section. Of course. Those were always the first he read.
There was a picture of Felix over some article: that wasn’t particularly unusual, ‘five star takeover?’ was the headline.
She wondered what it was about, but didn’t like to
start reading in case he came in and thought she was prying.
She felt uneasy, unwelcome; she sat down on the window
seat and stared out at the garden.
Felix came in with a tray. ‘Here you are. You’re looking
well, Marianne.’
‘Yes, I feel well. Thank you.’
‘Octavia’s coming over shortly. She’s been in Barbados,
you know.’
‘Yes. Yes, I did know.’
‘Really? Have you been talking to Tom?’ The eyes were
very brilliant, very fierce under the heavy brows.
‘No, Felix, I’ve been talking to you. You told me she
was going.’
‘Oh, did I? I don’t remember. Anyway, she’s had a
marvellous time. Took the new man in her life.’
‘I didn’t know there was one.’
“Oh, good Lord, yes. Of course, I don’t know if it’s
going to come to anything, but she seems pretty fond of
him. That’s what she needs, you know, a happy, uncomplicated
relationship. With a decent man who cares about her,
won’t upset her. Nothing too serious.’
‘Well - I’m glad she enjoyed her holiday,’ said Marianne
carefully.
‘Yes. She needed it desperately of course. I’m hoping
she’s going to move in here for a while, with the children.
That husband of hers seems to be hanging on in the house
indefinitely, and so she can’t possibly stay there. And it’s
practically a second home to the children. They love it
here. Much better for them than being in the house with a
horrible atmosphere.’
‘Yes. Yes, I suppose so.’
‘So what can I do for you?’ he said. ‘Sorry about last
night, didn’t mean to sound bad tempered, I’d just got off
to sleep.’
She had rung quite late, having spent most of the solitary
evening plucking up her courage. ‘Yes, I’m sorry, Felix.
I thought you’d still be up. You usually are at eleven. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.’
‘Of course I’m all right. Why shouldn’t I be? I’m not ill.’
‘No, I know. But—’
‘You thought I might be pining for you, did you?’ he
said suddenly. ‘No, I’m fine, Marianne. Not fading away,
not going into a decline. Sorry if I disappointed you.’
‘I didn’t think you’d be pining for me,’ she said, ‘but I
was — worried about you.’
‘How kind.’ His voice was very hard. ‘But no, I do assure
you, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m quite good at
looking after myself. As you may recall. I did it for many
years.’
‘Yes, Felix, I know that. Of course I do. But I felt very
guilty. About the way we — well, we parted.’
‘We didn’t part, Marianne. You did the parting. However,
that’s perfectly all right. I won’t say I don’t feel a little
regretful. We had quite a long history. But it’s not as if we
were married. Still plenty of time ahead of us. To do other
things. As I keep telling Octavia. All the time in the world.
To continue with her career, enjoy herself…’
‘Yes, of course. But—’
‘I hope he didn’t send you,’ he said.
‘Who?’ she said, stupidly.
‘Cadogan. My onetime friend. My Judas.’
‘No, of course he didn’t send me,’ she said, ‘he has no
idea I’m here. Why should he have? Anyway, we—’
He interrupted her. ‘Are you sure about that? He didn’t
ask you to wheedle your way in, ask if I really intend to buy
his company. Try to persuade me not to, even?’
‘Buy his company? What are you talking about?’
‘Marianne, I’m not that naive. Nor can you be, surely.
There are rumours, it’s even in the papers today. I’d like to
believe you didn’t know about it, but it’s — well, it’s a little
difficult. Especially your timing. I haven’t noticed any of
this concern for my welfare before.’
She was genuinely and fiercely hurt. ‘I do assure you,’
she said, and she could hear her voice shaking slightly, ‘I have come here only out of concern for your welfare. I had no idea you were bidding for Nico’s company.’
‘I didn’t say I was. Merely that there were rumours.’
‘All right. I had no idea there were rumours. Are they
true?’
