Seven years on, she was very happy with him; in spite of
his considerable complexities (most notably his appallingly
dangerous and difficult relationship with his daughter) she
continued to love him and to greatly enjoy his company
and his bed.
Marianne was one of those seemingly unemotional
women who are actually extremely passionate, and she
would look sometimes at Felix Miller across a room or a table, with his thick silvering hair, his unreadably dark eyes, his large frame with its almost visible pent-up energy, and
feel a rush of pure sexual desire for him. It was not
unknown for the pair of them to leave parties or restaurants
rather swiftly, and even for them to enjoy rather rampant
sex on some isolated beach or remote piece of countryside.
Their children, had they known, would have been appalled.
They spent two or three nights a week together in
London, always at his house, never at hers, and holidayed
together at his cottage in Barbados, hers in Portugal. She
had no career, but found herself extremely fully occupied
(apart from her golf) with a serious involvement in funding
and profile raising for both the arts and various charities,
and in caring for her two daughters, who were still young
enough - Zoe at eighteen, Romilly at fifteen - to need a
great deal of her attention.
They lived, the three of them, in a large triplex
apartment on the north side of Eaton Square; exquisitely
furnished and decorated in a style as determinedly light as
Marianne’s personal one was dark, it was very much a
home. The girls had the top floor to themselves, with a
bedroom each, a sitting room and a bathroom, which gave
them an illusion at least of independence and freedom.
Marianne’s children were not exactly fond of Felix
Miller, but they liked him, and accepted his position in
their mother’s life with tolerable grace; he was very fond of
Romilly but found Zoe, with her spirit and a beauty and
sexuality eerily like her mother’s, difficult to cope with. He
also found Marianne’s attitude towards them — tolerant,
easy, almost detached — impossible to understand.
He watched her now as she came across the room to kiss
him, and said, ‘You sure you don’t want to stay?’
‘I’m quite sure. I’m tired and I’ve got a big match
tomorrow.’
‘Well, you certainly mustn’t let me keep you from
something as important as that.’
The amount of time and energy she spent on her golf
irritated him, particularly when he was displeased with her;
it baffled him that a woman so intelligent, so culturally sophisticated, should devote herself to such a thing.
‘You could be running a company easily,’ he had said to
her more than once, and she had laughed and said she had
no desire to run a company; she saw life as something to be
enjoyed, experienced, rather than worked through, and if
there was no need for her to work, and there clearly was
none, then why should she? The girls needed her at home,
she enjoyed being at home, and she also wanted to be
available to Marc whenever he was in London. Felix,
whose entire life had been dedicated to the pursuit and
acquisition of success, struggled and failed to understand
her; it constantly amazed him that he should find himself
compatible with such a creature.
And maybe he wasn’t, he thought now, listening to her
car driving down Well Walk, maybe they should consider
parting; and then knew that he couldn’t possibly, that,
compatible or not, what he felt for Marianne was as near to
love as he had ever felt for any woman. Any woman apart
from Octavia, of course.
Tom was still not home by eleven thirty. Octavia decided
to go to bed in the spare room so that Tom wouldn’t wake
her when he did get in. She turned out the light and tried
to sleep, but the insomnia that always haunted her was very
powerful tonight. She was tempted to take a sleeping pill,
but she had to get up early, perform well; the pill would
make her fuzzy headed, less competent. So would being
exhausted; it was always a conflict, that, trying to decide
which evil was the lesser. And so she lay in bed, staring into
the darkness, doing one of the relaxation exercises her yoga
instructor had given her — absolutely useless but they were
at least something to do — willing herself to stay calm …
She had just turned the light on again to read when she
heard the chugging of a taxi in the street below, and Tom
coming in and up the stairs very quietly. She knew what
would happen next: he would find her not in their bedroom, and then he would come looking for her. He didn’t mind her moving out of their room, he was
sympathetic about her insomnia, but he hated to go to bed
without saying good night to her. She found it at once
touching and irritating that she must be awoken from her
precious sleep to be kissed and told to sleep well.
She smiled at him as he came and sat down on the bed,
kissed her.
‘Sorry I’m late. Bob Macintosh was at the dinner, got
into a rather long conversation with him.’
‘What about?’
Bob Macintosh was one of Tom’s longest-standing and
most important clients; he owned a small but very successful
chain of supermarkets in the Midlands and North of
England. He was outspoken, rather rotund, prematurely
grey haired, with brilliant dark eyes. Octavia was very fond
of him.
‘Oh, he’s not very happy.’
‘Really? How’s Maureen?’
‘Maureen’s the reason. She’s been playing around.
Again.’
Maureen was a flashy redhead, ten years younger than
Bob, loud, funny, extremely extrovert. She was fond of
Bob and fonder of his money, but she was serially
unfaithful.
‘Oh, dear. Poor old Bob. I don’t know how he puts up
with it.’
‘Usual thing. Can’t live with her, can’t live without her,’
said Tom. ‘Anyway, it’s rather complex this time. She’s
been sleeping with an MP.’
‘An MP! Heavens, Tom, who?’
‘Well, that’s the trouble. Or rather what makes it
complex. He’s a junior minister. Quite high profile. And
Mr Blair’s squeaky-clean new government can’t be tainted
with any Tory-style sleaze. Not yet anyway. They want it
hushed up, but the press are on to it, and so they need Bob’s
cooperation.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘Alistair Campbell, or rather one of his merry men, is looking for a garden-gate job. You know, David Mellorstyle,
whole family looking wonderfully happy.’
‘Both families?’
‘Yes. And Bob’s just not sure if he can go through with
it. He says it turns him up.’
