The Gatecrasher (21 page)

“You take the Gold Card, and you cash some money, and the next day you put it back again. Then you cash some more, and put that back again. And you keep going, bouncing higher and higher until you’re as high as you can go—then you scoop up all the money and disappear!” She’d laughed, and Zara had laughed too.

“Why don’t you just scoop it all up at the beginning?” she’d asked.

“Too suspicious, darling,” Fleur had said. “You have to work up gradually, so no-one notices.”

“And how do you know when you’re as high as you can go?”

“You don’t. You try to find out as much as you can before you start. Is he rich? Is he poor? How much can he afford to lose? But then you’ve just got to guess. And that’s part of the game. Two thousand? Ten thousand? Fifty thousand? Who knows what the limit is?”

Fleur had laughed again, and so had Zara. Back then, it had seemed fun. A good game. Now the whole idea made Zara feel sick.

“Do you want to go swimming?” Antony’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Oh.” With a huge effort, Zara raised her head to meet Antony’s gaze. He was staring at her with a peculiar expression on his face, almost as though he could read her thoughts. Almost as though he knew what was going on.

A dart of panic raced through Zara; her face became guarded. In all these years of pretending, she had never yet slipped up. She couldn’t allow herself to become careless. If she gave away the truth to Antony, Fleur would
never forgive her. Fleur would never forgive her, and she would never get to meet her father.

“Sure,” she said, forcing a casual tone into her voice, shrugging her shoulders. “Why not.”

“OK.” He was still staring at her weirdly. “I’ll get my stuff.”

“OK,” she said. And she looked down at her bowl of Honey Nut Loops and didn’t look up again until he had gone.

Oliver Sterndale was in the office, his secretary informed Richard over the telephone, but he was about to leave on holiday.

“This won’t take long,” said Richard cheerfully. As he waited for Oliver’s voice, he looked around his dull, ordered office and wondered why he had never thought to have it redecorated. The walls were plain white, unrelieved by pictures, the carpet a functional slate grey. There was not one object in the room that could be described as beautiful.

Things like the colour of walls had never seemed to matter to him before. But now he looked at the world through Fleur’s eyes. Now he saw possibility where before he had only seen fact. He wouldn’t sit in this dull little box any longer. He would ask Fleur to redesign the office for him.

“Richard!” Oliver’s voice made him jump. “I’m just on my way.”

“I know. Off on holiday. This won’t take long. I just wanted to tell you that I’ve made up my mind about the trust.”

“Oh yes?”

“I’m going to go ahead with it.”

“I see. And might I ask why?”

“I’ve realized that what I really want is to make Philippa and Antony financially independent,” said Richard. “Beholden to no-one, not even . . .” He paused, and bit his lip. “Not even a member of their own family. Above all, I want them to feel they have control of their own lives.” He frowned. “I also want to . . . to close a chapter in my life. Start afresh.”

“Starting afresh usually means spending money,” said Oliver.

“I’ve got money,” said Richard impatiently. “Plenty of money. Oliver, we’ve been over this.”

“All right. Well, it’s your decision. But I can’t do anything about it for a week.”

“There’s no hurry. I just thought I’d let you know. I won’t keep you. Have a good holiday. Where are you going?”

“Provence. Some friends have a house there.”

“Lovely,” said Richard automatically. “Beautiful countryside in that part of the—”

“Yes, yes,” interrupted Oliver impatiently. “Look, Richard.”

“Yes?”

“Listen. This starting afresh of yours. Does it involve marrying your friend Fleur?”

“I very much hope so,” said Richard, smiling at the receiver. Oliver sighed.

“Richard, please be cautious.”

“Oliver, not again . . .”

“Just think about the implications of marriage for a moment. I gather, for instance, that Fleur has a daughter of school age.”

“Zara.”

“Zara. Indeed. Now, does her mother have the money to support Zara? Or will that be a role which you’re expected to take on?”

“Fleur has the money to send her to Heathland School for Girls,” said Richard drily. “Is that support enough for you?”

“Well, all right—but you’re sure that she pays the fees herself? You’re sure that they don’t come from some sort of income which will stop if she remarries?”

“No, I’m not sure,” replied Richard testily. “I haven’t had the impertinence to ask.”

“Well, if I were you, I should ask. Just to get an idea.”

“Oliver, you’re being ridiculous! What does it matter? You know perfectly well I could afford to send a whole orphanage to public school if I wanted to. Trust or no trust.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” said Oliver testily. “First it’s school fees, then it’s failing business ventures, and before you know it . . .”

“Oliver!”

“I’m only trying to safeguard your interests, Richard. Marriage is a very serious matter.”

“Did you ask Helen all these questions before you asked her to marry you?” retorted Richard. “Lucky girl.” Oliver laughed.

“
Touché
. Look, Richard, I really must go. But we’ll talk again when I get back.”

“Have a good time.”

“
Au revoir, mon ami
. And do think about what I’ve said.”

Zara and Antony walked along in silence, swimming things thrown over their shoulders. Zara stared stonily ahead; Antony was frowning perplexedly. Eventually he said, in a burst, “Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday this week?”

“I don’t have to tell you everything.”

“Didn’t you want me to know how old you were?” He risked a little smile.

“I’m thirteen,” said Zara flatly. “Next birthday, I’ll be fourteen.”

