Octavia

by Jilly Cooper

  A tremor of sycophantic laughter went through the room.

  Gareth stood for a minute, looking cool, almost indifferent, but his left hand was squeezing the back of a chair so hard I could see the whiteness of his knuckles.

  ‘I’m looking forward to working with you,’ he said softly, ‘but I’d like to add that I find it impossible to breathe or conduct business in a taut, patched-up regime; so you’re either for me, or against me.’

  And except for Xander, who was gazing blankly into space, and Tommy Lloyd, who was still looking livid, everyone seemed to be eating out of his hand. For a minute he glared at them grimly, then suddenly he smiled for the first time, the harsh, heavy features suddenly illuminated. The contrast was extraordinary; you could feel the tension going out of the room, as though you’d loosened your fingers on the neck of a balloon.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve been so blunt, but these things had to be said. You’re in a hell of a mess, but frankly, I wouldn’t have taken you on if I didn’t think you could get yourselves out of it.’

  When he sat down there was even a murmur of approval.

  Ricky rose to his feet, oozing satisfaction like an over-ripe plum.

  ‘Thank you, Gareth. I’m sure you can count on 100 per cent support. Now gentlemen, I believe that will be all today.’

  There was a shuffling of feet. Everyone started to file out looking shell-shocked.

  ‘I’ll leave you then,’ said Ricky. ‘Again, many congratulations. We’ll talk later today.’

  I was dying to tell Gareth how great he’d been. But Annabel Smith was already doing it, speaking in an undertone, smiling warmly into his eyes, the predatory, self-possessed bitch.

  Oh please at least let him say goodbye to me, I prayed, as I started towards the door.

  Gareth turned. ‘I want a word with you, Alexander, and you, Octavia,’ he said shortly.

  ‘Oh dear,’ sighed Xander, ‘I was afraid you might. Are we going to get a thousand lines, or is birching the only answer?’

  Chapter Fifteen

  As the last person shut the door behind them, Xander very slowly counted Mrs Smith, me and Gareth with a shaking finger. Then he looked down at the long polished table.

  ‘If we could find a net,’ he said confidingly, ‘we could have a ping-pong four.’

  I giggled. Gareth and Mrs Smith didn’t. Xander pinched another of my cigarettes and went over to the window. We could hear the clunk of his signet ring as his fingers drummed nervously on the radiator. Gareth looked worn-out. I realized now what a strain the meeting had been.

  ‘I wonder what’s happening in the Test match,’ said Xander to Mrs Smith. ‘You don’t like cricket? Perhaps you had to play it at school like I did? Terrible for breaking one’s finger nails.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ snapped Gareth. ‘I want to talk about your expenses.’

  Xander and I sat quite still, not looking at each other. The temperature dropped to well below zero. My stomach gave a rumble like not so distant thunder. I’d only drunk cups of coffee since yesterday.

  Gareth took a bit of paper from Mrs Smith. ‘We’ll start with you, Alexander. Your UK expenses for the last month alone were well over two grand,’ he said.

  Xander removed his chewing gum reflectively, and parked it underneath the table.

  ‘Arabs are dreadfully expensive to amuse,’ he said.

  ‘What Arabs?’ asked Gareth. ‘Not a single order has come from the Middle East to justify expenses like this.’

  ‘Well it’s in the pipeline,’ said Xander. ‘These things take time, you know.’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Gareth brusquely. ‘In most of these cases, initial meetings were never followed up, some of them never took place at all. Mrs Smith has been doing a bit of detective work. You claim to have taken a certain Sheik Mujab to the Clermont three times, and to Tramps twice over the past two months, but he says he’s never heard of you.’

  ‘He’s lying,’ blustered Xander. ‘They all do.’

  ‘And Jean-Baptiste Giraud of Renault’s’, Gareth ran his eyes down the page, ‘appears to have had nearly £400 spent on him during the last four weeks, being wined and dined by you and Octavia.’

  ‘Octavia’s a great asset with customers,’ said Xander.

  ‘I can well believe that,’ said Gareth, in a voice of such contempt I felt myself go scarlet with humiliation. ‘Unfortunately for you, Jean-Baptiste happens to be an old Oxford mate of mine. It took one telephone call to ascertain he only met you once over lunch at the Neal Street where he paid, and he’s never met Octavia at all.’

