The Gatecrasher (32 page)

“You’d better explain yourself,” said Richard quietly. He looked at the sheet of paper in his hand. “If this is what I think it is, then you have a lot of explaining to do.”

“It . . . it was a prank,” said Lambert. He stared desperately at Richard, trying to breathe calmly; trying to quell the terrified pounding in his head. He swallowed; his throat felt like sandpaper. “A jape.”

“No, Lambert,” said Richard. “This isn’t a jape. This is fraud.”

Lambert licked his lips.

“Look, Richard,” he said. “All it is is a letter. I mean . . . I wasn’t going to use it.”

“Oh really,” said Richard at once. “And for what purpose were you not going to use it?”

“You don’t understand!” Lambert tried a little laugh.

“No, I don’t understand!” Richard’s voice snapped through the air. “I don’t understand how you could possibly think it permissible to enter this office without my consent, to look through my private affairs and to write a letter purporting to be from myself to my solicitor. As for the content of the letter . . .” He flicked it with his hand. “I find that the most perplexing of all.”

“You mean . . .” Lambert stared at Richard and felt sick. So Emily had lied to him. She’d been playing games with him. That money wasn’t coming to Philippa after all. A white-hot fury swept through his body, obliterating caution; wiping out fear.

“It’s all right for you!” he suddenly found himself shouting. “You’ve got millions!”

“Lambert, you’re forgetting yourself.”

“Emily told me I’d be a rich man! Emily said Philippa
was coming into a trust. She said I’d be able to afford anything I wanted! But she was bloody lying, wasn’t she?”

Richard stared at him, unable to speak.

“Emily said that?” he said at last, in a voice which shook slightly.

“She said I’d married a millionairess. And I believed her!”

Richard stared at him in sudden comprehension.

“You owe money, is that it?”

“Of course that’s it. I owe money. Just like everyone else in the world. Everyone except you, of course.” Lambert scowled. “I’ve got an overdraft of three hundred thousand pounds.” He looked up and met Richard’s incredulous eyes. “Nothing compared to ten million, is it? You could pay it off tomorrow.”

Richard gazed at Lambert, trying to control his revulsion; reminding himself that Lambert was still his son-in-law.

“Does Philippa know about this?” he asked eventually.

“Of course not.”

“Thank God,” muttered Richard. He looked again at the paper in his hand. “And what precisely were you planning to do with this?”

“Show it to the bank,” Lambert said. “I thought it would keep them quiet for a while.”

“So you’re brainless as well as dishonest!”

Lambert shrugged. For a few minutes they stared at each other in mutual dislike.

“I’m . . . I’m going to have to think about this,” said Richard at last. “In the meantime, can I ask you not to mention it to Philippa. Or . . . anyone else.”

“Fine by me,” said Lambert, and he grinned cockily at Richard. Something inside Richard snapped.

“Don’t you dare smile at me!” he shouted. “You’ve got nothing to smile about! You’re a dishonest, unprincipled . . . fraudster! My God, how did Philippa manage to fall in love with you?”

“My natural charm, I suppose,” said Lambert, running a hand through his hair.

“Just get out!” said Richard, shaking with rage. “Get out of my office, before I . . . before I . . .” He stopped, struggling for words, and Lambert’s mouth twisted into a sneer.

But before either of them could say anything else, they were interrupted by Gillian’s voice, shrieking from the hall downstairs.

“Richard! Come quickly please! It’s Philippa!”

Gillian had dragged Philippa into the house and dialled for an ambulance. By the time the two men arrived downstairs, Philippa was sitting up and moaning faintly.

“I think she’s brought most of the pills back up again,” said Gillian. She frowned, and wiped a tear brusquely away from her eye. “The silly, silly girl!”

Richard stared in speechless shock at his daughter; at her ungainly, unhappy form.

“Surely she didn’t really want to . . .” he began, then stopped, unable to form the words in his mouth.

“Of course not,” said Gillian. “It was a . . .” her voice faltered, “a cry for help.”