‘I hardly think you can expect me to tell you of all
people.’
‘Why not? Because you think I’ll go running back to
Nico? You seem to have a very low opinion of me, Felix. I
have no interest whatsoever in whether you want to buy his
company or not. As I said, I was only concerned for you. I
can see now it was rather foolish.’
‘Yes,’ he said glaring at her, ‘I think I would agree.
Foolish and arrogant, if I might be allowed to say so.’
‘You are allowed to say whatever you like, Felix. You
always did.’
‘Then allow me to say something else,’ he said. ‘I would
really rather you left. There is absolutely no point your
being here. Our relationship is over. Quite over. The major
concerns in my life, Marianne, continue to be my daughter
and my business. Octavia has always needed me, and never
more than now. In fact, I really must ask you to excuse me.
She is coming up here with little Araminta for tea, and I
have to make sure everything is ready for her.’
Marianne managed to get to the car and to drive away
before bursting into tears of humiliation, of rage — and of
very deep, raw hurt. She was not to know that inside the
house, Felix Miller was sitting at his desk, his study door
locked, his great head buried in his arms, and Elgar’s cello
concerto playing very loud on the stereo to drown the
sound of his weeping.
‘My father’s in terrific form, thank you,’ said Octavia
briefly. Tom had greeted her — for the second time that day
- when she arrived back from Hampstead with Minty.
‘Good. Did you talk about — business at all?’
‘If you mean, did he tell me if he was buying Nico
Cadogan’s company or not,’ she said briskly, ‘no. He didn’t.
He just said it was an interesting idea. He’s enjoying all the
fuss though. He loves talking to the papers.’
‘Is he going to do it, do you think?’
‘I really don’t know. If he does, it would be revenge, I
suppose.’
‘For what? said Tom lightly.
‘Well, for Nico stealing Marianne from under his nose.
Wouldn’t you say?’
‘I wouldn’t know what to say, I’m afraid. When it comes
to your father.’
‘I’m going to bath Minty,’ she said, ignoring this, ‘you
must excuse me.’
‘Sure.’
She spent a long time in the nursery bathroom: partly
because she was enjoying having Minty back, partly because
she didn’t want to go back downstairs. She thought she
might have an early night.
Tired as she was, she couldn’t sleep. Her body was restless, full of energy. She considered a sleeping pill and rejected it: it was too early. She’d simply wake at four with a thick
head. She sighed, sat up, staring out at the still-light garden.
What she needed was some kind of physical exercise; but
wakeful as she was, she was also tired; running, or even
walking, was unthinkable.
The gym: that seemed better. She could do something
like the treadmill and work herself into a well-tuned torpor.
And then maybe a quick swim: yes. That was the answer.
She pulled on some leggings and a T-shirt, ran downstairs,
decided reluctantly she should tell Tom. Minty might
wake, Caroline was out…
The gym was August-empty, no need to chat. She worked
herself hard, rowed, cycled, walked, felt herself begin to
relax. A quick swim and then she’d be fine.
She went down to the pool: dived in, swam fiercely up
and down for ten lengths, then climbed out, suddenly
shaky. She felt very thirsty, as she often did when she was
tired, and went to the bar to order a fruit juice.
‘You look very well, Mrs Fleming,’ said the boy behind
the bar. ‘Been somewhere nice?’
‘Pretty nice. Barbados. Only a week, though.’
‘Did Mr Fleming enjoy it?’
‘He — yes, he did.’ That was easier.
‘He looked very tired last time I saw him,’ he slipped
some lemon and ice into her fruit cocktail.
‘Really? When was that?’
‘Not too sure, Mrs Fleming. Time flies when you’re
having fun.’ He looked uneasy suddenly, aware he had
broken one of the club’s cardinal rules, talking about
members to anyone else, even their husbands or wives.
Especially to their husbands or wives.
