Connections (22 page)

“Sophia told me Dickie might want to give us some help,” she said.

“Wow!” He rolled over to look at her. He kissed her. “Wow! We can settle the debts and get going again. You and me. The old firm.”

Fleur said doubtfully, “I wonder, though, if we couldn't manage without Dickie's money. I really don't – I'm not entitled to it really. I don't know if I want the obligation—”

“He's your father, for goodness' sake,” Ben exclaimed. “He hasn't done anything for you in the past. He probably wants to make up for it.”

“That's the point,” Fleur told him. “He doesn't know me. We were total strangers until two weeks ago. What's a father after all? Or a mother, for that matter? Your parents are the people who bring you up.”

“He wants to do it, apparently.”

“Supposing I don't want him to?”

“Come on, Fleur,” he said impatiently. “Forget the past, and all that. He's a man with a private fortune of half a billion – and then there's the firm and its ongoing profits. He'd hardly miss what he gave you – we could do with it, and it would give him pleasure.”

“How do you know about the money?” she asked.

“Everybody does. Anyway, Andriades' agent, a man called Zofkian, told me in Miami. Imagine my face – tracked down, taken to a bar and told there were arrangements for us to meet here.”

“Yes,” said Fleur thoughtfully.

“Look, ducks,” he said. “OK – I suppose we could manage without the money, just about. I could get jobs, I suppose. So could you. But even pulling together like that it would probably mean going bankrupt and then starting again. We'd lose three years of our lives, then have almost no capital. We'd stand a good chance of getting forgotten. We'd have to begin almost from scratch. All that work gone down the drain. But – I could do it. Still,” he ended, “at least you could let him buy you a flat, so we'd have somewhere to live.”

“I've got Adelaide House, where I live.”

“A decent flat, I meant,” he said. “But do what you like, Fleur. Jethro's
your
father, after all.” He swung his legs over the bed. “But I'm telling you, if you refuse, you'll hurt his feelings. Better get tarted up for lunch now.”

Fleur also got up. She sat on the side of the bed. “I've been photographed for
Hello!
” she told him.

“With your father?”

“Yes.”

“That'll help with the bank,” he announced. “It's not actually
having
money. It's being seen near it. It brushes off, like pollen.”

There were sixteen people for lunch, a buffet of hot and cold dishes at a table, piled, like in a painting, with fruits and meat and seafood. Fleur sat at a table and chatted with Jim Arnoldson, one of the bankers from New York, and his wife. They were very
polite to her – a great deal more attentive, she thought, than if she had not been the daughter of the man with whom they were doing business – but in the end she gave up and let the men talk business while she chatted with the wife.

The servants laid out fantastic cakes, meringue and vast sculpted ices. Fleur looked at the colourful, sugar-scented array and at the earlier part of the buffet, still in place for late-comers and could hardly believe in such an abundance, such an elaboration of food for so few people. She wondered where the leftovers went, but did not like to ask.

Bobby and his wife were loading plates with meringue and ice cream while a banker's wife and Julia Arnoldson were discussing lace. Fleur's eyes drifted towards her half-brother and his wife and then she suddenly realised what the situation was with her half-brother and Lady Annie. There was the pallor, the thinness and now the sugar craving. They were heroin addicts.

“Now – those who'd like a tour of the island ending up in Bridgetown will find cars outside,” Fleur's father offered when lunch was over. “But Fleur and Ben have to miss the trip – Fleur, I'd like to talk to you and Ben for half an hour, if that's all right.” He looked across the terrace to where Ben was talking to Jim Arnoldson and the lawyer. “Ben,” he called out, “I need you. Can you tear yourself away?”

Ben came over and Jethro, taking Ben by one arm and linking his other in Fleur's, led them off the terrace saying, “Interview in the library. Don't worry, Ben. I'm not going to ask you your intentions.”

“My intentions are honourable in any case,” Ben replied.

In the coolness of the library Jethro said, “Let's all sit down, shall we?”

He took a chair by the marble fireplace. Fleur opposite, with her hands tidily in her lap, had the sensation of seeing the head about exam options, or career choices. Her father gazed at her. Now that she had his full attention she felt as if trapped in a powerful beam. His eyes seemed bigger than other people's, his head, too, somehow larger, like a lion's. Ben, meanwhile,
had seated himself on a leather chair against the wall, further away from Fleur and Dickie, making himself a third corner of the triangle.

Dickie looked at her. He said, “We're almost strangers yet, though you may not believe it, I've thought of you over the years. I told your mother before you were born that I didn't have the time or energy for marriage and children then. I was twenty-five and I'd just started my career in the City of London. I had the desperation of a young man who wants to make his mark in the world. Your mother wanted a home, however small, and children. I knew if that happened I was finished. I told her – well, you know what I told her. But that didn't mean I forgot you – you know that. But as for seeing you, your mother thought it best if I stayed away. It was her right to make that decision after what I'd done and not done. I accepted it. I hope you understand.”

Fleur nodded, though she'd never been told that Dickie had wanted to see her and that her mother had denied him this. Either he was lying or her mother had withheld the information. She couldn't remember ever having directly asked if her father had wanted to see her. Had she done so, Grace would not have lied to her. On the other hand, if she'd never asked, Grace might not have felt obliged to tell the truth.

In fact, she was realising more and more, Grace had always made it difficult to discuss anything about her father. If the topic began to drift in that direction, Grace began to look pained. Fleur thought that as a means of control looking pained was probably as good as any – efficient and undetectable. Then she blamed herself for this disloyal thought. After all, Grace had given her life, in opposition to the man sitting across from her, who had recommended abortion. She said, “Grace never told me you'd tried to see me.”