“But she always seemed—” said Richard, and halted. He’d been about to say Philippa had always seemed happy. But suddenly he realized it wasn’t true. It came to him that
since she’d grown up, he’d rarely seen Philippa looking positively happy. She’d always seemed anxious, or sulky; when she was in high spirits there was always a slightly hysterical edge to her mood.

But he’d assumed she was more or less all right. Now a miserable guilt plunged through his body. I should have brought happiness to her life, he found himself thinking. I should have made sure she was happy and stable and content. But I left it to her mother and then I left it to her husband. And they failed her. We all failed her.

“Philippa,” said Lambert, bending down. “Can you hear me?”

Philippa’s eyes opened and she gave a louder moan.

“Lambert,” said Gillian. “I think you should keep away from her.”

“Why?” said Lambert truculently. “I’m her husband.”

“There was a note,” said Gillian. She passed it to Richard; as he skimmed it with his eyes his face darkened. A vein began to beat in his forehead.

“Give it to me,” said Lambert. “I’ve got every right . . .”

“You have no rights!” spat Richard. “No rights at all!”

“The ambulance is here,” said Gillian suddenly, looking out of the window. “Who’s going to go with her?”

“I will,” said Lambert.

“No,” said Richard at once, “you won’t. I will.”

On the way to the hospital, Richard gazed down at his daughter’s face; held her head as she retched into a cardboard dish and smoothed her hair back.

“I didn’t want to marry him,” she muttered, and tears coursed down her swollen face. “He makes me sick!”

“All right, sweetheart,” said Richard gently. “We’ll be there soon. You’ll be all right.”

“It was Mummy,” cried Philippa. “She made me marry Lambert! She said I was ugly and I wasn’t a . . .” She broke off and gazed at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Did you really hate Jim?”

“Who’s Jim?” asked Richard helplessly. But Philippa was vomiting again. Richard stared at her in silence. A heavy, bleak depression was creeping through him; he felt as though his happy family of shining jewels was being turned over one by one to reveal a swarm of ugly maggots. What else didn’t he know? What else wasn’t he being told?

“Where’s Fleur?” said Philippa, as soon as she was able to sit up again. “Does she know?”

“I’m not sure,” said Richard soothingly. “We needn’t tell her if you don’t want us to.”

“But I do want her to know!” cried Philippa hysterically. “I want her to be with me!”

“Yes, darling,” said Richard, feeling suddenly close to tears. “Yes, so do I.”

Much later Richard arrived home, weary and depressed, to find everyone waiting in the hall for him.

“What happened?” asked Fleur. She hurried over and took his hand. “Darling, I was so shocked when I heard about it.”

“They’re keeping her in overnight,” said Richard. “They don’t think any damage has been done. They’re going to . . .” He swallowed. “They’re going to set up some counselling for her.”

“Can we, like, go and visit her?” said Antony uncertainly. Richard looked at him, sitting on the stairs with Zara, and smiled. “She’ll be home tomorrow. Honestly, there’s nothing to worry about. It was just a silly scare.”

“But why did she do it?” said Antony. “I mean, didn’t she realize? Didn’t she think how frightened we’d all be?”

“I don’t think she thought very hard about it at all,” said Richard gently. “She’s a bit confused at the moment.” Suddenly he looked around sharply. “Where’s Lambert?”

“Gone,” said Gillian. “I packed him off to a hotel for the night.” Her mouth tightened. “He was too drunk to drive.”

“Well done, Gillian.” Richard’s eyes met hers. “And thank you. If you hadn’t gone looking for Philippa . . .”

“Yes, well.” Gillian looked away. “Let’s not think about that.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s late. Time for bed. Antony, Zara, off you go.”

“OK,” said Antony in a subdued voice. “Well, good night everyone.”

“Good night,” said Zara.

“Antony, I’m sorry we didn’t get to celebrate your win properly,” said Richard, suddenly remembering. “But we will. Another time.”

“Sure, Dad. G’night.”