‘Look, it’s okay,’ she said. She tried to laugh, to sound
easily relaxed. ‘I know he was here with Mrs Bartlett about
ten days ago. You’re not setting a divorce in motion or
anything. They were on their way back to our house for
dinner.’ She laughed again, saw relief on his face, saw him relax.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘yes, must have been then. They’d been
swimming.’
‘And you thought he looked really tired? Poor old Tom.
He works too hard.’
She sat absorbing this new piece of information. So they
had been here together. Swimming. As Tom had said. God.
The news was almost unwelcome, so foolish did she feel.
Of course they could have gone somewhere afterwards. But
— he’d been home by nine. Before? No, Aubrey had told
her he was at the Connaught. With a client. Aubrey
wouldn’t lie. He just wouldn’t. God, oh, God. Another bit
of paranoia. She remembered hitting Tom that night and
winced. Not very clever. Not very clever at all.
Lucilla Sanderson was also unable to sleep. It was a very hot
night, and although she had the window open, there was no
air anywhere. Everything was still: even the birds were
exhaustedly silent. The only movement in the still, dark
blue air was made by her small friends. Swooping about,
silently, gracefully swift. She believed they made a noise,
but so high-pitched that human ears couldn’t hear them.
She loved to” sit and watch them until the darkness
swallowed them up, Nora Greenly hated them, said they
frightened her, gave her the creeps. She wouldn’t have her
window open if they were about, some nonsense about
them getting in her hair. Well, she was a pretty feeble
creature altogether, thought Lucilla. Most of them were.
She sometimes felt she was the only inhabitant of Bartles
House with any real gumption at all. Especially at the
moment. Everyone was so worried, and nobody else would
so much as broach the subject with the Fords. She
continued to broach it; and the Fords continued to deny
there was anything to worry about at all. Mrs Ford, she
could tell, was getting rattled by her persistence; Mr Ford
was smoothly, patronisingly calm.
‘I don’t know where you’ve got these ideas from,
Lucilla,’ he had said only yesterday. ‘I really don’t.’
She’d said from the newspapers, that was where, and he’d
said only very foolish people took any notice of what they
read in the papers. ‘If we were planning to move from here,
Lucilla, you’d be the first to know. Of course you would. I
keep telling you, this is your home. And ours. Home sweet
home and all that. Now then, I have to get on with my
work, so if you’ll excuse me
She knew he was lying: she knew that they were all in
great danger. And soon there would be no more nights like
this, no sweet summer nights, with the moon rising over
Bartles Wood and the sky thick with stars and the raw
sound of the foxes calling out across the valley. And no bats,
wings outstretched, making their joyous evening journey
through the growing darkness… Just the hideous permanent
neon-twilight of the city, and a centrally heated, air
conditioned cell to observe it from. It was not to be borne,
thought Lucilla, it really was not to be borne; she had to
think of something. But she was beginning to fear that she
never would.
Octavia stood outside the study door for a long time,
feeling absurdly nervous, wondering why she was putting
herself through this when there was no need, when she
could just leave it. But it was all part of her sense of
rightness, of moral order, of her painful conscience. Finally,
she knocked.
‘Yes?’ Tom sounded irritable.
‘Can I speak to you? It won’t take long.’
‘Right.’
He swung round in his chair, looked at her. He was
clearly exhausted; his face was drawn, his voice sounded
heavy and almost hoarse.
‘Tom, I just wanted to say I’m very sorry. I - that is, the
thing is — I — misjudged you,’ she said quickly.
‘Misjudged me? What on earth is this about, Octavia?’
‘I - I didn’t believe that you were swimming with Lauren. That night. I — was wrong.’
‘And how did you make this discovery?’ he said.
‘I’ve just been to the Harbour Club. Someone said you’d
been there. With her. Swimming. I — was wrong,’ she said
again. ‘I shouldn’t have hit you.’
‘Not then, perhaps,’ he said quietly.
‘No. Anyway, I just wanted to say — that.’ She turned
away from him, to leave the room. Then ‘Octavia,’ he said.
‘Yes?’