‘It would me,’ said Octavia, ‘and it would you, surely. I
hope,’ she added, leaning forward and kissing him.
‘Yes, of course it would,’ he said. He sounded irritable.
She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘So what’s it got to do
with you? Apart from the fact he’s your friend. And your
client of course.’
Tom sighed. ‘He wanted to know what I thought about
it. About the whole thing.’
‘And?’
‘I said it all came down to how he felt about Maureen.
Whether he can forgive her yet again.’
‘And?’
‘Well, he says he can, he wants her back, still loves her.
Poor sod. But on his own terms. And that certainly doesn’t
include making everything fine and dandy for her lover.’
‘He should turn it to his own advantage,’ said Octavia
briskly.
Tom stared at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean he should get something in return if he does
agree to play ball with them. As well as Maureen, I mean. I
presume she wants to stay with him.’
‘Of course she does. Faced with the prospect of losing
Bob and the money and that monstrous house and
everything, she suddenly finds him the only man in the
world—’
‘You don’t like Maureen, do you?’ she said.
‘No, I don’t. I can’t bear those money-grubbing, kept
women.’
‘You like Lauren Bartlett though,’ she said suddenly.
‘No, I don’t. I can’t stand her, actually.’
‘You don’t behave as if you can’t stand her. I seem to
remember some rather tactile dancing, the other night.’
‘Oh, Octavia, don’t start,’ he said wearily.
‘I’m not starting anything. Just making an observation—’
She stopped. This could get nasty. She was horribly,
painfully jealous, couldn’t bear Tom flirting even, had
never learned to laugh it off, to accept it didn’t mean
anything. And he flirted a great deal; it was part of his
charm, as natural to him as breathing.
‘Anyway, that’s the advice I’d give Bob,’ she said quickly
now, anxious to backtrack. ‘If he really wants Maureen
back, that is. He doesn’t have to do anything, it seems to
me. He holds all the cards. He should play a few of them.
Only don’t ask me which ones and how,’ she added,
slithering down on the pillows, ‘I’m much too tired to
think. I just feel dreadfully sorry for poor Bob.’
Tom sat looking at her very intently for a moment or
two, then leaned forward and kissed her. ‘You’re a clever
girl,’ he said, ‘and I love you. Having trouble sleeping?’
She nodded.
‘How would you like me to help you relax? I swear I’ll
go back to our room later.’ His dark grey eyes were very
intense, very serious.
She looked back at him, equally so.
‘I think I’d like that a lot,’ she said. Against all logic, all
common sense, the fact it was late, that she had an early
meeting, that she would be exhausted, she wanted him.
Quite badly suddenly; she could feel her body stirring, feel
it reaching out into desire. She moved lower in the bed,
held her arms up to him, like a child. His eyes fixed on hers,
he pulled off his clothes, climbed in beside her, started to
kiss her. They were both in a hurry, strangely, almost
guiltily so; she reached to put the light out.
‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘I want to be able to see you.’
He liked studying her, stroking her, kissing her small
breasts, her flat stomach, her neat, taut thighs, liked her to
look at him, to learn about him and what pleased him. She
had found that difficult at first; it had been part of her
insecurity, her nervousness. She preferred darkness. He had
teased her about it, told her she was an anal retentive, that it
was all part of her father-complex; that had upset her, she had cried, been angry, pulled away from him. It had taken
her a long time to learn to relax in bed; and she had known
in her innermost heart that Tom was right, that her father
did haunt her sexuality, that even as she welcomed Tom
into her, felt him exploring her, felt her own sensations
growing in violence and pleasure, she knew that a small part
of her still held back, watching herself anxiously, afraid of
losing herself entirely, of doing something she could not
quite allow herself.
But he taught her to trust herself and him; taught her to
enjoy herself, literally. In a relationship that was often taut,
pressured, over-demanding, what happened in bed was an
important, easeful thing for them both, an exploration of
one another on every level, still careful, still looked forward
to and savoured, and still, to Octavia at least, a most vital
element in her self-esteem.
But tonight, there was no holding back. He was in her
quickly, and they came quickly too, both of them. It was as
if they were somehow in a hurry, rushing towards pleasure,
grasping for it, as if there was something beyond it that they
both had to reach, that would not wait long for them. She
felt herself climbing into her orgasm, felt it break, sweetly
fierce, felt him follow almost at once; afterwards they lay,
holding each other, breathing hard still, smiling but slightly
surprised by the violence, the urgency that had overcome
them both.
‘I’ll go now,’ he said, as she drifted into sleep, but, ‘No,’
she said. ‘No, don’t, stay with me, I want you here.’
The last thing she heard was his voice saying he loved
her; the last thing she thought was how much she needed
him …
She had not expected to see him in the morning, slipped
out of bed, showered and dressed and got the notes for her
meeting, thinking him still fast asleep. But he appeared in
the nursery, very wide awake, as she kissed Minty goodbye,
followed her downstairs.
‘I’ll see you tonight,’ he said. ‘It’s the Savoy again, I’m
afraid.’
‘I know. Drapers, regional newspapers, right? I’ll be
there.’
‘How did you get on with Carlton?’ he asked. ‘After I’d
gone?’
‘Oh, all right. I have to say it’s a bit of a minefield, Tom.’
‘I know. I can see that. But good about the sponsorship,
surely?’
‘Ye-es. Hope so. Bit loaded. And then he gave me a
lecture about neglecting my children.’
‘I’m sorry about that. I’m sure you were very patient.’
‘I was. Of course. ‘Bye, Tom. Oh, and by the way,’ she
added, turning back into the room, ‘my father wants you to