“She probably thought it the best thing to do,” he said. “My last attempt was twelve years ago.” About the time she was studying the photograph of the happy Jethros in the magazine, Fleur reflected. If, as it seemed, his daughter had more or less disappeared and his son was a drug addict, and married to another one, that story had not ended very well.

“The past, though,” her father said, leaning forward, “is over
and done with. What we have to do now is think about the future. We've found each other, you and I, and I want to treat you much as your brother and sister have been treated. To that end I want to set up a trust fund of two hundred and fifty thousand pounds the income of which will be available to you during my lifetime, the capital to go to you after my death. Henry Jones is handling all this and can give you all the details. Take his advice if you can. He's always right. That'll be in place in a month or so. Henry will also arrange to settle the business debts you contracted last year and previously. And I think you should buy somewhere to live straight away. He'll tell you the best way to do that, how to manage a mortgage in the most advantageous way. You might decide to start up the film company again, in a modest way. You might want to go and live in the country and have babies.” He smiled. “That's it, in outline. But whatever you do I would advise asking Henry's wise counsel. I always do. I'm the accelerator. He's the brake. In my experience no serious business can thrive without that. That's why,” he said, glancing over at Ben, “I have high hopes for your revived film company – if you decide on that course you can do well, with Ben here rushing forward, full of ideas and you, Fleur, being the calming influence, the steady head. Thank God for women,” he said to Ben. “They have children. Nature constructed them to keep steady.”

Ben smiled at him in agreement and Fleur told her father, “This is very generous of you.”

“It's the least I can do after such a long parting,” he said.

They hadn't so much parted as never met, Fleur thought and it was perhaps this slight cosmeticisation of the reality that enabled her to pluck up courage and say, “I'd like to think it all over for a day or two.”

His eyes were startled as he answered, “There's not too much to think over, is there?”

“I shouldn't have thought so,” Ben said.

“Perhaps there isn't,” Fleur told Dickie. “But this is such a shock. Your generosity. I'd like to think about it.”

Dickie was still disconcerted, perhaps even annoyed. “Very
well,” he said. “Think about my offer then, but please don't take too long.” He left the room.

Ben was on his feet immediately. “Are you insane? Are you trying to alienate your father? What are you talking about – thinking it over? I wouldn't be surprised if he thought you were going to try to get a better deal than the one he's offered. He must be furious.”

“I just want time to think, that's all,” said Fleur. “But I can see he might not be too pleased with me.”

“Really?” mocked Ben. “He was probably expecting heartfelt thanks, possibly with a few tears of gratitude thrown in, since he was offering you a quarter of a million quid, and the rest.”

“I couldn't respond properly,” she told him.

“It was shock,” he said. He opened his arms. “Come here. Do you realise what's happened? You're well off – the firm's straight again – we can start work when we feel like it. Today, if we want.”

Fleur went into his arms and kissed him. He pressed his mouth on hers, hard, then harder. He wanted her to share his joy and relief and somehow she couldn't.

He murmured, “Look – you don't need to take time to think for days and days. Just go to him and throw yourself at his feet and say thanks.”

“I think I'll go for a walk,” she said.

“I'll come along—”

She cut him off. “No – I'll go on my own and have a quiet think.”

He shrugged, disappointed, and said, “OK – I'll see you.”

Fleur didn't even stop to get a hat. She hurried from the library through the hall to the front door, went down the long drive and then turned right downhill on the narrow path leading to the golf course. She'd go down to the beach, she thought, and sit there and think.

The heat had hit her like a bomb when she'd left the house, although the overhanging trees of the drive had offered some protection. By the time she was away from them and going downhill in the full heat she felt she was being boiled alive.

She reached the beach red and sweating and almost regretting her hasty flight. However, once she had bought a Coke at the beach bar and sat down further off on a long white stretch of sand she felt better and calmed, looking out at the endless blue stretching all the way to Latin America. Even so, her head buzzed with thoughts. If she turned her father's offer down, he would be angry and Ben would be very unhappy with her. She wouldn't have a sensible reason to give. Everyone in the house would know and disapprove of what she'd done. Without the money she and Ben would have to struggle, do work they didn't enjoy to repay the company debts, and be always chasing a deal that would enable them to make the films they wanted. And she had to face the fact that Ben might not stick around for the years it took to do this. He'd handled the last crisis by running away, allegedly in pursuit of an unpaid debt. When he'd had trouble getting the money he'd stayed out of touch for six long months. He wasn't the hero of
The Pilgrim's Progress,
she had to admit, ready to struggle through tribulation to redemption. More the man for the fairy story, she thought ruefully.

She suddenly remembered being left, not knowing what was happening, feeling lonely, betrayed and incredulous. She couldn't face that again, she thought. She just couldn't. And now her father had held out the chance to begin again and start a new, productive life with Ben. Like the reversed end of the country-and-western song – you get your job back, your wife returns to you, your dead dog comes back to life.

Yet she didn't want the money, she knew that now, though she wasn't sure why. Did she think she would be at fault in some way if she accepted money from her father? Did she think, if she took the money, she might be committing herself to doing something she might not want to do? If so – what was it? Or was it her parents' puritanical attitude towards money and big business which was influencing her?

Her head was spinning now. The more she thought, the less she understood.

“Don't worry – be happy,” said a voice above her. She looked sideways to see a pair of long brown legs in sandals.
Terrific, she thought, this is all I need, to be hit on by one of the locals.

She looked up, ready for trouble, and realised the man beside her was Hugh's boyfriend Chris.

“You shouldn't be sitting here bare-headed, you know. You should get in the shade, have a long drink. Let me be honest – you don't look so good.”

“I suppose you're right,” she said.

“I'll drive you back up,” he offered.

“I don't want to go,” she said.

Then Hugh was beside her, saying, “Fleur. You're getting sunstroke. You need to go to bed.”

“I've only been out for an hour,” she said.