  ‘He must have forgotten,’ said Xander.

  ‘Don’t be fatuous,’ said Gareth. ‘I don’t hold much brief for your sister, but she’s not the sort of girl an old ram like Jean-Baptiste would be likely to forget.’

  I bit my lip. Annabel Smith was loving every minute of it.

  ‘And so it goes on,’ said Gareth. ‘God knows how much you’ve cheated the shareholders out of — old ladies who’ve gambled their last savings, married couples with children who’ve hardly got a penny to rub together, and all the time you two’ve been treating the company like a bran tub, helping yourself as you choose.’

  Xander started to play an imaginary violin. Gareth lost his temper.

  ‘Can’t you be fucking serious about anything? Haven’t you any idea what an invidious position you’ve put Ricky in? He can’t give you the boot because you’re his son-in-law, but at the moment you’re about as much good to him as a used tea bag.’

  He walked over to the window, squinting at the traffic below, his huge shoulders hunched, his broken nose silhouetted against the blue sky, black and silver badger’s hair curling thickly over his collar. I suddenly felt absolutely hollow with lust.

  We all waited. As he turned round his expression hardened.

  ‘I don’t suppose I’ve ever come across a more greedy couple,’ he said, speaking with swift curious harshness. ‘I guess Massingham let you get away with it. I gather he was quite a fan of Octavia’s.’

  ‘Don’t you dare say a word against Hugh,’ I hissed. ‘He was worth a million of you.’

  Xander slumped in his chair. Suddenly to my horror I saw the tears pouring down his face. I put my arm round his shoulders.

  ‘It’s all right darling,’ I said.

  Once again Gareth changed tack and, with one of those staggering volte faces, said very gently,

  ‘You were fond of him. I know. I’m sorry.’

  Xander pushed back his hair and blinked two or three times.

  ‘He was my friend, faithful and just to me,’ he said slowly. ‘But Ricky says he was incompetent. And Ricky is an honourable man, so they are all honourable men. Oh Christ, I should have had breakfast,’ he added in a choked voice, groping for a handkerchief.

  ‘Can’t you leave him alone?’ I screamed, turning on Gareth. ‘Can’t you see he isn’t in any state for one of your bawlings out?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Xander. ‘When people call me Alexander, I always know they’re cross with me.’

  Gareth opened the window and threw out his lighted cigarette, seriously endangering the passers-by in the street below. Then he slammed the window shut and said to Xander in a businesslike tone,

  ‘As I see it we have two alternatives. We could send you to prison for what you’ve been doing, or we can cart you onto the Board, which’ll give you more money and enable you to start paying back some of the bread you’ve borrowed from the firm. It’ll also mean we can keep a closer watch on your activities. You’re bloody lucky you’ve got a rich and loyal wife.’

  ‘The son-in-law also rises,’ sighed Xander. ‘I don’t think I can accept your offer.’

  ‘Don’t be wet,’ said Gareth brutally. ‘I want you in the office by nine o’clock tomorrow, so we can re-jig the export schedule. In the meantime you’d better take a taxi home and sleep it off.’

  ‘All the way to Sussex?’ said Xander.

  ‘You’ve got plenty o
f mates who’ll put you up for the afternoon. Now beat it.’

  Xander walked very unsteadily towards the door, cannoning off the table, the wall and two chairs. At the doorway he paused, looking anxiously at me, clearly about to say something in my defence, but was baulked by Gareth saying again, ‘Go on, get out.’

  There was an agonizing pause after he had gone. My stomach gave another earth-shattering rumble. I could feel my early morning cup of coffee sourly churning round inside me. I licked my lips.

  ‘Now,’ said Gareth grimly, ‘what about you?’ And he looked me over in a way that made me feel very small and uncomfortable and miserable.

  ‘Can I go too?’ I said, getting to my feet.

  ‘Sit down.’

  I sat.

  ‘Annabel, can I have those other figures?’ he said.

  Annabel Smith handed him a pink folder at the same time putting a new tape in the machine. God, she was enjoying this.

