Almost a Crime by Penny Vincenzi Page 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