“I think I’ll turn in too,” said Gillian. She looked at Richard. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” said Richard. “Not hungry.” He looked at Fleur. “But I think I could do with a glass of whisky.” She smiled.

“I’ll pour you one,” she said, and disappeared into the drawing room. Richard looked at Gillian.

“Gillian,” he said quietly. “Did you have any idea that this was on the cards? Did you realize Philippa was so unhappy?”

“No,” said Gillian. “I had no idea.” She bit her lip. “And yet when I look back, I wonder whether it wasn’t obvious all along. Whether I should have noticed something.”

“Exactly,” said Richard. “That’s exactly how I feel.”

“I feel I let her down,” said Gillian.

“You didn’t,” said Richard in suddenly fierce tones. “You didn’t let her down! If anyone let her down, it was her mother.”

“What?” Gillian stared at him.

“Emily let her down! Emily was a . . .” He broke off, breathing hard, and Gillian stared at him in dismay. For a few moments neither said anything.

“I was always convinced that there was a hidden side to Emily,” said Richard. “I was desperate to find out more about her character.” He looked up bleakly. “And now it seems that the sweet, innocent Emily I knew was only a . . . a façade! I didn’t know the true Emily! I wouldn’t have
wanted
to know the true Emily!”

“Oh Richard.” Tears glittered in Gillian’s eyes. “Emily wasn’t all bad, you know.”

“I know she wasn’t.” Richard rubbed his face. “But I’d always thought she was perfect.”

“No-one’s perfect,” said Gillian quietly. “No-one in the world is perfect.”

“I know,” said Richard. “I was a fool. A gullible fool.”

“You’re no fool,” said Gillian. She got to her feet. “Go and drink your whisky. And forget about Emily.” She met his eyes. “It’s time to move on.”

“Yes,” said Richard slowly. “It is, isn’t it?”

Fleur was sitting on the sofa in the drawing room, two tumblers of whisky at her side.

“You poor thing,” she murmured as Richard entered the room. “What a horrendous evening.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” said Richard. He picked
up his glass of whisky and drained it. “Sometimes, Fleur, I wonder if there are any decent people left in the world.”

“What do you mean?” said Fleur, getting up and replenishing his glass. “Did something else happen tonight?”

“It’s almost too sordid to recount,” said Richard. “You’ll be disgusted when you hear.”

“What?” She sat back down on the sofa and looked expectantly at Richard. He sighed and kicked off his shoes.

“Earlier this evening, I found Lambert in my office, attempting to forge a letter from me to my solicitors. He’s in money trouble, and he hoped that my name would help to keep his creditors off his back.” Richard took another slug of whisky and shook his head. “The whole thing is despicable.”

“Is he in serious money trouble?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Richard frowned.

“Don’t tell me any more if you don’t want to,” said Fleur quickly. Richard took her hand and gave her a wan smile.

“Thank you, darling, for being so sensitive. But I don’t have any secrets from you. And it’s actually a relief to talk to someone about it.” He sighed. “Lambert had been given the impression by . . . by someone . . . that Philippa was soon to come into a lot of money. And on the strength of that he began to spend well beyond his means.”

“Oh dear,” said Fleur. She wrinkled her brow. “Is that why Philippa . . .”

“No. Philippa doesn’t know about the money. But they had had a row. Philippa threatened to leave Lambert and things became rather nasty.” Richard looked at Fleur. “Apparently you and she had a long talk about it in London.”

“Hardly a long talk,” said Fleur, frowning slightly.

“Nevertheless, she found your advice very helpful. She’s desperate to see you.” Richard stroked Fleur’s hair. “I think she’s beginning to see you as a mother figure.”

“I’m not sure about that,” said Fleur, giving a little laugh.

“As for Lambert . . .” Richard shrugged. “I’ve no idea whether he and Philippa will manage to patch things up, or whether he should be sent packing.”

“Sent packing,” said Fleur, with a shudder. “He’s odious.”

“And dishonest,” said Richard. “I find it hard to believe now that he didn’t marry Philippa for her money in the first place.”