  ‘You should go cock-fighting next time,’ I said to her. ‘You’d find that even more exciting.’

  ‘At the moment,’ said Gareth, glancing down at the figures, ‘you’re living in a flat that’s paid for by the firm. I also gather that, when you moved in three years ago, the firm coughed up at least seven grand to have it re-decorated. Since then Seaford-Brennen has not only been paying your phone bills and rates, but also the gas and electricity. And recently Massingham gave you the Porsche on the firm which is costing a fortune to be repaired at the garage. There’s also £3,500 worth of unspecified loans to be accounted for.’

  There was another dreadful pause. All you could hear was the hiss of the tape-recorder.

  ‘It wasn’t just my flat,’ I protested. ‘Directors and clients often stayed there.’

  ‘And you, I suppose, provided the service.’

  ‘I bloody did not,’ I said furiously. ‘What d’you think I am — a flaming call girl?’

  I was shaking with anger. I could feel my whole body drenched with sweat. Annabel Smith gazed out of the window and re-crossed her beautiful legs.

  ‘Does she have to be here?’ I went on. ‘I suppose it’s customary to have a woman cop present if you’re going to beat up the prisoner. And can’t you turn that bloody tape-recorder off?’

  I imagined them playing it back to each other in bed, drinking Charles Heidsieck and laughing themselves sick. Gareth leaned forward and switched it off. Then he said:

  ‘Annabel baby, go and get us some coffee, and see that Xander’s safely put into a taxi.’

  She smiled and left us, quietly closing the door behind her. I noticed with loathing that there wasn’t a single crease in her black suit.

  For a minute Gareth’s fingers drummed on the table. Then he said,

  ‘For the last three years you’ve been conducting your jet set existence entirely on the firm. Even if we write off your joint junketings with Xander, you owe nearly £6,000. I want you out of that flat by the end of the month and I want the keys to your company car tomorrow. Here are your last quarter’s bills, electricity, telephone for £425 — all discovered unpaid in Massingham’s desk. I want those settled up. They’re all final reminders. And the loan to the firm must be paid off as soon as possible.’

  I felt icy cold. I wasn’t going to cry, I wasn’t. I dug my nails into the palms of my hands.

  Gareth walked down the table until he was standing over me. Against my will, I looked up. His eyes were as hard and as black as the coal his forefathers had hewn from the mines. In them I could read only hatred and utter contempt, as though he was at last avenging himself for all the wilful havoc I’d created in the past, for breaking up Cathie and Tod, for jeopardizing Gussie and Jeremy.

  ‘You’re nothing but a bloody parasite,’ he said softly. ‘I’m going to make you sweat, beauty. No more helping yourself to everyone’s money and their men too. The party’s over now. You’re going to get a job and do an honest day’s work like everyone else.’

  I couldn’t look away. I sat there, hypnotized like a rabbit by headlights.

  ‘As your creditor,’ he went on, ‘I’d quite like to know when you’re going to pay up.’

  ‘I’ll get it next week,’ I whispered.

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’ll sell shares.’

  He looked at me pityingly.

  ‘Can’t you get it into your thick head that unless I can put a bomb under them Seaford-Brennen aren’t worth a bean any more? We’ve also had enquiries from the Inland Revenue; you owe them a bit of bread too.’

  The Debtor’s Prison loomed. I gripped the edge of the table with my fingers. Then I lost my temper.

  ‘You bloody upstart,’ I howled. ‘You smug, fat, Welsh prude, walking in here and playing God. Well God’s got a great deal more style than you. You’re nothing but a bully and a thug. They’ll all resign here if you go on humiliating them. See if they don’t, and then you’ll look bloody silly after all your protestations about waving a fairy wand, and turning us into a miracle of the eighties. God, I loathe you, loathe you.’ My voice was rising to a scream now. ‘Marching in here, humiliating Xander and Tommy Lloyd, with that fat slob Ricky lapping it all up.’

  I paused, my breath coming in great sobs. Then suddenly something snapped outside me. It was my bra strap, beastly disloyal thing. I felt my right tit plummet. Gareth looked at me for a second, then started to laugh.

