The Gatecrasher

by Madeleine Wickham

“I find that very hard to believe,” said Fleur. “Now, get up!”

  The duvet heaved, and Antony’s head appeared from beneath it. He peered blearily at Fleur and as he saw who it was, his cheeks turned white.

  “Fleur!” he faltered. “Oh my God! I’m sorry! We didn’t mean . . .” He glanced fearfully at Zara, then back at Fleur. “Honestly . . .”

  “Ssh,” said Fleur. “You don’t want your father coming in here, do you?”

  “Don’t tell Dad,” begged Antony. “He won’t understand.”

  “Well, if you don’t want your father to find out about this, I suggest you keep very quiet,” said Fleur. She looked at Zara. “And I suggest you come with me right away.”

  “I’m not leaving,” said Zara desperately.

  “You’d better go,” said Antony worriedly. “Any minute now, Dad’s going to hear something and come in.”

  “Sensible boy,” said Fleur. “Come on, Zara.”

  “See you later,” said Antony, snuggling back down into his duvet.

  “See you later,” whispered Zara. She touched his head gently. “See you . . .” But tears had begun to pour down her cheeks, and she couldn’t continue.

  The car was waiting discreetly around the corner from The Maples. It was a large navy blue Rolls-Royce, with leather seats and a uniformed driver who leapt out as soon as he saw Fleur and Zara approaching and opened the door.

  “I can’t go,” said Zara, stopping. “I can’t leave. I want to live here.”

  “No you don’t,” said Fleur.

  “I do! It’s lovely here! And I love Richard, and Gillian, and Antony . . .”

  “Well soon we’ll be in a villa in the Algarve,” snapped Fleur. “Doing terribly exciting things; meeting interesting people. And the life we led here will seem very dull.”

  “It won’t!” Zara kicked the side of the Rolls-Royce, and the driver flinched minutely.

  “Don’t do that!” Fleur pushed Zara angrily into the car. “Sit down and behave yourself.”

  “Why do we have to go? Give me one reason!”

  “You know exactly what the reasons are, darling.”

  “Give me one!” shouted Zara, and she stared at Fleur, waiting for a confrontation; for a slap, even. But Fleur was staring out of the car window and her face was trembling slightly, and she didn’t seem to have a reply.

  By eight o’clock, they had looked everywhere.

  “I’ve checked the garden,” said Gillian, coming into the kitchen. “No sign of her there.” She glanced again at Antony. “You’re sure she didn’t say anything to you?”

  “Nothing,” muttered Antony, without meeting her eye. “I don’t know what’s happened. I haven’t seen her since last night.”

  “So unlike Zara,” said Richard. He frowned. “Ah well, I expect she’ll turn up.”

  “You don’t think we should call the police?” said Gillian.

  “I think that’s overdoing it,” said Richard. “After all, it’s only eight in the morning. She might have gone for an early morning walk. She’ll probably arrive home any moment. Eh, Antony?”

  “Yeah,” said Antony, and looked away.

  Half an hour later, Gillian came running into the kitchen.

  “There’s a car coming into the drive!” she said. “Perhaps it’s someone with Zara!”

  “There,” said Richard, smiling at her. “I knew we were panicking over nothing.” He got up. “Antony, why don’t you make some fresh coffee? And have some breakfast! You look as though you hardly slept last night.”

  “I did sleep,” said Antony at once. “I slept really well, actually.”

  “Good,” said Richard, giving him a curious look. “Well, you make the coffee, and I’ll go and see if this is Zara.”

  “It’s not Zara,” said Gillian, coming back into the kitchen. “It’s Fleur’s friend, Johnny. And a strange man.”

  “Richard loves you,” said Zara accusingly. “You know he does.” Fleur said nothing. They had stopped at the first small town they reached, and were now waiting in the car outside the bank until it opened. In Fleur’s hand, ready for use, was Richard’s Gold Card.

  “He wants to marry you,” persisted Zara. “You could be really happy with him.”

  “Darling, you say that every time.”

  “This time it’s true! This time it’s different!” Zara frowned. “You’re different. Fleur, you’ve changed.”

  “Nonsense,” said Fleur tartly.

