Deception (23 page)

‘Really?’
He
replied
with
heavy
sarcasm.
‘Let’s
just
see,
shall
we,
what
compromise
means?'
He
began
counting
off
on
his
fingers.
'You're
going
to
sell
your
gallery
-
and
presumably
your
house
-
and
buy
one
in
Paris.
With
him?'

'Of
course.'

'I
see.
He
can
barely
afford
to
run
his
flat
-
he
told
me
so
himself
-
and
pay
for
his
children,
who,
by
the
way,
have
never
met
you,
and
yet
he's
going
to
find
half
the
money
needed
to
buy
a
gallery?
And
last
time
I
looked,
Neuilly-sur-Seine
was
about
as
bloody
expensive
as
you
can
get.
And
you're
not
worried?'

'Why?'
Alice
demanded.
'Why
should
I
be
worried?
He
owns
his
flat.
I'll
be
living
there.
If
anything
I'll
be
living
off
him.’
Alice
tried
to
stay
calm
but
inside
the
familiar
sickening
shaking
that
had
gripped
her
from
childhood,
whenever
he
raised
his
voice
to
her,
began
to
stir.
'Look,
please
just
listen.'

‘What's
to
listen
to?
If
he
wanted
a
divorce,
really
wanted
one,
he'd
get
it.
What
the
hell
does
it
look
like?’

‘Look
like?'
she
gasped
incredulously.
What’s
that
supposed
to
mean?’
But
she
knew.
All
their
life
their
father
had
warned
them
of
the
need
to
be
discreet,
not
let
the
tabloids,
who
at
the
merest
hint
of
a
scandal
would
relish
the
chance
of
prising
open
the
family
life
of
a
man
in
line
for
a
peerage,
whose
slightest
observation
on
the
state
of
the
city
could
see
share
prices
rise
or
fall,
‘Appearances’.
She
was
sick
of
hearing
the
word.
‘What
will
I
look
like?
She
demanded.

'That
you’ll
look
cheap,’
Harry
told
her
bluntly.
‘Deluded.
A
laughing
stock.
And
I’m
not
having
a
daughter
of
mine
held
up
to
public
…..’

‘For
God’s
sake,’
Alice
stuttered.
'When
they're
divorced
we'll
get
married
and
..'

‘Oh
puh-leese,’
Victoria
threw
the
paper
down
and
rolled
her
eyes.
'Divorce
his
wife?
What
are
you?
Stupid?'

'That's
rich,
coming
from
you,'
Alice
snapped
back.
It
was
out
before
she
could
stop
herself.
The
film
director
who
had
finally
toppled
into
oblivion
Victoria's
short
lived
marriage
to
a
minor
baronet,
had
never
left
his
wife.
But
the
minor
baronet
had
decamped
the
day
he
found
out
that
a
tabloid
had
pictures
of
his
wife
leaving
the
director's
apartment
in
Chelsea
at
dawn
when
she
was
meant
to
be
on
location
in
Cumbria
overnight.

‘How
dare
you?’
Victoria
gasped
holding
their
father's
arm.
‘Those
pictures
were
fake,
you
know
they
were.’

'Fake?'
Alice
raised
an
incredulous
eyebrow.
'Fake?
'Then
why-‘

‘Stop
it,
both
of
you,’
Harry
shouted
over
them.
There
was
instant
silence.
But
Alice
noticed
he
didn’t
remove
Victoria’s
arm
from
his.
God
knows
how
much
he’d
paid
to
get
those
pictures
back.

'Listen
to
me
my
girl.'
Harry
simply
picked
up
where
he'd
left
off.
'If
you
didn't
have
your
head
so
stuck
in
the
clouds,
you'd
see
what's
really
happening
here,'
he
roared.
'He
sat
right
here
and
told
me
himself
he
has
no
money.
Any
fool
can
see
all
he
wants
is
a
fall-back
position
to
pay
for
this
family
of
his
while
he
just
bloody
trundles
on
with
his
life.
And
you'll
be
providing
the
cash
to
do
it.'

'What?
How?
And
why
didn't
you
think
of
that
when
you
introduced
us?'

'Introduced
you?
As
if.
Etienne
did.
Don't
rewrite
history.
My
part
was
merely
to
ask
my
daughter
-
as
a
treat
-
if
she
wanted
to
come
to
an
art
exhibition.
Not
find
her
a
scrounger
to
hang
off
my
bank
account
for
the
rest
of
his
life.'

It
was
so
not
what
had
happened.
Surprised,
delighted
she
had
of
course
said
yes,
when
he
mentioned
he
was
going
to
meetings
in
Paris
and
would
be
attending
a
charity
art
exhibition
at
Musee
D’Orsay
then
dinner
at
Le
Meurice
organised
by
Etienne
Leconte,
head
of
the
Paris
office.
Alice
could
remember
feeling
silly
at
such
delight
that
for
once
her
father
had
asked
her
and
not
Victoria.