but—’
‘Oh, how wonderful you are,’ he said. ‘Such a perfect
mother. Get downstairs, Octavia. If you can tear yourself
away from your beloved children. If I might interrupt
quality time. That’s what it’s called, I believe. Gideon, I’ll
come and play with you later, I promise.’
‘I’ll get Caroline to find you a video, Gideon,’ said
Octavia quickly. She felt very frightened suddenly.
Charles Madison was just finishing an early supper when he
heard the door bell go. Cursing, he went to answer it.
Louise stood there, holding Dickon’s hand, looking rather
pale.
‘Daddy,’ she said. ‘Daddy, I’m sorry, but I’m feeling
absolutely terrible. I just can’t cope any longer. I know I
should be strong for you, but …’
‘Oh, my darling, you’ve done so much for me already,’
said Charles. ‘It’s my turn now. Come along in. Dickon,
you run in and see Janet. She’s got some wonderful apple
pie in the kitchen.’
‘Is Mummy …’ Dickon was very white, his eyes huge in
his small face.
‘Mummy’s fine. Just tired and a bit upset. About Granny.
You can stay here with me, both of you, for a few days.
She’ll be better in no time.’
He-took Louise upstairs, to the spare room. ‘Now you
get into bed, darling, and I’ll get the doctor.’
‘No. Honestly, Daddy, there’s no need for that. I just
want some peace and quiet. Can I really stay here for a bit?’
‘Of course you can.’
‘And if anyone phones, can you tell them I’m not here?
Say I’m — I know! Say I’m in France. With Sandy. That’s a
good idea.’
‘Yes, all right, darling.’
‘I do mean anyone. Even Octavia. Actually, most of all,
Octavia. She’s been getting me down quite badly lately.
Going on and on about her work and everything, about
how busy she is. It really doesn’t help.’
‘Yes, of course I will. Only you know I’m not a very
good liar.’
‘No, I know. But I thought I actually would go over and
see Sandy at the weekend. He did ask us. So it will be
almost true. Please, Daddy.’
‘Darling, I said I would. Now do let me get Dr Hodgen.
You look absolutely all in. And you have to think of the baby.’
‘Yes. Yes, I know I do. I’ve been thinking of nothing
else but the baby all day, as a matter of fact.’
‘I only want to ask you one thing,’ said Tom. They were in
his study now, standing facing one another across the room,
the door closed. ‘Did you or did you not have an abortion
eighteen months ago?’
For what felt like hours she stood there, absolutely still,
staring at him, absorbing the question, all that it meant,
absorbing the knowledge, her mind crunching on it, falling
into dreadful disarray, then realigning itself, neatly, mercilessly.
‘Well,
did you?’
Her flesh crawled: her stomach felt as if it was about to
start leaching its contents on to the floor.
‘Yes, Tom. Yes, I did.’
‘And — and whose was it?’
‘It was yours. Of course.’
He raised his hand and struck her: hard across the face.
She didn’t feel it, didn’t feel anything at all. She just stood
there, staring at him in silence. Then she said, ‘So it was
her, then, Tom. It was Louise.’
And then she turned and ran out of the room, out of the
house, and into her car.
Because she now knew with absolute certainty, and
somehow it was as if she had known all along, that although
everyone might have handkerchiefs, the one in the hotel
room had belonged to Louise. And although everyone had
letters to post, the ones Louise had had in her car, the ones
that Dickon had noticed, had been addressed to Tom’s
clients.
And it was Louise Tom had been having an affair with.
For months and months. Louise. Her best friend.
The house in Cheltenham was in darkness. Octavia stood
outside, hammering on the door, shouting Louise’s name:
nobody came. She looked at her watch: it was only half past
nine. How had that happened? She could remember
nothing, nothing at all since leaving Phillimore Gardens.
What about her father? Might Louise be there? Yes,
possibly. It was worth a try anyway. She went back to her
own car, switched on the phone, rang the Madison house;
Charles Madison answered the phone.
‘No, Octavia, she’s not here,’ he said carefully. His voice
sounded rather strained and awkward; she didn’t believe
him.
‘Charles, are you sure?’
‘Yes. She’s gone to France. To join Sandy.’
Surely he wouldn’t lie to her.
‘All right, my dear?’
‘Yes. Yes, fine. Thank you.’
She switched off the phone again, she didn’t want Tom
ringing her, and sat staring into the darkness.
In the kitchen at Rookston Manor, Dickon was just taking
his third helping of Janet’s apple pie and coating it liberally
with ice cream. ‘Don’t you take too much of that, Dickon,
you’ll be sick.’
‘No, I won’t. I’m never sick.’
Janet smiled at him. She was very fond of Dickon. Poor little chap. What a time he’d had. And Louise too. She’d
looked dreadful when she’d arrived. They both had.
She heard a car in the drive outside and looked out.
‘Who’s that?’ said Dickon.