  “Johnny thinks so too. He said he thought you were ready to settle down.”

  “Settle down!” mocked Fleur. “Settle down and become a wife! Be ‘comfortable.’ ”

  “What’s wrong with comfortable?” cried Zara. “It’s better than uncomfortable, isn’t it? You liked it there! I could tell!” She peered at her mother. “Fleur, why are we leaving?”

  “Oh, darling.” Fleur turned round, and to her shock, Zara saw that her eyes were glistening slightly. “I couldn’t become a boring little Surrey woman, could I?”

  “You wouldn’t be a boring little Surrey woman! You’d be yourself!”

  “Myself! What’s that?”

  “I don’t know,” said Zara helplessly. “It’s whatever Richard thinks you are.”

  Fleur snorted.

  “Richard thinks I’m a devoted loving creature who doesn’t give a fig about money.” Her hands clenched tightly around his Gold Card. “If I married him, darling, I’d end up divorcing him.”

  “Maybe you wouldn’t!”

  “I would, poppet. I wouldn’t be able to help myself.” Fleur examined her nails. “I know myself pretty well,” she said. “And Richard deserves better than me.”

  “He doesn’t want better!” said Zara. “He wants you!”

  “You know nothing about it,” said Fleur sharply, and she turned towards the window. “Come on,” she murmured to herself. “Let’s just get the money and get a move on.”

  Hal Winters was a tall, narrow-shouldered man with a sun-tanned face and metal-framed spectacles. He sat next to Johnny at the kitchen table drinking coffee in great gulps, while Richard, Gillian and Antony stared at him in silence.

  “Forgive us,” said Richard at last. “This has been a bit of a shock. First Zara going missing and now . . .”

  “I can understand you folks being a bit surprised,” said Hal Winters. He spoke slowly, with a rich Midwestern accent which made Antony grin in delight. “Fleur telling you I was dead, and all.”

  “Actually, now that I think about it, I’m not sure she said exactly that,” said Richard, frowning. “Did she?”

  “Some sort of misunderstanding, obviously,” said Gillian briskly. “What a shame she isn’t here.”

  “Hear, hear,” said Johnny, giving Richard a beady look. “And Zara missing too. What a strange coincidence.”

  “Zara was here last night,” said Richard, wrinkling his brow. “I’ve no idea what can have happened.”

  “I fly back out to the States this afternoon,” said Hal Winters. He looked miserably from one face to the other. “If I’ve missed my little girl . . .”

  “I’m sure she’ll be here soon,” said Gillian.

  “My wife, Beth-Ann, was asking me last night about it,” said Hal Winters disconsolately. He rubbed his face. “When I first told her I’d had—” He hesitated. “Well, when I told her there might be another child—she was real upset with me. Just about cried her eyes out. But, you know, she came round to the idea. Now she’s all for me bringing Zara home to meet the family. But I can’t bring her with me if she isn’t here, now can I?”

  There was a pause.

  “More coffee?” said Richard desperately.

  “I guess that would be nice,” said Hal Winters.

  “I’ll go and phone the police,” said Gillian. “I think we’ve waited long enough.”

  “At last!” said Fleur. She sat up, and the fabric of her jacket rustled against the soft leather of the seat. “Look! The bank’s opening its doors.”

&n
bsp; “So how much are you going to take?” said Zara, unwrapping a piece of gum.

  “I haven’t quite decided,” said Fleur.

  “Ten thousand? Twenty thousand?”

  “I don’t know!” said Fleur impatiently.

  “You could be happy with Richard,” cried Zara. “But you trade all that for, like, twenty crappy thousand dollars.”

  “Pounds.”

  “Jesus,” said Zara. “Like it matters! Like it means anything! It just goes into the bank and sits there. I mean, you do all this, just so every month you can look at a bunch of numbers and feel safe.”

  “Money is safety, darling.”

  “People are safety!” said Zara. “Money gets spent! But people stick around.”

  “No they don’t,” said Fleur scornfully. “People don’t stick around.”

  “They do!” said Zara. “It’s only you that doesn’t stick around! You never give anyone a chance!”

  “Darling, you’re a child; you don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Fleur. Her voice shook slightly, and she flicked the Gold Card against her red-lacquered nails.