“This Wednesday, you’ll be fourteen,” corrected Antony.

“Whatever.”

“So, what do you want as a present?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on. There must be something.”

“Nope.” Antony sighed.

“Zara, most people look forward to their birthday.”

“Well I don’t.” There was a short silence. Antony peered at Zara’s face, trying to elicit some response. There was none. He felt as though he had been catapulted back to the beginning again: that he didn’t really know Zara at all.

Then it occurred to him that this silent treatment might all be tied up with her dad and . . . and all that business. He swallowed, feeling suddenly mature and understanding.

“If you ever want to talk,” he said, “about your dad. I’m here.” He stopped, and felt foolish. Of course he was here—where else could he be? “I’m here for you,” he amended.

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Well, you know . . .”

“I don’t. That’s the problem. I don’t know anything about him.”

Antony sighed.

“Zara, you have to face up to the truth.”

“What truth? You think I won’t find him?”

“Zara . . .” She turned her head, finally, and looked at him.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Your mother told us.”

“Told you what?”

“That your father’s dead.”

“What!” Her screech rose high into the wood; a crow flapped noisily out of the treetops. Antony stared at her in alarm. Her face was white, her nostrils flared, her chin taut and disbelieving. “Fleur said what?”

“She just told us about your father. Zara, I’m really sorry. I know what it’s like when—”

“He isn’t dead!”

“Oh God. Look, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“He’s not dead, all right?” To Antony’s dismay, a tear sprang from Zara’s eye.

“Zara! I didn’t mean . . .”

“I know you didn’t.” She stared down at the ground. “Look, it’s not your fault. This is just something that . . . I have to deal with.”

“Right,” said Antony uncertainly. He didn’t feel mature and understanding any more. On the contrary, he felt as though he’d cocked things up completely.

Fleur arrived back from Guildford laden with presents not only for Zara, but also for Richard, Antony and Gillian.

“Zara has to wait until Wednesday,” she said gaily to Richard, pulling out a flamboyant silk tie. “But you don’t. Put it on! See how it looks. I spent quite a lot,” she added, as Richard put the tie around his neck. “I hope your card can take it. Some credit companies get jumpy whenever you spend more than fifty pounds.”

“I wouldn’t worry,” said Richard, knotting the tie. “That’s beautiful, Fleur! Thank you.” He glanced at the plastic bags littering the hall. “So, a successful trip, I take it?”

“Wonderful,” beamed Fleur. “I got a present for the whole family too.” She pointed to a box which had been carried in by the taxi driver. “It’s a video camera.”

“Fleur! How extraordinarily generous of you!”

“That’s why I asked about the credit card,” said Fleur, grinning at him. “It cost quite a lot.”

“I bet it did,” said Richard. “Goodness me . . .”

“But don’t worry. I’ve already asked my bank in the Cayman Islands to transfer some funds to your account. They can do that overnight, apparently, even though sending me a chequebook seems beyond their capabilities.” Fleur rolled her eyes, then grinned. “Won’t we have fun with this? I’ve never used a video camera before.” She began to rip at the packaging.

“Neither have I,” replied Richard, watching her. “I haven’t the first idea how to use one.”

“Antony will know. Or Zara.”

“I expect you’re right.” Richard frowned slightly. “Fleur, we’ve never talked about money, have we?”

“No,” said Fleur. “We haven’t. Which reminds me.” She glanced up at him. “Would you mind terribly if I made a credit payment to your Gold Card account? I’ve got some
money coming through, and believe it or not, for me at the moment, that would be the most convenient place to deposit it.” She rolled her eyes, then tugged some more at the wrapping of the video camera.

“Oh,” said Richard. “No. Of course I wouldn’t mind. How much?”

“Not very much,” said Fleur carelessly. “About twenty thousand pounds. I don’t know if your card is used to transactions like that.”

“Well, not every day of the week,” said Richard, starting to laugh. “But I think it could probably cope. Are you sure you don’t have somewhere else more orthodox?”

“It would just be for a bit,” said Fleur. “While I sort out my banking arrangements generally. You don’t mind, do you?” She gave a final tug, and lifted the video camera out of its box. “Oh my God, look at all these buttons! They told me it was easy to use!”

“Perhaps it’s easier than it looks. Where are the instructions?”

“They must be in here somewhere. The thing is,” she added, starting to root through the packaging, “this money’s come through rather unexpectedly. From a trust. You know what these family trusts are like.”

“I’m learning,” said Richard.

“And I haven’t decided what to use it for yet. I could pay a load of Zara’s school fees in advance, in which case I want to keep it ready. Or I could do something else. Invest it, maybe. Here we are! User’s Manual.” They both stared at the thick, glossy paperback. “And this is the Upgrade Supplement,” added Fleur, picking up a further volume. She began to giggle.

“I think I was imagining more of a leaflet,” said Richard.
“A slim pamphlet.” He reached for the manual and flipped through it a couple of times. “So you pay Zara’s school fees yourself?”

“But of course,” said Fleur. “Who else did you think might pay them?”

“I thought perhaps Zara’s father’s family might have offered . . .”

“No,” said Fleur. “We don’t really speak.”

“Oh dear. I didn’t realize.”

“But I have some money of my own. Enough for Zara and me.”