  ‘You should go on the stage, Octavia; you’re utterly wasted on real life,’ he said. ‘Why not pop down to Billingsgate? I’m sure they’d sign you up as a fishwife.’

  ‘Don’t bug me,’ I screamed, and groping behind me, gathered up a cut glass ash tray and was just about to smash it in his face when he grabbed my wrist.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ he snapped. ‘You can’t afford to be done for assault as well. Go on, drop it, drop it.’

  I loosened my fingers; the ashtray fell with a thud on the carpet.

  I slumped into a chair, trembling violently. Gareth gave me a cigarette and lit it for me.

  ‘I’ll pay it all back,’ I muttered, through gritted teeth. ‘If I do some modelling I can make that kind of bread in six months.’

  ‘Things have changed, beauty. You can’t just swan back to work and pull in ten grand a year. There isn’t the work about. You’re twenty-six now, not seventeen, and it shows. Anyway, you haven’t the discipline to cope with full-time modelling, and it won’t do you any good gazing into the camera hour after hour; you’d just get more narcissistic than ever. For Christ’s sake get a job where you can use your brain.’

  My mind was running round like a spider in a filling-up bath, trying to think of a crushing enough reply. I was saved by the belle — the luscious Mrs Smith walking in with three cups of coffee. She put one down beside me.

  ‘I don’t want any,’ I said icily.

  ‘Oh grow up,’ said Gareth. ‘If you give Annabel a ring she’ll help you to get a job and find you somewhere to live.’

  I got to my feet.

  ‘She’s the last person I’d accept help from,’ I said haughtily, preparing to sweep out. But it is very difficult to make a dignified exit with only one bra strap, particularly if one trips over Mrs Smith’s strategically placed briefcase on the way.

  ‘I expect Annabel’s even got a safety pin in her bag, if you ask her nicely,’ said Gareth.

  I gave a sob and fled from the room.

  Chapter Sixteen

  From that moment I was in a dumb blind fury. The only thing that mattered was to pay Seaford-Brennen back, and prove to Gareth and that over-scented fox, Mrs Smith, that I was quite capable of getting a job and fending for myself.

  I went out next day and sold all my jewellery. Most of it, apart from my grandmother’s pearls, had been given me by boyfriends. They had been very generous. I got £9,000 for the lot — times were terrible, said the jeweller but at least that would quieten the income tax people for a bit, and pay off the telephone and the housekeeping bills. A woman from a chic second-hand-clothes shop came and bought
most of my wardrobe for £600: it must have cost ten times that originally. As she rummaged through my wardrobe I felt she was flaying me alive and rubbing in salt as well. I only kept a handful of dresses I was fond of. There were also a few bits of furniture of my own, the Cotman Xander had given me for my 21st and the picture of the Garden of Eden over the bed. Everything else belonged to the firm.

  In the evening Xander rang:

  ‘Sweetheart, are you all right? I meant to ring you yesterday but I passed out cold. And there hasn’t been a minute today. How was your session with Gareth?’

  ‘You could hardly say it was riotous,’ I said. ‘No one put on paper hats. How did you get on this morning?’

  ‘Well that wasn’t exactly riotous either. He certainly knows how to kick a chap when he’s down. I thought about resigning — then I thought why not stick around and see if he can put us on the map again. He is quite impressive, isn’t he?’

  ‘Oppressive, certainly.’

  ‘Well tell it not in Gath or the Clermont, or anywhere else,’ said Xander. ‘But I must confess I do rather like him; he’s so unashamedly butch.’

  ‘Et tu Brute,’ I said. ‘Look, how soon can I put my two decent pictures up for auction at Sotheby’s?’

  ‘About a couple of months; but you can’t sell pictures — it’s blasphemy.’

  It took a long time to persuade him I had to.

  I spent the next week in consultation with bank managers, accountants, tax people, until I came to the final realization that there was nothing left. I had even buried my pride and written to my mother, but got a gin-splashed letter by return saying she had money troubles of her own and couldn’t help.

  ‘You can’t get your thieving hands on the family money either,’ she had ended with satisfaction. ‘It’s all in trust for Xander’s children, and yours, if you have any.’ The only answer seemed to be to get pregnant.