  “OK, so I’m a kid,” said Zara. “So I don’t have a point of view.” She looked out of the window. “The bank’s open. So, go on then. Get the money. Throw Richard into the trash. Throw away the nicest man in the world.” She pressed an electronic button, and the window slowly purred downwards. “Go on!” she yelled. “Hurry up, what are you waiting for? Go and ruin his life! Ruin all our lives!”

  “Shut up!” shouted Fleur. “Just shut up! I need to think.” She lifted a shaking hand and pressed it to her brow. “I just need to think!”

  “So, Hal,” said Gillian politely. “You work in pharmaceuticals?”

  “Pain relief’s my game,” said Hal Winters, brightening slightly. “I represent a company which manufactures a high-quality analgesic in pill form, currently the number two seller in the United States.”

  “Goodness,” said Gillian.

  “Do you suffer from headaches at all, ma’am?”

  “Well,” said Gillian. “I suppose I do occasionally.” Hal Winters felt in his pocket and produced a small, unmarked blister pack of tablets.

  “You won’t find a more effective product than this,” he said. “See, what it does, it gets to the root of the pain. The core of the pain, if you will.” He closed his eyes and gestured to the back of his neck. “A tension headache generally starts right here,” he said. “And then it spreads.” He opened his eyes. “Well, what you want to do is catch it before it starts spreading. And that’s what this little beauty does.”

  “I see,” said Gillian faintly.

  “Hal, every time you tell me about headaches, I feel one coming on,” complained Johnny. “Is that how you manage to sell so many of your pills?”

  “I’ve spoken to the police,” said Richard, coming into the kitchen. “I can’t say they were very helpful.”

  “Dad,” said Antony quietly. “Dad, I need to talk to you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Not here,” said Antony. He swallowed. “Let’s go outside.”

  They walked through the hall, out of the front door—left open, in case Zara had lost her key—and into the drive. It had rained overnight; the air was fresh and damp. Antony headed for a wooden bench which was out of earshot of the house. He wiped it clean and sat down on it.

  “So,” said Richard, sitting down beside him and giving Antony a curious look. “What’s this all about?”

  “It’s about Zara,” said Antony.

  “Antony! Do you know where she is?”

  “No!” said Antony. “I’ve no idea! But . . .” He reddened. “Something happened this morning.”

  “This morning?”

  “Well, last night, really.”

  “Antony, I don’t like the sound of this.”

  “It’s nothing bad!” said Antony. “Well, not really. It just sounds a bit bad.” He took a deep breath. “Zara was lonely last night. She wanted to sleep with me. I mean, just . . . you know. Share my bed. For company.”

  He gazed pleadingly at Richard, who exhaled sharply.

  “I see,” he said quietly. “Well, now this all begins to make more sense.”

  “We didn’t do anything! Honest! You must believe me! But Fleur . . .” Richard glanced up sharply.

  “Fleur?”

  “She found us. In bed together. She was . . .” Antony licked his lips nervously. “She was pretty mad.”

  “Fleur was here?”

  “It was really early this morning. She came in, and saw us, and just dragged Zara away.”

  “I bet she did!” exclaimed Richard angrily. “Antony, how could you?”

  “I didn’t do anything!”

  “Have you no judgement whatsoever?”

  “I didn’t think . . . I didn’t realize . . .” Antony gazed at his father. “Dad, I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked. “Honestly, we weren’t . . . it wasn’t . . .” Richard relented.

  “I believe you,” he said. “But you must understand how it will have looked to Fleur. She left her daughter in our charge. She trusted us.” He rested his head in his hands. “I’m surprised she didn’t come to me,” he said slowly.

  “She just kind of dashed off,” said Antony. He bit his lip. “Do you think she’ll come back?”

  “I don’t know,” said Richard. He swallowed. “I very much want to think she will. But she may decide . . . she may have decided . . .” He broke off, unable to continue.

  “It’s all my fault if she doesn’t!” cried Antony. “Fleur won’t come back, and Zara won’t meet her dad! God, I’ve ruined everything!”

  “No you haven’t,” said Richard. “Don’t be silly. There’s a lot more to this than you know about.”