‘It’s the doctor. Come to see your mummy.’
‘She’s not ill, is she?’ Panic filled the great dark eyes.
‘Just got a bit of a tummy ache, I believe. Nothing to
what you’ll have if you don’t stop eating that ice cream.’
She called from the kitchen across the hall to the drawing
room. ‘Mr Madison, Doctor’s here.’
‘Thank you, Janet, I’ll let him in.’
‘Grandpa, is Mummy really ill, really really ill?’
‘No, Dickon, she’s just a bit — tired.’
‘You don’t need the doctor for being tired.’
‘Sometimes you do. Evening, Dr Hodgen. Good of you
to come. Dickon, you go on back to the kitchen with
Janet.’
‘Come on, my lovely.‘Janet took his hand. ‘We’ll watch
some TV together, shall we?’
He hesitated. ‘Could I have a weeny bit more ice cream?’
‘Just a weeny bit.’
Octavia was on her way to Rookston. She simply hadn’t
believed Charles. No doubt Louise had spun him some
elaborate story or other. There was another father who was
putty in his daughter’s hands. She wondered if Tom would
be like that with Poppy, then thought of their family by the
time Poppy was old enough to manipulate him — fractured,
dysfunctional beyond repair — and the road ahead blurred.
She dashed the tears away furiously. This was no time for
sentiment. She had to keep her mind absolutely fixed on
the present.
It was dusk now, that ultra-clear half-light peculiar to late
summer evenings. The whole situation seemed very surreal;
she felt rather as if she was watching herself in some film,
with no real idea of what was going to happen, her purpose
in coming here, what it might achieve. She only knew she had to see Louise, hear her voice, watch her face, in the now certain knowledge that she had been having an affair
with — no, Octavia, don’t dress it up — sleeping with, having
sex with, screwing her husband. Louise, who was, who had
been her best friend, for ever and ever amen, always with a
special place in her heart, confidante, sharer of secrets,
guardian of intensely personal, intimate information, like
the final dangerous piece of information. And, oh, God,
what would she do with that, about Gabriel… yes, I have
slept with him …
How could Louise have sat there listening, asking her
things, questioning her, knowing, knowing all the time.
When she was fucking Tom, kissing him, moving with
him, welcoming him into her lovely, long, slender,
orgasmic body … crying out in that pretty, husky, evil
voice … Octavia felt bile rise suddenly in her throat,
slammed on the brakes, jumped out, reached the hedge just
in time, vomiting over and over again.
She got back into the car finally, wearily, sat resting on
the steering wheel, wondering if even now she still had the
strength to go on, whether after all she should go back to
London, face Tom, face all of it.
Her car phone rang, shrilly, made her jump. Damn, she’d
meant to keep it off.
‘Yes?’ she said wearily.
‘Where are you?’
It was Tom.
‘In Gloucestershire.’
‘Octavia, don’t go and see her. Don’t. It would be
madness. Believe me.’
‘Tom, I’ve been driven to madness already. It can’t get
any worse. Sorry.’
She put the phone back on its hook, switched it off.
Tom was sitting in his study watching an absurd news shot
of what the reporter called a Cool Britannia party at
Number Ten: Eddie Izzard in a frock, Chris Evans making
silly faces, Mariella Frostrup looking like the cat that
swallowed the cream, the Gallagher brothers. What were they doing there, on what kind of crazy logic had they been
invited? He supposed it was all part of Blair’s nonsense: he’d
been going on the day before on Radio Two about the
people’s government. Were these supposed to be the
people’s stars? He’d be talking about the people’s Royal
Family soon.
The phone rang: please, God, let that be Octavia, saying
she was coming home.
It wasn’t. It was Aubrey.
‘Tom. Are — are things any better?’
‘No, I don’t think you could say that. But anyway. Let’s
talk about Fleming Cotterill. What news. If any?’
‘Not good, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, God,’ said Tom, ‘it’s a nightmare. And it’s so
frustrating. We only need a tiny bit of luck, just one more
account, and a hundred grand, then we could get by.’
‘I know. But tomorrow is the first of the month. We
have to pay the staff, certainly by Monday. We can’t do that
— the bank will bounce the cheques. And then we have that
huge VAT bill, due for payment today, those guys’ll
petition to have us wound up before you can say Customs
and Excise.’
‘If we could pay the staff,’ said Tom slowly, ‘how much
time would we have?’
‘Not long. The rent and rates are due September first.’
‘That sounds like a long way off. After these last few days.
And what about if the Customs and Excise boys do petition,
how long would it take?’
‘About six weeks, I think. But honestly, I think we’d just
be digging ourselves an ever-deepening hole. Look, Tom,
I’ll see you in the morning. Think about a merger, there’s a
good chap. Octavia all right, is she?’
‘Oh, fine, yes. Thank you. Good night, Aubrey,’ said
Tom. He put the phone down. ‘Please, God,’ he said aloud.