  For a while the two of them sat in silence, each wrapped up in his own thoughts.

  “You really loved Fleur, didn’t you?” said Antony suddenly.

  “Yes,” said Richard. “I did.” He looked hard at Antony. “I still do.”

  “Where do you think she’s gone?”

  “I’ve no idea.” Richard stretched his legs out, then abruptly stood up. “We must go and tell Mr. Winters about this.”

  “Dad! I can’t!”

  “You’re going to have to. It’s not fair on him.” Richard looked sternly at Antony. “He seems a very decent and honourable man, and we owe him the truth.”

  “But he’ll kill me!”

  “That I doubt.” A smile came to Richard’s lips, in spite of himself. “We don’t live in the age of the shotgun wedding any more, you know.”

  “Shotgun wedding?” Antony stared at him, aghast. “But we didn’t even . . .”

  “I know you didn’t. I’m joking!” Richard shook his head. “You youngsters grow up too quickly,” he said. “It may be fun, to drink and smoke and sleep in one another’s beds. But these things bring their problems too, you know.” Antony shrugged awkwardly. “I mean, look at you,” continued Richard. “You’re only fifteen. And Zara’s only just fourteen!” Antony looked up.

  “Actually, Dad,” he said, “there’s something else I should tell you. About Zara’s age. And about . . . other things.”

  “What about Zara’s age?”

  “About her birthday. Remember? The birthday she had a few weeks ago?”

  “Of course I remember!” said Richard impatiently. “What about it?”

  “Well,” said Antony, shuffling his feet awkwardly. “It’s a bit difficult to explain. The thing is . . .”

  “Hang on,” said Richard suddenly. “What’s . . .” His voice was incredulous. “What’s that?”

  Creeping down the drive, like something out of a dream, was a huge, shiny, navy blue Rolls-Royce. It purred to a halt outside the house, and then stopped.

  Slowly, glancing at each other uncertainly, Richard and Antony began to approach it.

  “Have they got the right house?” said Antony. “Do you think it’s a movie star?” Richard said noth
ing. His mouth was taut, his neck rigid with hope and nerves.

  From the front seat appeared a uniformed driver. Ignoring Richard and Antony, he walked round the car to the passenger door nearest the house, and opened it.

  “Look!” said Antony, giving a squeak of excitement. “They’re getting out!”

  A leg appeared. A long, pale leg, followed by a red-sleeved arm.

  “It’s . . .” Antony glanced at his father. “I don’t believe it!”

  “Fleur,” said Richard in as calm a voice as he could muster.

  She turned at the sound of his voice, hesitated, then took a few steps forward and looked at him, her mouth trembling slightly. For a moment neither said anything.

  “I came back, you see,” said Fleur eventually, in a quivering voice.

  “Yes, I see,” said Richard. “You came back. Have you . . .” He glanced at the Rolls-Royce. “Have you an answer for me?”

  “Yes, I have.” Fleur lifted her chin. “Richard, I’m not going to marry you.”

  A dart of pain ran through Richard’s chest; dimly he heard Antony’s disappointed gasp.

  “I see,” he heard himself saying. “Well, it’s very good of you to let me know.”

  “I won’t marry you,” said Fleur fiercely. “But I’ll . . . I’ll stick around for a bit.” Her eyes suddenly glistened. “I’ll stick around, if you’ll let me.”

  Richard stared at her speechlessly. Slowly the pain in his chest ebbed away; slowly the tension of the last week began to disappear. A cautious, hopeful happiness began to rise through his body.

  “I’d like that,” he managed. “I’d like you to stick around.”

  He took a few steps forward, until he was near enough to grasp Fleur’s hands, to bring them up to his face and rub his cheeks against her pale, soft skin. “I thought you’d gone!” he said. Suddenly he felt close to tears; almost angry. “I really thought you’d gone for good!” Fleur looked at him honestly.

  “I nearly did,” she said.

  “So what happened? Why did you decide—”

  “Richard, don’t ask,” interrupted Fleur. She lifted a finger and placed it on his lips. “Don’t ask questions unless you’re sure you want to know the answer. Because the answer . . .” Her eyelashes fluttered and she looked away. “The answer may not be what you want to hear.”